THE CHANGELING

A monologue from the play by Thomas Middleton


  • NOTE: This monologue is reprinted from The Changeling. Thomas Middleton. London: Humphrey Moseley, 1653.
  • DE FLORES: Yonder's she;
    Whatever ails me, now a-late especially,
    I can as well be hang'd as refrain seeing her;
    Some twenty times a-day, nay, not so little,
    Do I force errands, frame ways and excuses,
    To come into her sight; and I've small reason for't,
    And less encouragement, for she baits me still
    Every time worse than other; does profess herself
    The cruelest enemy to my face in town;
    At no hand can abide the sight of me,
    As if danger or ill luck hung in my looks.
    I must confess my face is bad enough,
    But I know far worse has better fortune,
    And not endur'd alone, but doted on;
    And yet such pick-hair'd faces, chins like witches',
    Here and there five hairs whispering in a corner,
    As if they grew in fear one of another,
    Wrinkles like troughs, where swine-deforming swills
    The tears of perjury, that lie there like wash
    Fallen from the slimy and dishonest eye;
    Yet such a one plucks sweets without restraint,
    And has the grace of beauty to his sweet.
    Though my hard fate has thrust me out of servitude,
    I tumbled into th' world a gentleman.
    She turns her blessed eye upon me now,
    And I'll endure all storms before I part with't.

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