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| Character | Hipolito | |
|---|---|---|
| Gender | Male | |
| Age Range(s) | Young Adult (20-35), Adult (36-50) | |
| Type of monologue / Character is | Angry, Scolding, Persuasive, Descriptive, Mocking | |
| Type | Dramatic | |
| Year | 1604 | |
| Period | 17th Century | |
| Genre | Romance, Drama, Comedy | |
| Description | Hipolito scolds a prostitute about her profession | |
| Location | ACT II, Scene 1 | |
Summary
The play is set in Milan and has 3 main storylines. In the first the Duke of Milan has feigned his daughter Infelice's death so that she can end her relationship with Hipolito, who he detests since he is the son of an old enemy. Hipolito however, can't get over it, and finally when he learns of the set up by the Duke of Milan, he is reunited with Infelice and they get married.
Another storyline is about a prostitute, Bellafront, falling in love with Hipolito. She tries several times to seduce him but Hipolito scorns her and rejects her. She pretends to be mad and eventually helps Hipolito be reunited with Infelice.
In this scene we are in Bellafront's brothel. Matheo, a friend of Hipolito, has taken him to the brothel to ease his pain about Infelice. Hipolito, however, is too depressed and leaves. When he comes back to get his friend, Matheo is gone. Bellafront is very attracted to Hipolito and tries to seduce him. Hipolito rejects her and delivers this long nasty monologue about the evils of prostitution and how miserable he thinks she is because she works as a prostitute.
Another storyline is about a prostitute, Bellafront, falling in love with Hipolito. She tries several times to seduce him but Hipolito scorns her and rejects her. She pretends to be mad and eventually helps Hipolito be reunited with Infelice.
In this scene we are in Bellafront's brothel. Matheo, a friend of Hipolito, has taken him to the brothel to ease his pain about Infelice. Hipolito, however, is too depressed and leaves. When he comes back to get his friend, Matheo is gone. Bellafront is very attracted to Hipolito and tries to seduce him. Hipolito rejects her and delivers this long nasty monologue about the evils of prostitution and how miserable he thinks she is because she works as a prostitute.
Written by Administrator
| Excerpt |
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| HIPOLITO Methinks a toad is happier than a whore That with one poison swells; with thousands more The other stocks her veins. Harlot? Fie, fie! You are the miserablest creatures breathing, The very slaves of nature; mark me else: You put on rich attires, others' eyes wear them, You eat, but to supply your blood with sin, And this strange curse e'en haunts you to your graves. From fools you get, and spend it upon slaves. Like bears and apes, y'are baited and show tricks For money, but your bawd the sweetness licks. Indeed you are their journey-women, and do All base and damn'd works they list set you to, So that you ne'er are rich, for do but show me, In present memory or in ages past, The fairest and most famous courtesan Whose flesh was dear'st, that rais'd the price of sin And held it up, to whose intemperate bosom Princes, earls, lords, the worst has been a knight, The mean'st a gentleman, have off'red up Whole hecatombs of sighs, and rain'd in showers Handfuls of gold, yet for all this, at last Diseases suck'd her marrow, then grew so poor That she has begg'd, e'en at a beggar's door. And, wherein heav'n has a finger, when this idol From coast to coast has leapt on foreign shores, And had more worship than th' outlandish whores, When several nations have gone over her, When for each several city she has seen Her maidenhead has been new and been sold dear, Did live well there, and might have died unknown And undefam'd, back comes she to her own, And there both miserably lives and dies, Scorn'd even of those that once ador'd her eyes, As if her fatal-circled life thus ran: Her pride should end there where it first began. What, do you weep to hear your story read? Nay, if you spoil your cheeks, I'll read no more. [BELLAFRONT Oh, yes, I pray, proceed! Indeed, 'twill do me good to weep indeed.] HIPOLITO To give those tears a relish, this I add: Y'are like the Jews, scatter'd, in no place certain, Your days are tedious, your hours burdensome; And were 't not for full suppers, midnight revels, Dancing, wine, riotous meetings, which do drown And bury quite in you all virtuous thoughts, And on your eyelids hang so heavily They have no power to look so high as heaven, You'd sit and muse on nothing but despair. Curse that devil lust that so burns up your blood And in ten thousand shivers break your glass For his temptation! Say you taste delight, To have a golden gull from rise to set, To meet you in his hot luxurious arms, Yet your nights pay for all: I know you dream Of warrants, whips, and beadles, and then start At a door's windy creak, think every weasel To be a constable and every rat A long-tail'd officer. Are you now not slaves? Oh, you have damnation without pleasure for it! Such is the state of harlots. To conclude, When you are old and can well paint no more, You turn bawd, and are then worse than before. Make use of this; farewell. |
