Tara Lee Classical Monologue

Sir, spare your threats. The bug which you would fright me with I seek. To me, can life be no commodity? The crown and comfort of my life, your favour. I do give lust, for I do feel it gone, but no, not how it went. My second joy, from his presence, I am barred like one infectious. My third comfort, starred most unluckily, is from my breast. The innocent milk, in its most innocent mouth, hailed out to murder. Myself, on every post, proclaimed a strumpet. With immodest hatred, the childbed privilege denied, which longs to women of all fashions. Lastly, hurried here, to this place, in the open air, before I have got strength of limit. Now, my liege, tell me, what blessings I have here alive, that I should fear to die? Therefore, proceed. But no, no life. I prize it not a straw, but for mine honour, which I would free, if I shall be condemned upon surmises, all proofs sleeping else but what your jealousies awake. I tell you, tis rigour, and not law. Your honours all, I do refer me to the oracle. Apollo be my judge.