...
Yay for boredom.
Though, it's going to rain soon, so things are looking up.
Oh, yes. My monologue, for the sake of memourization.
ROSALIND:
Love is but a madness, and, I tell you, deserves as well as a darkhouse and whip, as madmen do; and the reason why they are not so punished is, that the lunacy is so ordinary that the whippers are in love too! Yet I profess curing it by counsel.
Orlando:
~ Have you ever cured any so?
ROSALIND:
Yes, one, and in this manner. He was to imagine me, his love, his mistress, and I set him every day to woo me, at which time would I, being but a moonish youth, would grieve, be effeminate, changeable, longing and liking, proud, fantastical, apish, shallow, inconstant, full of tears, full of smiles, for every passion something, and for no passion truly anything, as boys and women are, for the most part, cattle of this colour; would now like him, now loathe him, then entertain him, then forswear him, now weep for him, then spit at him that I drave my suitor from his mad humour of love to a living humour of madness, which was, to forswear the full stream of the world and to live in a nook, merely monastic. And thus will I take upon me to cleanse your liver as clean as a sound sheep's heart, that there shall not be one spot of love in't.
Orlando:
~ I will not be cured, youth.
ROSALIND:
I would cure you, if you were to call me but Rosalind and come by my cote every day and woo me.
Orlando:
~ Tell me where it is.
ROSALIND:
Come with me, and I will show it you. And by the way, you will tell me where in the forest you live. Will you go?
Orlando:
~ With all my heart, good youth.
*take his hand and run offstage*
And so rolls on the five-day vacation.
Though, it's going to rain soon, so things are looking up.
Oh, yes. My monologue, for the sake of memourization.
ROSALIND:
Love is but a madness, and, I tell you, deserves as well as a darkhouse and whip, as madmen do; and the reason why they are not so punished is, that the lunacy is so ordinary that the whippers are in love too! Yet I profess curing it by counsel.
Orlando:
~ Have you ever cured any so?
ROSALIND:
Yes, one, and in this manner. He was to imagine me, his love, his mistress, and I set him every day to woo me, at which time would I, being but a moonish youth, would grieve, be effeminate, changeable, longing and liking, proud, fantastical, apish, shallow, inconstant, full of tears, full of smiles, for every passion something, and for no passion truly anything, as boys and women are, for the most part, cattle of this colour; would now like him, now loathe him, then entertain him, then forswear him, now weep for him, then spit at him that I drave my suitor from his mad humour of love to a living humour of madness, which was, to forswear the full stream of the world and to live in a nook, merely monastic. And thus will I take upon me to cleanse your liver as clean as a sound sheep's heart, that there shall not be one spot of love in't.
Orlando:
~ I will not be cured, youth.
ROSALIND:
I would cure you, if you were to call me but Rosalind and come by my cote every day and woo me.
Orlando:
~ Tell me where it is.
ROSALIND:
Come with me, and I will show it you. And by the way, you will tell me where in the forest you live. Will you go?
Orlando:
~ With all my heart, good youth.
*take his hand and run offstage*
And so rolls on the five-day vacation.