Nay, I know not well. 'T is when the man is held fast underground They say for sooth what manner of heart he had. We are alive, and cannot be well sure If we loved much or little: think you not It were convenient one of us should die? (CHASTELARD: Madam, your speech is harsh to understand.) Why, there could come no change then; one of us Would never need to fear our love might turn To the sad thing that it may grow to be. I would sometimes all things were dead asleep That I have loved, all buried in soft beds And sealed with dreams and visions, and each dawn Sung to by sorrows, and all night assuaged By short sweet kissed and by sweet long loves For old life's sake, lest weeping overmuch Should wake them in a strange new time, and arm Memory's blind hand to kill forgetfulness. (CHASTELARD: Look, you dream still, and sadly.) Sooth, a dream; For such things died or lied in sweet love's face, And I forget them not, God help my wit! I would the whole world were made up of sleep And life not fashioned out of lies and loves. We foolish women have such times, you know, When we are weary or afraid or sick For perfect nothing.

Queen Monologue from Chastelard, a Tragedy

Rehearse Queen's monologue