Think not I love him, though I ask for him: 'Tis but a peevish boy...View Full Monologue Text
Think not I love him, though I ask for him:
'Tis but a peevish boy; yet he talks well;
But what care I for words? yet words do well
When he that speaks them pleases those that hear.
It is a pretty youth: not very pretty:
But, sure, he's proud, and yet his pride becomes him:
He'll make a proper man: the best thing in him
Is his complexion; and faster than his tongue
Did make offence his eye did heal it up.
He is not very tall; yet for his years he's tall:
His leg is but so so; and yet 'tis well:
There was a pretty redness in his lip,
A little riper and more lusty red
Than that mix'd in his cheek; 'twas just the difference
Between the constant red and mingled damask.
There be some women, Silvius, had they mark'd him
In parcels as I did, would have gone near
To fall in love with him; but, for my part,
I love him not nor hate him not; and yet
I have more cause to hate him than to love him:
For what had he to do to chide at me?
He said mine eyes were black and my hair black:
And, now I am remember'd, scorn'd at me:
I marvel why I answer'd not again:
But that's all one; omittance is no quittance.
I'll write to him a very taunting letter,
And thou shalt bear it: wilt thou, Silvius?
Phebe has just met Ganymede, who is Rosalind disguised as a man. Before this monologue begins, Phebe asks Sylvius (who is madly in love with Phebe) if he knows Ganymede. In the monologue, Phebe tells Sylvius not to think that she loves Ganymede even though she has asked about him. She then goes on to list the reasons why she wouldn't love him, however, she keeps getting sidetracked by all of Ganymede's wonderful qualities. At the very end of the monologue, Phebe realizes that Ganymede has been quite rude to her and decides to write him a "taunting letter." She then employs Sylvius to deliver the letter for her.
Age Range: 20s - Early, 20s - Late, 30s - Early
Dialects: Standard American, Standard English
AuthorName: William Shakespeare
Eras: 1601-1700, 1501-1600
I would not be thy executioner: I fly thee, for I would not injure thee. Thou tell'st...View Full Monologue Text
I would not be thy executioner:
I fly thee, for I would not injure thee.
Thou tell'st me there is murder in mine eye:
'Tis pretty, sure, and very probable,
That eyes, that are the frail'st and softest things,
Who shut their coward gates on atomies,
Should be call'd tyrants, butchers, murderers!
Now I do frown on thee with all my heart;
And, if mine eyes can wound, now let them kill thee;
Now counterfeit to swoon; why now fall down;
Or, if thou canst not, O! for shame, for shame,
Lie not, to say mine eyes are murderers.
Now show the wound mine eye hath made in thee;
Scratch thee but with a pin, and there remains
Some scar of it; lean but upon a rush,
The cicatrice and capable impressure
Thy palm some moment keeps; but now mine eyes,
Which I have darted at thee, hurt thee not,
Nor, I am sure, there is no force in eyes
That can do hurt.
The unimpressed Phebe is responding to Silvius who is madly in love with her.
Silvius has just stated:
Sweet Phebe do not scorn me, do not Phebe.
Say that you love me not, but say not so
In bitterness. The common executioner,
Whose heart th'accustom'd sight of death makes hard,
Falls not the axe upon the humbled neck
But first begs pardon. Will you sterner be
Than he that dies and lives by bloody drops?
In this monologue, Phebe points out how ridiculous it is to say that eyes can do one harm, while also stating that if her eyes did have the power, she would gladly kill him.
PlayName: As You Like It
Rating: Suitable for all ages
Copyright Status: Public domain