Then, I confess, Here on my knee, before high heaven and you That before you, and next unto high heaven, I love your son. My friends were poor, but honest; so's my love: Be not offended, for it hurts not him That he is lov'd of me: I follow him not By any token of presumptuous suit; Nor would I have him till I do deserve him; Yet never know how that desert should be. I know I love in vain, strive against hope; Yet, in this captious and inteemable sieve I still pour in the waters of my love, And lack not to lose still. Thus, Indian-like, Religious in mine error, I adore The sun, that looks upon his worshipper, But knows of him no more. My dearest madam, Let not your hate encounter with my love For loving where you do: but, if yourself, Whose aged honour cites a virtuous youth, Did ever in so true a flame of liking Wish chastely and love dearly, that your Dian Was both herself and Love; O! then, give pity To her, whose state is such that cannot choose But lend and give where she is sure to lose; That seeks not to find that her search implies, But, riddle-like, lives sweetly where she dies.

Helena Monologue from All's Well That Ends Well

Rehearse Helena's monologue