You could splice some of Romeo's speeches about Rosaline together
Madame Morrible: "So you take the chicken, now it must be a white chicken. The corpse can be any color. And that is the spell for lost luggage!" - The Yellow Brick Road Not Taken
The closest I can come up with is Richard III's monologue begging for Lady Anne's love, even though he killed her previous husband "but twas thy beauty set me on". The Lady is obviously reluctant.
I've only ever skimmed the script and seen a HS production, so I could be wrong (and I don't know if there's a proper monologue about it), but something with Orsino in Twelfth Night perhaps?
Yep, as for female monologues about unrequited love, there's Cressida from Troilus and Cressida... I believe it's in Act 3 somewhere. Starts off, "Hard to seem won, but I was won, my lord"
Yep, as for female monologues about unrequited love, there's Cressida from Troilus and Cressida... I believe it's in Act 3 somewhere. Starts off, "Hard to seem won, but I was won, my lord"
Um, that monologue isn't about unrequited love. It's about Cressida being worried about what would happen once she relents to Troilus's overtures.
I second whoever brought up Orsino in Twelfth Night.
There is a 3 minute speech in the Comedy of Errors where Antipholous of Syracuse confesses his love for Luciana in a funny and dopey way...its very cute because she continually turns him down and yet he is still infatuated with her.
ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE: Sweet mistress--what your name is else, I know not, Nor by what wonder you do hit of mine,-- Less in your knowledge and your grace you show not Than our earth's wonder, more than earth divine. Teach me, dear creature, how to think and speak; Lay open to my earthy-gross conceit, Smother'd in errors, feeble, shallow, weak, The folded meaning of your words' deceit. Against my soul's pure truth why labour you To make it wander in an unknown field? Are you a god? would you create me new? Transform me then, and to your power I'll yield. But if that I am I, then well I know Your weeping sister is no wife of mine, Nor to her bed no homage do I owe Far more, far more to you do I decline. O, train me not, sweet mermaid, with thy note, To drown me in thy sister's flood of tears: Sing, siren, for thyself and I will dote: Spread o'er the silver waves thy golden hairs, And as a bed I'll take them and there lie, And in that glorious supposition think He gains by death that hath such means to die: Let Love, being light, be drowned if she sink!