Yo Lo Monologue from The Scornful Lady

From The Scornful Lady by Francis Beaumont

male · anguished · 52 sec

Thou shalt hav't boy, and fly in Feather, Lead on a March you Michers. (Enter.) Savill. Savill. O my head, O my heart, what a noyse and change is here! would I had been cold i'th' mouth before this day, and ne're have liv'd to see this dissolution. He that lives within a mile of this place, had as good sleep in the perpetual noyse of an Iron Mill. There's a dead Sea of drink i'th' Seller, in which goodly vessels lye wrackt, and in the middle of this deluge appear the tops of flagons and black jacks, like Churches drown'd i'th' marshes.

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