You smile as if I jested; do not men Sleep as we do? Had you fair dreams in the night? For me--but I should fret you with my dreams-- I dreamed sweet things. You are good at soothsaying: Make me a sonnet of my dream. (CHASTELARD: I will, When I shall know it.) I thought I was asleep In Paris, lying by my lord, and knew In somewise he was well awake, and yet I could not wake too; and I seemed to know He hated me, and the least breath I made Would turn somehow to slay or stifle me. Then in brief time he rose and went away, Saying, Let her dream, but when her dream is out I will come back and kill her as she wakes. And I lay sick and trembling with sore fear, And still I knew that I was deep asleep; And thinking I must dream now, or I die, God send me some good dream lest I be slain, Fell fancying one had bound my feet with cords And bade me dance, and the first measure made I fell upon my face and wept for pain: And my cords broke, and I began the dance To a bitter tune; and he that danced with me Was clothed in black with long red lines and bars And masked down to the lips, but by the chin I knew you though your lips were sewn up close With scarlet thread all dabbled wet in blood. And then I knew the dream was not for good. And striving with sore travail to reach up And kiss you (you were taller in my dream) I missed your lips and woke. (CHASTELARD: Sweet dreams, you said? An evil dream I hold it for, sweet love.) You call love sweet; yea, what is bitter, then? There's nothing broken sleep could hit upon So bitter as the breaking down of love. You call me sweet; I am not sweet to you, Nor you-O, I would say not sweet to me, And if I said so I should hardly lie. But there have been those things between us, sir, That men call sweet.

Queen Monologue from Chastelard, a Tragedy

Rehearse Queen's monologue