Monologue

King John Monologue

From King John by William Shakespeare

male · anguished · 27 sec

Ay, marry, now my soul hath elbow-room It would not out at windows nor at doors. There is so hot a summer in my bosom That all my bowels crumble up to dust. I am a scribbled form, drawn with a pen Upon a parchment, and against this fire Do I shrink up.

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