Tresham Monologue from A Blot in the 'Scutcheon

From A Blot in the 'Scutcheon by Robert Browning

male · contemplative · 1:00 min

My thought? (MILDRED: All of it!) How we waded years--ago-- After those water-lilies, till the plash, I know not how, surprised us; and you dared Neither advance nor turn back: so, we stood Laughing and crying until Gerard came-- Once safe upon the turf, the loudest too, For once more reaching the relinquished prize! How idle thoughts are, some men's, dying men's! Mildred,-- (MILDRED: You call me kindlier by my name Than even yesterday: what is in that?) It weighs so much upon my mind that I This morning took an office not my own! I might... of course, I must be glad or grieved, Content or not, at every little thing That touches you. I may with a wrung heart Even reprove you, Mildred; I did more: Will you forgive me?

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