The Ultimate Free Shakespeare Resource The Ultimate Free Shakespeare Resource The Ultimate Free Shakespeare Resource The Ultimate Free Shakespeare Resource

Monologues for Men


Thou know’st she has rais’d me from my sickly bed.

’Tis only title thou disdain’st in her, the which

I can build up. Strange is it that our bloods,

Of color, weight, and heat, pour’d all together,

Would quite confound distinction, yet stands off

In differences so mighty. If she be

All that is virtuous—save what thou dislik’st,

A poor physician’s daughter—thou dislik’st

Of virtue for the name. But do not so.

From lowest place when virtuous things proceed,

The place is dignified by th’ doer’s deed.

Where great additions swell ’s, and virtue none,

It is a dropsied honor. Good alone

Is good, without a name; vileness is so:

The property by what it is should go,

Not by the title. She is young, wise, fair,

In these to nature she’s immediate heir;

And these breed honor. That is honor’s scorn,

Which challenges itself as honor’s born,

And is not like the sire. Honors thrive,

When rather from our acts we them derive

Than our foregoers. The mere word’s a slave

Debosh’d on every tomb, on every grave

A lying trophy, and as oft is dumb

Where dust and damn’d oblivion is the tomb

Of honor’d bones indeed. What should be said?

If thou canst like this creature as a maid,

I can create the rest. Virtue and she

Is her own dower; honor and wealth from me.

Thou wrong’st thyself, if thou shouldst strive to choose.

My honor’s at the stake, which to defeat,

I must produce my power. Here, take her hand,

Proud scornful boy, unworthy this good gift,

That dost in vile misprision shackle up

My love and her desert; that canst not dream,

We poising us in her defective scale,

Shall weigh thee to the beam; that wilt not know

It is in us to plant thine honor where

We please to have it grow. Check thy contempt;

Obey our will, which travails in thy good;

Believe not thy disdain, but presently

Do thine own fortunes that obedient right

Which both thy duty owes and our power claims,

Or I will throw thee from my care for ever

Into the staggers and the careless lapse

Of youth and ignorance; both my revenge and hate

Loosing upon thee, in the name of justice,

Without all terms of pity. Speak, thine answer.

Use Power Search to search the works

Log in or Register

Forgot username  Forgot password
Get the Shakespeare Pro app