If you please, A most sweet folly! Full of mirth and melancholy: Both of these! In its sadness worth all gladness, If you please! With spring days Love comes and dallies: Upon the mountains, through the valleys Lie Love's ways. Then he leaves you and deceives you In spring days. Since I know thee, dear Immortal, Is my heart become a blossom, To be worn upon thy bosom. When thou turn me from this portal, Whither shall I, hapless mortal, Seek love out and win again Heart of me that thou retain? Tell me, Lady, shall I never Rid me of this grievous burden! Follow Love and find his guerdon In no maiden whatsoever? Wilt thou hold my heart forever? Rather would I thine forget, In some earthly Pierrette! Now, verily, sweet maid, of school I tire; These answers are not such as I desire. I dare not tell. Is love all schooling, with no time to play? What are the games that small moon-maids enjoy: Or is their time all spent in staid employ? That is too hard! What then? I have it, maiden. A single game, I learnt it at the Court. But, prithee, not so near. That is essential, as will soon appear. Lay here thine hand, which cold night dews anoint, Washing its white— Prithee, forbear! Such is the game's design. I cover it with mine.

Pierrot Monologue from The Pierrot of the Minute

Rehearse Pierrot's monologue