Pretender monologue — Boris Godunov: a drama in verse

(Enters.) Here is the fountain; hither will she come. I was not born a coward; I have seen Death near at hand, and face to face with death My spirit hath not blenched. A life-long dungeon Hath threatened me, I have been close pursued, And yet my spirit quailed not, and by boldness I have escaped captivity. But what Is this which now constricts my breath? What means This overpowering tremor, or this quivering Of tense desire? No, this is fear. All day I have waited for this secret meeting, pondered On all that I should say to her, how best I might enmesh Marina's haughty mind, Calling her queen of Moscow. But the hour Has come--and I remember naught, I cannot Recall the speeches I have learned by rote; Love puts imagination to confusion-- But something there gleamed suddenly--a rustling; Hush--no, it was the moon's deceitful light, It was the rustling of the breeze.