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Lydia Monologue from The Admirable Bashville; Or, Constancy Unrewarded Being the Novel of Cashel Byron's Profession Done into a Stage Play in Three Acts and in Blank Verse, with a Note on Modern Prize Fighting

From The Admirable Bashville; Or, Constancy Unrewarded Being the Novel of Cashel Byron's Profession Done into a Stage Play in Three Acts and in Blank Verse, with a Note on Modern Prize Fighting by Bernard Shaw

female · philosophical · 58 sec

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How well he speaks! There is a silver trumpet in his lips That stirs me to the finger ends. His nose Dropt lovely color: 'tis a perfect blood. I would 'twere mingled with mine own! (Enter.) BASHVILLE What now? (BASHVILLE: Madam, the coachman can no longer wait: The horses will take cold.) I do beseech him A moment's grace. Oh, mockery of wealth! The third class passenger unchidden rides Whither and when he will: obsequious trams Await him hourly: subterranean tubes With tireless coursers whisk him through the town; But we, the rich, are slaves to Houyhnhnms: We wait upon their colds, and frowst all day Indoors, if they but cough or spurn their hay. (BASHVILLE: Madam, an omnibus to Euston Road, And thence t' th' Angel-- CASHEL) Let us haste, my love: The coachman is impatient.

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