Monologues ATAR Drama

Contents
1. A Midsummer Night’s Dream by William Shakespeare ......................................................................... 4
PUCK: ............................................................................................................................................................. 4
2. Accidental Death of an Anarchist by Dario Fo ....................................................................................... 6
MADMAN: ..................................................................................................................................................... 6
3. After Juliet by Sharman Macdonald ...................................................................................................... 8
ROSALINE: ...................................................................................................................................................... 8
4. All the intimacy by Rajiv Joseph ........................................................................................................... 10
JEN: .............................................................................................................................................................. 10
5. Amadeus by Peter Shaffer ................................................................................................................... 12
AMADEUS: ................................................................................................................................................... 12
6. Art, written by Yasmina Resa .............................................................................................................. 14
YVAN: ........................................................................................................................................................... 14
7. Away by Michael Gow ......................................................................................................................... 16
MEG: ............................................................................................................................................................ 16
8. Bald Prima Donna by Eugene Ionesco ................................................................................................. 17
FIRE CHIEF: ................................................................................................................................................... 17
9. Big Love................................................................................................................................................ 18
GIULIANO: .................................................................................................................................................... 18
10. Daylight Saving by Nick Enright ....................................................................................................... 19
STEPHANIE: .................................................................................................................................................. 19
11. Decadence by Stevem Berkoff ......................................................................................................... 20
HELEN: ......................................................................................................................................................... 20
12. Happy Days by Samuel Beckett ....................................................................................................... 22
WINNIE: ....................................................................................................................................................... 22
13. Image in the Clay by David Ireland .................................................................................................. 23
GORDON: ..................................................................................................................................................... 23
14. Ivanov by Anton Chekhov ................................................................................................................ 24
SASHA: ......................................................................................................................................................... 24
15. Jerusalem by Michael Gurr .............................................................................................................. 25
NINA: ........................................................................................................................................................... 25
16. Laughter on the 23rd Floor by Neil Simon ....................................................................................... 27
IRA STONE .................................................................................................................................................... 27
17. Les Dangerous Liasons by Christopher Hampton ............................................................................ 28
MARQUISE DE MERTEUIL: ........................................................................................................................... 28
18. Love, loss and what I wore by Nora and Delia Ephron .................................................................... 30
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ROSIE: .......................................................................................................................................................... 30
19. Mother Teresa is Dead by Helen Edmundsen .................................................................................. 31
JANE: ............................................................................................................................................................ 31
20. Noah by Andre Obey ........................................................................................................................ 32
NOAH: .......................................................................................................................................................... 32
21. Oedipus Rex by Sophocles................................................................................................................ 34
OEDIPUS:...................................................................................................................................................... 34
22. One Flew over the Cuckoo’s Nest by Daniel Mc Neill....................................................................... 35
RANDALL MCMURPHY: ................................................................................................................................ 35
23. One Man, Two Guvnors by Richard Bean ........................................................................................ 37
FRANCIS: ...................................................................................................................................................... 37
24. Punk Rock by Simon Stephens ......................................................................................................... 38
CHADWICK: .................................................................................................................................................. 38
25. Richard III by William Shakespeare ................................................................................................. 39
GLOUCESTER: ............................................................................................................................................... 39
26. Romeo and Juliet by William Shakespeare ...................................................................................... 41
NURSE .......................................................................................................................................................... 41
27. Ruben Guthrie by Brendan Cowell ................................................................................................... 43
RUBEN GUTHRIE: ......................................................................................................................................... 43
28. Saint Joan by George Bernard Shaw................................................................................................ 44
JOAN: ........................................................................................................................................................... 44
29. Secret Bridesmaid’s Business by Elizabeth Coleman ....................................................................... 45
COLLEEN: ..................................................................................................................................................... 45
30. Skylight by David Hare ..................................................................................................................... 46
KYRA: ........................................................................................................................................................... 46
31. The Caretaker by Harold Pinter ....................................................................................................... 48
MICK: ........................................................................................................................................................... 48
32. The Cherry Orchard by Anton Chekhov............................................................................................ 50
LOPAKHIN: ................................................................................................................................................... 50
33. The Christian Brothers by Ron Blair ................................................................................................. 51
THE CHRISTIAN BROTHER: ........................................................................................................................... 51
34. The Crucible by Arthur Millar ........................................................................................................... 53
MARY WARREN:........................................................................................................................................... 53
35. The Glass Menagerie by Tennessee Williams .................................................................................. 54
TOM: ............................................................................................................................................................ 54
36. The Good Father by Christian O’Reilly ............................................................................................. 55
TIM:.............................................................................................................................................................. 55
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37. The Merchant of Venice by William Shakespeare ........................................................................... 56
PORTIA: ........................................................................................................................................................ 56
38. The Merchant of Venice by William Shakespeare ........................................................................... 58
SHYLOCK: ..................................................................................................................................................... 58
39. The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde ..................................................................................... 59
DORIAN: ....................................................................................................................................................... 59
40. The Pillowman by Martin McDonagh .............................................................................................. 61
TUPOLSKI: .................................................................................................................................................... 61
41. The Positive Hour by April de Angelis .............................................................................................. 62
PAULA: ......................................................................................................................................................... 62
42. The Second Mrs Jacob Anderson by Ann Wuehler........................................................................... 64
MRS JACOBSON: .......................................................................................................................................... 64
43. The Stronger by August Strindberg.................................................................................................. 66
MME X: ........................................................................................................................................................ 66
44. Thebans, by Liz Lochhead ................................................................................................................ 67
ISMENE: ....................................................................................................................................................... 67
45. Top Girls by Caryl Churchill .............................................................................................................. 69
DULL GRET: .................................................................................................................................................. 69
46. Two Gentlemen of Verona by William Shakespeare ....................................................................... 70
LAUNCE: ....................................................................................................................................................... 70
47. Waking UP by Dario Fo and Franca Rame ....................................................................................... 72
CHARACTER: ................................................................................................................................................ 72
48. West by Steven Berkoff.................................................................................................................... 74
MIKE:............................................................................................................................................................ 74

