I thank you--less For the expressed commendings which your seal, And only that, authenticates--forbids My putting from me... to my heart I take Your praise... but praise less claims my gratitude, Than the indulgent insight it implies Of what must needs be uppermost with one Who comes, like me, with the bare leave to ask, In weighed and measured unimpassioned words, A gift, which, if as calmly 'tis denied, He must withdraw, content upon his cheek, Despair within his soul. That I dare ask Firmly, near boldly, near with confidence That gift, I have to thank you. Yes, Lord Tresham, I love your sister--as you'd have one love That lady... oh more, more I love her! Wealth, Rank, all the world thinks me, they're yours, you know, To hold or part with, at your choice--but grant My true self, me without a rood of land, A piece of gold, a name of yesterday, Grant me that lady, and you... Death or life? GUENDOLEN. (apart to AUSTIN). Why, this is loving, Austin!

Mertoun Monologue from A Blot in the 'Scutcheon

Rehearse Mertoun's monologue