Chastelard monologue (Act 3) — Chastelard, a Tragedy

Yea, do some while. I had a thing to say; I know not wholly what thing. O my sweet, I am come here to take farewell of love That I have served, and life that I have lived Made up of love, here in the sight of you That all my life's time I loved more than God, Who quits me thus with bitter death for it. For you well know that I must shortly die, My life being wound about you as it is, Who love me not; yet do not hate me, sweet, But tell me wherein I came short of love; For doubtless I came short of a just love, And fell in some fool's fault that angered you. Now that I talk men dig my grave for me Out in the rain, and in a little while I shall be thrust in some sad space of earth Out of your eyes; and you, O you my love, A newly-wedded lady full of mirth And a queen girt with all good people's love, You shall be fair and merry in all your days. Is this so much for me to have of you? Do but speak, sweet: I know these are no words A man should say though he were now to die, But I am as a child for love, and have No strength at heart; yea, I am afraid to die, For the harsh dust will lie upon my face Too thick to see you past. Look how I love you; I did so love you always, that your face Seen through my sleep has wrung mine eyes to tears For pure delight in you. Why do you thus? You answer not, but your lips curl in twain And your face moves; there, I shall make you weep And be a coward too; it were much best I should be slain.