What's to say May be said briefly. She has never known A mother's care; I stand for father too. Her beauty is not strange to you, it seems-- You cannot know the good and tender heart, Its girl's trust and its woman's constancy, How pure yet passionate, how calm yet kind, How grave yet joyous, how reserved yet free As light where friends are--how imbued with lore The world most prizes, yet the simplest, yet The... one might know I talked of Mildred--thus We brothers talk! (MERTOUN: I thank you.) In a word, Control's not for this lady; but her wish To please me outstrips in its subtlety My power of being pleased: herself creates The want she means to satisfy. My heart Prefers your suit to her as 'twere its own. Can I say more? (MERTOUN: No more--thanks, thanks--no more!) This matter then discussed... MERTOUN. --We'll waste no breath On aught less precious. I'm beneath the roof Which holds her: while I thought of that, my speech To you would wander--as it must not do, Since as you favour me I stand or fall. I pray you suffer that I take my leave!

Tresham Monologue from A Blot in the 'Scutcheon

Rehearse Tresham's monologue