Shakespearean Nonsense

by B.Bolt, 10th
A noble warrior, stricken with grief, goes to meet his lady love in the gardens after nightfall. He has just learned she has been having an affair in the days leading up to their wedding, and he seeks to confront her.

Lady: What is thy reason for pursuing me mere? My heart is glad yet my mind warns me of thy demeanor. Have you some grievance I can assuade?

Warrior: Yea, a grievance plagues my thoughts of late. Tell me, dear heart, if a friend more dear to me than mine own cousin were to betray me, cast mine heart and mine pride into the dust, how wouldst thou have me repay them?

Lady: Why, my love, a great distress hath taken thy heart indeed to turn such a gentle soul as you to anger. From whence did this news fly, and wherefore didst thou come to me?

Warrior: The deed was betrayed by its own secrecy, unguarded from prying eyes and listening ears. Tell me, my love, my betrothed, tell me what mine response shall be!

Lady: If thou hath been wronged so as to abandon thy nature in favor of fury, shouldst thou not turn it toward the very man who wronged you? Challenge him, and learn of his motives. Yea, under the shadow of your mighty sword shall the truth be revealed.

Warrior: Yet I am trapped! Scorned would I be to draw my sword on such a maiden as you! Reveal to me the man who shared your bed last eve! Who shall I challenge if not you, the very soul who hath wronged me thus! Nay, I shall not draw my sword. Yet, why for this deed should I not kill you where you sit? Our marriage is advised by all, yet how can I profess my love for thou before them whilst thou did not see fit to save the same for me? Grief I feel, not anger. For the the love I have impressed unto you in word and deed was not false. Yet now I learn that thoust was a lie! Thy do not deny it, nay your lips remain sealed. Shall I take your silence, for penance, for remorse, or dost thy refrain from speaking for fear of exposing thy own guilt? Thus thy rip my heart from my very chest and crush the life from it with thy cold fist. With my grief confirmed I may as well die, for worth there is in living no more without thy love. Thou hath used me as a puppet is used by the jester, and my happiness is ripped away by slender strings. Thus I curse you, temptress, as I go to my death! Curse you, curse you and a thousand times curse you! Let it be known that my blood drips from your hands!