Monologue

Maria Monologue from Love's Labour's Lost

From Love's Labour's Lost by William Shakespeare

female · contemplative · 57 sec

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I know him, madam. At a marriage feast Between Lord Perigort and the beauteous heir Of Jaques Falconbridge, solemnized In Normandy, saw I this Longaville. A man of sovereign parts, he is esteemed, Well fitted in arts, glorious in arms. Nothing becomes him ill that he would well. The only soil of his fair virtue’s gloss, If virtue’s gloss will stain with any soil, Is a sharp wit matched with too blunt a will, Whose edge hath power to cut, whose will still wills It should none spare that come within his power. (PRINCESS: Some merry mocking lord, belike. Is’t so?) They say so most that most his humours know.

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20s · trust · identity · honor · power · admiration

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