Clo monologue (Act 1) — Life Is a Dream

(aside) Oh, wondrous chance--or wondrous Providence! The sword that I myself in Muscovy, When these white hairs were black, for keepsake left Of obligation for a like return To him who saved me wounded as I lay Fighting against his country; took me home; Tended me like a brother till recover'd, Perchance to fight against him once again And now my sword put back into my hand By his--if not his son--still, as so seeming, By me, as first devoir of gratitude, To seem believing, till the wearer's self See fit to drop the ill-dissembling mask. (Aloud.) Well, a strange turn of fortune has arrested The sharp and sudden penalty that else Had visited your rashness or mischance: In part, your tender youth too--pardon me, And touch not where your sword is not to answer-- Commends you to my care; not your life only, Else by this misadventure forfeited; But ev'n your errand, which, by happy chance, Chimes with the very business I am on, And calls me to the very point you aim at.