Seg monologue (Act 3) — Life Is a Dream

Then, as he fled before, And after he had sworn it on his knees, Came back to take me--where I am!--No more, No more of this! Away with you! Begone! Whether but visions of ambitious night That morning ought to scatter, or grown out Of night's proportions you invade the day To scare me from my little wits yet left, Begone! I know I must be near awake, Knowing I dream; or, if not at my voice, Then vanish at the clapping of my hands, Or take this foolish fellow for your sport: Dressing me up in visionary glories, Which the first air of waking consciousness Scatters as fast as from the almander-- That, waking one fine morning in full flower, One rougher insurrection of the breeze Of all her sudden honour disadorns To the last blossom, and she stands again The winter-naked scare-crow that she was!