“His shackles will betray him; he’ll be taken, And what shall I do then? I’ll bring a bevy, A hundred black-eyed maids that love as I do, With chaplets on their heads of daffadillies, With cherry lips and cheeks of damask roses, And all we’ll dance an antic ’fore the Duke, And beg his pardon.” Then she talked of you, sir; That you must lose your head tomorrow morning, And she must gather flowers to bury you, And see the house made handsome. Then she sung Nothing but “Willow, willow, willow,” and between Ever was “Palamon, fair Palamon,” And “Palamon was a tall young man.” The place Was knee-deep where she sat; her careless tresses, A wreath of bulrush rounded; about her stuck Thousand fresh water-flowers of several colours, That methought she appeared like the fair nymph That feeds the lake with waters, or as Iris Newly dropped down from heaven. Rings she made Of rushes that grew by, and to ’em spoke The prettiest posies: “Thus our true love’s tied,” “This you may loose, not me,” and many a one; And then she wept, and sung again, and sighed, And with the same breath smiled and kissed her hand.

Wooer Monologue from The Two Noble Kinsmen

Rehearse Wooer's monologue