A monologue from the play by Thomas Middleton and William Rowley
BEATRICE
Oh, come not near me, sir; I shall defile you.
I am that of your blood was taken from you
For your better health; look no more upon’t,
But cast it to the ground regardlessly:
Let the common sewer take it from distinction.
Beneath the stars, upon yon meteor
Ever [hung] my fate, ‘mongst things corruptible;
I ne’er could pluck it from him. My loathing
Was prophet to the rest but ne’er believ’d;
Mine honour fell with him, and now my life.
Alsemero, I am a stranger to your bed;
Your bed was coz’ned on the nuptial night,
For which your false bride died.
Read the play here – Student Edition|Regular Edition
