Out, alas! You’d be so lean that blasts of January Would blow you through and through. Now, my fair’st friend, I would I had some flowers o’ th’ spring, that might Become your time of day; and yours, and yours, That wear upon your virgin branches yet Your maidenheads growing. O Proserpina, From the flowers now that, frighted, thou let’st fall From Dis’s waggon! daffodils, That come before the swallow dares, and take The winds of March with beauty; violets dim, But sweeter than the lids of Juno’s eyes Or Cytherea’s breath; pale primroses, That die unmarried ere they can behold Bright Phoebus in his strength ; bold oxlips and The crown imperial; lilies of all kinds, The flower-de-luce being one. O, these I lack, To make you garlands of; and my sweet friend, To strew him o’er and o’er!

Perdita Monologue from The Winter's Tale

Rehearse Perdita's monologue