_[Aside]_ Yonder's she. What ever ail...

The Changeling

De Flores

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Text

[Aside] Yonder's she.

What ever ails me? Now alate especially

I can as well be hang'd as refrain seeing her;

Some twenty times a day, nay, not so little,

Do I force errands, frame ways and excuses

To come into her sight, and I have small reason for't,

And less encouragement; for she baits me still

Every time worse than other, does profess herself

The cruelest enemy to my face in town,

At no hand can abide the sight of me,

As if danger, or ill luck, hung in my looks.

I must confess my face is bad enough,

But I know far worse has better fortune,

And not endur'd alone, but doted on;

And yet such pick-hair'd faces, chins like witches',

Here and there five hairs whispering in a corner,

As if they grew in fear one of another,

Wrinkles like troughs, where swine deformity swills

The tears of perjury that lie there like wash,

Fallen from the slimy and dishonest eye.

Yet such a one [plucks] sweets without restraint,

And has the grace of beauty to his sweet.

Though my hard fate has thrust me out to servitude,

I tumbled into th' world a gentleman.

She turns her blessed eye upon me now,

And I'll endure all storms before I part with 't.

Thomas Middleton and William Rowley. The Changeling. http://www.tech.org/~cleary/change.html.

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