Olivia Monologue from Twelfth Night

From Twelfth Night by William Shakespeare

female · anguished · 1:22 min

For him, I think not on him: for his thoughts, Would they were blanks rather than fill’d with me! (VIOLA: Madam, I come to whet your gentle thoughts On his behalf.) O, by your leave, I pray you. I bade you never speak again of him. But would you undertake another suit, I had rather hear you to solicit that Than music from the spheres. (VIOLA: Dear lady—) Give me leave, beseech you. I did send, After the last enchantment you did here, A ring in chase of you. So did I abuse Myself, my servant, and, I fear me, you. Under your hard construction must I sit; To force that on you in a shameful cunning, Which you knew none of yours. What might you think? Have you not set mine honour at the stake, And baited it with all th’ unmuzzled thoughts That tyrannous heart can think? To one of your receiving Enough is shown. A cypress, not a bosom, Hides my heart: so let me hear you speak.

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