Sebastian Monologue (Twelfth Night)

This is the air; That is the glorious sun
This pearl she gave me, I do feel’t and see’t
And though ’tis wonder that enwraps me thus
Yet ’tis not madness. Where’s Antonio then
His counsel now might do me golden service
For though my soul disputes well with my sense
That this may be some error, but no madness
Yet doth this accident and flood of fortune
So far exceed all instance, all discourse
That I am ready to distrust mine eyes
And wrangle with my reason that persuades me
To any other trust but that I am mad-
Or else the lady’s mad. Yet if ’twere so
She could not sway her house, command her
Take and give back affairs and their dispatch
With such a smooth, discreet, and stable bearing
As I perceive she does. There’s something in’t
That is deceivable. But here the lady comes