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1. A Midsummer Night’s Dream by William Shakespeare

PUCK:

My mistress with a monster is in love.

Near to her close and consecrated bower,
While she was in her dull and sleeping hour,
A crew of patches, rude mechanicals
That work for bread upon Athenian stalls,
Were met together to rehearse a play
Intended for great Theseus' nuptial day.
The shallowest thickskin of that barren sort,
Who Pyramus presented, in their sport
Forsook his scene and entered in a brake,
When I did him at this advantage take.
An ass's nole I fixed on his head.
Anon his Thisbe must be answered,
And forth my mimic comes.
When they him spy - As wild geese that the creeping fowler eye,
Or russet-pated choughs, many in sort,
Rising and cawing at the gun's report,
Sever themselves and madly sweep the sky -
So at his sight away his fellows fly,
And at our stamp here o'er and o'er one falls.
He 'Murder!' cries, and help from Athens calls.
Their sense thus weak, lost with their fears thus strong,
Made senseless things begin to do them wrong.
For briars and thorns at their apparel snatch,

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Some sleeves, some hats. From yielders all things catch.

I led them on in this distracted fear,
And left sweet Pyramus translated there;
When in that moment - so it came to pass -
Titania waked, and straightway loved an ass.

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2. Accidental Death of an Anarchist by Dario Fo

MADMAN:

It is my dream to play a judge. But I’m too young. Maybe one day. Because theirs
is the best profession of all. At exactly the age when your average, common or
garden, ordinary man or woman in the street is being forced out to pasture, a
judge is well-groomed and galloping into his prime.

The office worker, fifty-five or sixty, he’s getting confused. He thinks the in-tray’s
the out-tray, forgets to send a memo and costs the company a couple of
hundred. Give him a clock, a roll of notes, get him pissed, bye, bye.

The factory worker. She’s been on the same part of the assembly line for years.
Suddenly all changes. Everything’s computerised and all she has to do is press a
few buttons and watch a screen. Her eyes hurt, she can’t cope. Get someone
younger and cheaper in. ‘Never mind darling, at least you’ll have more time to
look after your old man.’

