• 金沙娱东城官方

    AS YOU LIKE IT

    A monologue from the play by William Shakespeare


    PHEBE: I would not by thy executioner.
    I fly thee, for I would not injure thee.
    Thou tell'st me there is murder in mine eye:
    'Tis pretty, sure, and very probable
    That eyes, that are the frail'st and softest things,
    Who shut their coward gates on atomies,
    Should be called tyrants, butchers, murderers.
    Now I do frown on thee with all my heart,
    And if mine eyes can wound, now let them kill thee.
    Now counterfeit to swound; why, not fall down;
    Or if thou canst not, O, for shame, for shame,
    Lie not, to say mine eyes are murderers.
    Now show the wound mine eye hath made in thee;
    Scratch thee but with a pin, and there remains
    Some scar of it; lean upon a rush,
    The cicatrice and capable impressure
    Thy palm some moment keeps; but now mine eyes,
    Which I have darted at thee, hurt thee not,
    Nor I am sure there is no force in eyes
    That can do hurt.

    BROWSE MORE MONOLOGUES BY PLAYWRIGHT

    金沙娱东城官方