Chatterton monologue — Chatterton

Each man doth pay a price for what he has. The very qualities of mind and heart That make a poet make a sufferer. The keenness of perception, which unfolds A realm of beauty hid to other eyes, Unmasks the world: shows him indifference Behind the flimsy guise of courtesy, The shallowness of friendship, the alloy Of self, debasing charity to trade. The vividness of his imagination, Which, in a garret, gives him trees and flowers, The cool salt sea and heaven's blue expanse, Enlarges troubles, and creates such fears He trembles at the possible in life. The sensibility, which treasures up Each word or look of kindness as a gem, Makes bitterer the haughtiness of birth, The vulgar swelling of a pompous purse, The slur, the slight, the mockery of fools. Beyond he sees a spiritual sphere, Where, by unselfishness, the terrible Becomes a valued teacher--where the power To wound through self is lost; yet cannot reach it. He is a medium through which all things speak: The human passions wrack his nervous frame; Each thing in nature makes his heart its pulse. Who would aspire to wear the laurel crown?-- It is a crown of thorns! [Sinks back upon chair.]