The docker, the miner, the steel-worker – you name it. Body winding down.
Tired, sore and slow. Light duties for a while, then the scrap-heap.

And the judge, half-blind, half-crippled, half-senile. Give him a knighthood, a rise
in salary and put him in charge of a commission that’s going to affect the lives of
millions of people. You see old men like peeling cardboard cut-outs, dolled up
with insignia, ermine capes, outsize white brillo pads on their heads, looking like
pints of of luke-warm Guinness, suet-faced, wearing two pairs of glasses on little
chains, otherwise they’d lose them. These national treasures exercise a power to
destroy or save us with less deliberation than they choose with Chablis to
accompany their fish.

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‘Thirty years for you…twenty years for you…suspended sentence for you
because she was obviously asking for it in that skirt. Six months in an open
prison for you because you used to work for Guinness.’ They dictate, legislate,
sentence, decree. They are sacred, like royalty. Oh yes, I’d love to play that part.
One day I will sit in judgment . ‘Silence in court. All rise. Oh, Your Honour, you’ve
dropped something. Is this your arse?’ ‘Thank you, young man. I need that to
talk through.’

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3. After Juliet by Sharman Macdonald

ROSALINE:

Your spirit haunts me, Juliet.

I see more of you dead
Than I did when you were alive;.. .
We were hardly close as cousins.
You were too small, too pretty, too rich,
Too thin and too much loved for me to cope with.
'Spoilt' is the word that springs to mind
Though I don't want to speak ill of the dead.
All a flower does is wither
It's the memories that stay for ever: So they tell me.
So what do I recall of you?
Juliet, daddy's princess, rich,
Mummy's darling, quite a bitch.
You scratched my face once,
From here to here;
I have the scar. I have it yet.
You can see it quite clearly
In the sunlight;
A silver line.
You wanted my favourite doll.
And of course you got it.
For though I was scarred, you cried.
And your nurse swooped down
And took the moppet from me.

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Spanked me hard for making you unhappy;

Gave my doll to you, her dearest baby.
Later you stole my best friend;
Wooed her with whispers;
Told her gossip's secrets;
Gave her trinkets, sweetmeats.
Later still, you took my love
And didn't know you'd done it;
Then having taken him
You let him die ...
Daddy's princess could not die.
She would be there at her own funeral
To watch the tears flow
And hear her praises sung.
So you haunt me ...
Here. This is the last flower
You'll get from me.
Death flowers have the sweetest scent.
That's that bit done.

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4. All the intimacy by Rajiv Joseph

JEN:

Ty...l wasn't going to bring this up today, but seeing as you have laryngitis, I
figured this might be the best time to have this conversation. Because any
inclination you might have to interrupt me, well, that just won't be possible
because you can't speak. Ha. Oh well. (TY gets up, pulls out a notebook, pen, and
scribbles on a page.)

Okay, okay. ..Just sit still for a second and let me speak before you start to
scribbling away like a madman, jeez! I knew you'd do this or something, just sit
and let me say my peace! (JEN reads what he wrote.)

Look, I know it is, but I kind of have to seize the moment here. Whenever we talk
you always talk me out, you put words in my mouth. (TY writes again and shows
the page. JEN reads.)

No! That's NOT what I mean! (TY hits himself in the face with the notebook.)

Listen. (TY gestures sarcastically.)

Okay. Ty. (Beat)

So. As you know. As we both well know...there has never been a time in my life,
really ever, when I haven't been, you know...in school. And I know I'm always
saying this, okay?

Let me finish! (JEN reads the notebook. TY scrawls something brief. She reads.)

You know I don't like that word, and it's rude. (He scrawls anther word,
seemingly profane.)

Nice. Thank you. Shut up.

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Okay! God! I can't believe you have laryngitis and you're still interrupting me!
Constantly! (TY scrawls. JEN does not read.)

