Monologue text
I yet beseech your majesty,— If for I want that glib and oily art, To speak and purpose not; since what I well intend, I'll do't before I speak,—that you make known It is no vicious blot, murder, or foulness, No unchaste action, or dishonour'd step, That hath deprived me of your grace and favour; But even for want of that for which I am richer, A still-soliciting eye, and such a tongue As I am glad I have not, though not to have it Hath lost me in your liking.
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