A monologue from the play by William Shakespeare
VIOLA: I left no ring with her. What means this lady?Fortune forbid my outside have not charmed her.She made good view of me; indeed, so muchThat, as methought, her eyes had lost her tongue,For she did speak in starts distractedly.
She loves me sure; the cunning of her passionInvites me in this churlish messenger.None of my lord’s ring? Why, he sent her none.I am the man. If it be so, as ’tis,Poor lady, she were better love a dream.Disguise, I see thou art a wickednessWherein the pregnant enemy does much.How easy is it for the proper falseIn women’s waxen hearts to set their forms!Alas, our frailty is the cause, not we,For such as we are made of, such we be.How will this fadge? My master loves her dearly;And I (poor monster) fond as much on him;And she (mistaken) seems to dote on me.What will become of this? As I am man,My state is desperate for my master’s love.As I am woman (now alas the day!),What thriftless sighs shall poor Olivia breathe?O Time, thou must untangle this, not I;It is too hard a knot for me t’ untie.