Look, I'm going to talk and you can listen or you can not listen, but here it is.
When it comes to figuring out what to do with my life, I've been seriously
claustrophobic. Because choosing things narrows down your life, it limits you
and it freaks me out. I'm not kidding. Every time you make a decision, you
narrow your life more and more...l meant that's what you're supposed to do! It's
about carving out an identity before you get old and die! (TV scrawls.)

No. NO! I don't want sushi! I'm not staying for dinner! (TV scrawls.)

BREAK UP, Okay? BREAK. UP. Me. Break Up. With You. How about that! Oh, but
this has never happened to Ty Greene before because he's too smooth a talker
and no one can ever get two words in—(Ty scrawls.)

I'm not going to read your shit!

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5. Amadeus by Peter Shaffer

AMADEUS:

I don't understand you! You're all up on perches but it doesn't hide your
arseholes! You don't give a shit about gods and heroes! If you're honest - each
one of you - which of you isn't more at home with his hairdress than
Hercules? Or Horatius? Or your stupid Danaius come to that! Or mine -
mine! Idomeneo, King of Crete! All those anguished antiques are all
bores! Bores, bores, bores!

All serious operas written this century are boring! (laughs vigorously) Look at
us! Four gaping mouths. What a perfect quartet! I'd love to write it - just this
second in time, this now, as you are! Herr Chamberlin thinking 'Impertinent
Mozart: I must speak to the emperor at once!' Herr Prefect thinking 'Ignorant
Mozart: debasing opera with his vulgarity!' Herr Court Composer thinking
'German Mozart: what can he finally know about music?' And Herr Mozart
himself, in the middle, thinking I'm just a good fellow. Why do they all
disapprove of me?'
That's why opera is important, Baron. Because it's realer than a play! A
dramatic poet would have to put all those thoughts down one after another just
to represent this second of time. The composer can put them all down at once -
and still make us hear each one of them. Astonishing device: a Vocal Quartet!
....I tell you I want to write a finale lasting half an hour! A quartet becoming a
quintet becoming sextet. On and on, wider and wider - all sounds multiplying
and rising together - and all together creating a sound entirely new!
....

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I bet you that's how God hears the world: millions of sounds ascending at once
and mixing in His ear to become an unending music, unimaginable to us! That's
our job! That's our job, we composers: to combine the inner minds of him and
him and him and her and her - the thoughts of chambermaids and Court
Composers - and turn the audience into God. (blows a raspberry and giggles) I'm
sorry. I talk nonsense all day: it's incurable - ask Stanzerl. My tongue is stupid
Baron. My heart isn't.

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6. Art, written by Yasmina Resa

YVAN:

So, a crisis, insoluble problem, major crisis, both step-mothers want their names
on the wedding invitation. Catherine adores her step-mother, who more or less
brought her up, she wants her name on the invitation, she wants it and her step-
mother is not anticipating, which is understandable, since the mother is dead,
not appearing next to Catherine's father, whereas my step-mother, whom I
detest, it's out of the question her name should appear on the invitation, but my
father won't have his name on it if hers isn't, unless Catherine's step-mother's is
left off, which is completely unacceptable, I suggested none of the parents'
names should be on it, after all we're not adolescents, we can announce our
wedding and invite people ourselves, so Catherine screamed her head off,
arguing that would be a slap in the face for her parents who were paying
through the nose for the reception, and particularly for her step-mother, who's
gone to so much trouble when she isn't even her daughter and I finally let myself
be persuaded, totally against my better judgement, because she wore me down,
I finally agreed that my step-mother, whom I detest, who's a complete bitch, will
have her name on the invitation, so I telephoned my mother to warn her,
mother, I said, I've done everything I can to avoid this, but we have absolutely
no choice, Yvonnes's name has to be on this invitation, she said, if Yvonne's
name is on the invitation, take mine off, mother, I said, please, I beg you, don't
make things even more difficult, and she said, how dare you suggest my name is
left to float around on the card on its own, and if I was some abandoned woman,
below Yvonne, who'll be clamped on to your father's surname, like a limpet, I
said to her, mother, I have friends waiting for me, I'm going to hang up and we'll
discuss all this tomorrow after a good night's sleep, she said, why it is I'm always

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an afterthought, what are you talking about, mother, you're not always an
afterthought, of course I am and when you say don't make things even more
difficult, what you mean is, everything's already been decided, everything's been
organized without me, everything's been cooked up behind my back, she'll
agree to anything and all this, she said- to put the old tin lid on it- in aid of an
event, the importance of which I'm having some trouble grasping, mother, I
have friends waiting for me, that's right, there's always something better to do,
anything's more important than I am, good-bye and she hung up, Catherine, who
was next to me, but who hadn't heard her side of the conversation, said, what
did she say, I said, she doesn't want her name on the invitation with Yvonne.

