Mary Hamilton Monologue from Chastelard, a Tragedy

From Chastelard, a Tragedy by Algernon Charles Swinburne

female · anguished · 48 sec

I know not that; I know how folk would gibe If one of us pushed courtesy so far. She has always loved love's fashions well; you wot, The marshal, head friend of this Chastelard's, She used to talk with ere he brought her here And sow their talk with little kisses thick As roses in rose-harvest. For myself, I cannot see which side of her that lurks, Which snares in such wise all the sense of men; What special beauty, subtle as man's eye And tender as the inside of the eyelid is, There grows about her.

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