Queen Monologue from Chastelard, a Tragedy

From Chastelard, a Tragedy by Algernon Charles Swinburne

female · anguished · 1:07 min

This comes of sonnets when the dance draws breath; These talking times will make a dearth of grace. But you-what ails you that your lips are shut? Weep, if you will; here are four friends of yours To weep as fast for pity of your tears. Do you desire him dead? nay, but men say He was your friend, he fought them on your side, He made you songs-God knows what songs he made! Speak you for him a little: will you not? (MARY BEATON: Madam, I have no words.) No words? no pity-- Have you no mercies for such men? God help! It seems I am the meekest heart on earth-- Yea, the one tender woman left alive, And knew it not. I will not let him live, For all my pity of him.

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