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7. Away by Michael Gow

MEG:

I saw the carton. I saw it in the hall. I saw it. It was near the telephone table,
wasn't it? You saw it too, didn't you? You saw the box sitting there.
You must have it. It was sitting next to your vanity case.
Everything else that was in the hall got packed in the car. You did see it.
You were the last one out. You're the one who shuts the door, after you've
made sure the stove's off and the fridge has been left open. You saw the carton
and you left it there on purpose. You left it behind.
And you knew what it was. You knew what was in it and you left it there.
Why did you do that?
Why would you do a thing like that? I want to know why you did it.
Tell me why you deliberately left that box behind.
We have a game we play every year. We sneak presents home, we hide them,
we wrap them up in secret even thought we can hear the sticky tape tearing and
the paper rustling; we hide them in the stuff we take away, we pretend not to
see them until christmas morning even when we know they're there and we
know what's in them because we've already put in our orders so there's no
waste or surprise. And Dad always hides his in a pathetic place that's so obvious
it's a joke and we laugh at him behind our backs but we play along! You knew
what was in that box. You left it behind. I want to know why.
What were you trying to do, what did you want to gain?
Did you want to have something we'd all have to be sorry for the whole
holiday? There's always something we do wrong that takes you weeks to
forgive.
You have to tell me.

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8. Bald Prima Donna by Eugene Ionesco

FIRE CHIEF:

My brother-in law had, on the paternal side, a first cousin whose maternal
uncle had a father-in-law whose paternal grandfather had married as his
second wife a young native whose brother he had met on one of his travels,
a girl of whom he was enamoured and by whom he had a son who married
an intrepid lady pharmacist who was none other than the niece of an
unknown fourth-class petty officer of the Royal Navy and whose adopted
father had an aunt who spoke Spanish fluently and who was, perhaps, one of
the granddaughters of an engineer who died young, himself the grandson of
the owner of a vineyard which produced mediocre wine, but who had a
second cousin, a stay-at-home, a sergeant-major, whose son had married a
very pretty young woman, a divorcee, whose first husband was the son of a
loyal patriot who, in the hope of making his fortune, had managed to bring
up one of his daughters so that she could marry a footman who had known
Rothschild, and whose brother, after having changed his trade several times,
married and had a daughter whose stunted great-grandfather wore
spectacles which had been given him by a cousin of his, the brother-in-law of
a man from Portugal, natural son of a miller, not too badly off, whose foster-
brother had married the daughter of a former country doctor, who was
himself a foster-brother of the son of a forester, himself the natural son of
another country doctor, married three times in a row, whose third wife…

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9. Big Love
GIULIANO:

I knew a man once so kind and generous. I was a boy

I was on a train going to Brindisi and he said, I'm going to marry you.

He asked how far I was going.

To Rome, I said. No, no, he said, you can't get off so soon, you need to go with
me to Bologna. He wouldn't hear of my getting off in Rome or he would get off,
too, and meet my family. He gave me a pocket watch and a silk scarf and a little
statue of a saint he had picked up in Morocco. He quoted Dante to me and sang
bits of Verdi and Puccini. He was trying everything he knew to make me laugh
and enjoy myself.

But, finally, he seemed so insistent that I grew frightened of him. He never

touched me, but he made me promise, finally, that I would come to Bologna in
two weeks time after I had seen my family. I promised him, because I thought he
might not let me get off the train unless I promised.

