Monologue

Lady Wishfort Monologue from The Way of the World

From The Way of the World by William Congreve

female · dramatic · 1:11 min

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Merciful! No news of Foible yet? (PEG: No, madam.) I have no more patience. If I have not fretted myself till I am pale again, there’s no veracity in me. Fetch me the red—the red, do you hear, sweetheart? An errant ash colour, as I’m a person. Look you how this wench stirs! Why dost thou not fetch me a little red? Didst thou not hear me, Mopus? (PEG: The red ratafia, does your ladyship mean, or the cherry brandy?) Ratafia, fool? No, fool. Not the ratafia, fool—grant me patience!—I mean the Spanish paper, idiot; complexion, darling. Paint, paint, paint, dost thou understand that, changeling, dangling thy hands like bobbins before thee? Why dost thou not stir, puppet? Thou wooden thing upon wires!

About this piece

40s · anger · identity · power · frustration · vanity

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