As You Like It Monologue
|As You Like It Monologue 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.