He gave me his address, which of course I threw away, and I gave a false address
to him. And when I got off the train, I saw that he was weeping. And I've often
thought, oh, well, maybe he really did love me maybe that was my chance and I
ran away from it because

I didn't know it at the time.

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10. Daylight Saving by Nick Enright

STEPHANIE:
You know what that bastard has done to me now? Yes I know. I know you said,
"Take it easy steph, go easy with this one". But I thought, no, this is the one,
Brendan's the one. I mean, Brendan, that should have been the giveaway, even
if I'd missed the Miraculous Medal on the dashboard. But there he was, this
vital, vibrant, caring man, who took three months to tell me his marriage was a
sacrament, so even though he couldn't live without me, he couldn't live with me.
Well, I could live with that, right? I could live with anything. Until tonight. I could
live with the guilt, and the clock-watching, and the quick dash for the door to
make it home before Bernadette gets back from her Ecumenical Tae Kwon Do
group. I could live with being stood up for a Pentecostal Bushwalk. I can live with
Brendan and Bernadette, I mean not live with Brendan because of Bernadette...
well, because of Brendan, the gutless little Mick turd. I can live with anything but
this. You know what he's done, Fliss? You know what Brendan has done? He has
given me up for Lent. You know I did think Brendan was it. Intelligent, sensitive,
no police record. And after all the ratbags that have come my way. I mean, Ken
Willis. You knew Ken. (Pause) You don't know anyone do you? (She takes
'another oyster) Sergei was the full Slav bit. Dirty collar, dirty fingernails, straight
Stolichnaya -for breakfast, the full bit. Black bread and long card games and lots
of crying. I was in heaven. Then this old lady turns up looking for Sid. Sid Nichols.
It's his Mum from Toukley. His Auntie Iris has died and left him a milk-bar at The
Entrance. So he goes off to run the milk-bar at The Entrance. Das Vedanya, Sid.
He was the first. But it's not as though I haven't learned. I've learned to look for
integrity, sanity and balance. I haven't found them. I've found Ken Willis, the
professional cheque bouncer. Frank Snedden, who brought the poker machine
to Fiji. And now Brendan Kennelly, who has given me up for Lent.

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11. Decadence by Stevem Berkoff

HELEN:

How sweet of you to come on time/bastard! Sweet

darling! my you do look so divine. I’ve been so bored/have a
drink/what . . . ?/Of course! a Drambuie with soda and a
splash of Cinzano . . . with masses of ice/I’ve been so bored
tearing round to find just what would enchant you to eat me
for breakfast (Raising skirt.) charmant riest-ce pas/does it
make you go all gooey/does it send spasms up and down your
spine/enough ice! sweety you do look nice. Do you like my
legs?/aren’t my frillies sweet/does it make you get just a little
on heat/kiss me/gently/don’t smudge now/just a touch/a
graze won’t be a trice/I’ll get ready/so late I couldn’t find a
fucking taxi/oh I hate to miss the first scene the first
embrace/what’s that we’re seeing/the name of the play!/taxis
were thin on the ground/outside Harrods there were none
around/I stretched out an arm/I felt like Moses/what did he
do/raise his arms to heaven for the Hebrews/the longer he
kept his arm in the air the better would his armies fare, but
when it fell wearily down/bloody nosed moishers and crunch
smash and pound/you’ve not said a word/but you do look
dishy/a bird in the ice floes/or chilled meringue frappe/you
look simply gay/got a fag . . . hmm! Smoke gets in your
eyes! Shit! Oh sorry/tit! Ready heart? Where for dinner
after/surprise me then, give me a thrill/so long as I gorge on
some juicy meat/I’m as hungry as a vampire/if I don’t eat

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soon I’ll simply expire/did you have a nice day/little wife all
safe and tucked away/come open your mouth and dazzle my
ears/come love . . . /you look troubled/close to tears/what
have I done . . . shit . . . you look bad/what’s the matter
hone(y)?

