Mildred Tresham Monologue from A Blot in the 'Scutcheon

From A Blot in the 'Scutcheon by Robert Browning

female · anguished · 57 sec

As I dare approach that Heaven Which has not bade a living thing despair, Which needs no code to keep its grace from stain, But bids the vilest worm that turns on it Desist and be forgiven,--I--forgive not, But bless you, Thorold, from my soul of souls! (Falls on his neck.) There! Do not think too much upon the past! The cloud that's broke was all the same a cloud While it stood up between my friend and you; You hurt him 'neath its shadow: but is that So past retrieve? I have his heart, you know; I may dispose of it: I give it you! It loves you as mine loves! Confirm me, Henry! (Dies.)

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