Simone monologue — A Florentine Tragedy; La Sainte Courtisane

[_turning round_] Who spake of Death? Let no one speak of Death. What should Death do in such a merry house, With but a wife, a husband, and a friend To give it greeting? Let Death go to houses Where there are vile, adulterous things, chaste wives Who growing weary of their noble lords Draw back the curtains of their marriage beds, And in polluted and dishonoured sheets Feed some unlawful lust. Ay! ’tis so Strange, and yet so. _You_ do not know the world. _You_ are too single and too honourable. I know it well. And would it were not so, But wisdom comes with winters. My hair grows grey, And youth has left my body. Enough of that. To-night is ripe for pleasure, and indeed, I would be merry as beseems a host Who finds a gracious and unlooked-for guest Waiting to greet him. [_Takes up a lute_.] But what is this, my lord? Why, you have brought a lute to play to us. Oh! play, sweet Prince. And, if I am too bold, Pardon, but play.