Monologue

O! ye porous, pallor’d soul!
’Tis thee to whom I do wail
In grief, an’ thither hath I
Sent anon such myriad of words.
I beeth ‘bout night stricken
As I hath first attested
Ye to be with mine prime verb.
I prithee, bright maiden, to read onward;
A vote of most courteous
Confidence and compassion,
Shown outside thine family,
I hereby offer freely.

Let not thine fear repress ye,
Nor fain thee to entertain
The singular thought that of
All men, hereafter said, pursue any
Exploit of fruitless courtship.
Do not seek renovation
Where renovation is naught,
But, rather, free thyself of future strife.
Dismiss all ‘membrance of past
Affection clearly given,
And punish that wantonness
With strong vigor and sternest energy.
Thou hast now a greater
Chance to wean from libertines,
And find thyself heartfelt men
With whom thou shalt be joyous.