Mildred Tresham Monologue from A Blot in the 'Scutcheon

From A Blot in the 'Scutcheon by Robert Browning

female · anguished · 50 sec

Thorold, do you devise Fit expiation for my guilt, if fit There be! 'Tis nought to say that I'll endure And bless you,--that my spirit yearns to purge Her stains off in the fierce renewing fire: But do not plunge me into other guilt! Oh, guilt enough! I cannot tell his name. (TRESHAM: Then judge yourself! How should I act? Pronounce!) Oh, Thorold, you must never tempt me thus! To die here in this chamber by that sword Would seem like punishment: so should I glide, Like an arch-cheat, into extremest bliss! 'Twere easily arranged for me: but you-- What would become of you?

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