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12. Happy Days by Samuel Beckett

WINNIE:

Ah yes, if only I could bear to be alone, I mean prattle away with not a soul to
hear. Not that I flatter myself you hear much, no Willie, God forbid.
Days perhaps when you hear nothing. But days too when you answer.
So that I may say at all times (even when you do not answer and perhaps hear
nothing) something of this is being heard. I am not merely talking to myself.
That is, in the wilderness. Something I could never bear to do – for any length of
time. That is what enables me to go on, go on talking that is.
Whereas, if you were to die – or go away and leave me, then what would I do,
what could I do all day long? Simply gaze before me with compressed lips.
Or a brief… gale of laughter, should I happen to see the old joke again.
This is going to be a happy day! Another happy day.
What now? Words fail. There are times when even they fail.
Is that not so, Willie, that even words fail at times?
What is one to do then until they come again? Brush and comb the hair if it has
not been done, or trim the nails if they are in need of trimming.
These things tide one over.
Bless you, Willie. Just to know that in theory you can hear me, even though in
fact you don’t is all I need. Not to say anything I would not wish you to hear or
liable to cause you pain. Not to be just babbling away on trust, as it were, not
knowing, and something gnawing at me. Doubt. Here. Abouts.
There is of course the bag. There will always be the bag. Even when you are
gone.

The day is now well advanced.

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13. Image in the Clay by David Ireland

GORDON:

Who'd go to a black doctor?...And would I get any promotion in those jobs I

had? Not on your bloody life! They think I'm just a little bit simple. Ought to be
home playing a digeridoo. I've never seen a didgeridoo. I couldn't throw a
boomerang. I couldn't stand still for two hours on a rock and spear a fish...They
think I'm straight from the dead heart of the country. Primitive man! Keep him
away from the women and kids! I'll tell you where the dead heart of Australia is!
Ifs right back there in the city! Not out in the sand and the mulga and the stones
burning hot under the sun and smoke going straight up into the sky like a spear
at sunset. It's in the big blackness under the neon signs. It's back there in the
forest of elbows—elbows shoving you out of the way and pressing on your ribs
so you can't breathe, and the nice polished shoes to kick if you get in the
way...Anyway, they wouldn't have me working as a boss over white boys; I'd just
be the crap round the place. I couldn't even ask anyone of for a beer, let alone
stop by on Friday nights with the boys. All I could do was take a bit of grog
"home"—and get tossed out for drinking on the premises...You take my advice,
all of you, and go with the old bloke. Go and work in the mill; work somewhere,
because you're either going to work or get put in pens for foreigners and city
people to come and look at like animals in a cage—"the most primitive
aboriginals on earth, watch them eat witchetty grubs". The only other thing you
can do is let 'em keep you on the move. And all because there's no room for us
in our own country? We're just like New Australians here. But there's the point.
It's not our own country any more.

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14. Ivanov by Anton Chekhov

SASHA:

What did you do it for? What did you insult him for? My friends, please make
him tell me what he did it for!... Well, what do you want to say? That you’re an
honest man? All the world knows that! I’d rather you told me whether you
understand yourself, or whether you don’t. You just came in here now and
hurled a shocking insult at him which nearly lolled me - you did that as an honest
man; before that you’d been pursuing him like a shadow and interfering with his
life, and, of course, you did that too in the certainty that you were fulfilling your
duty, that you were an honest man. You meddled with his private life, you
slandered and ran him down whenever you could; you bombarded me and all
my friends with anonymous letters - and all the time you were doing it you
thought of yourself as an honest man. Yes, Doctor, you thought it was honest
not even to spare his sick wife, to keep on worrying her with your suspicions.
And whatever you may do in the future - acts of violence, or cruelty, or
meanness - you’ll still think yourself an extraordinarily honest and high-minded
person! ... So just think that over: do you understand yourself, or don’t you?
Stupid, heartless creatures! (Takes Ivanov's hand.) Let us go from here, Nikolai!
Father, come!

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15. Jerusalem by Michael Gurr

NINA:

And what is that idea? That everyone gets the disease they deserve? Yes, I am
interested in it. And I'm particularly interested in the fact that you never hear it
from the parents of a child born with its brain hanging out of its head. Karma?
What goes around comes around? There's something very nasty hiding in the
idea of karma. It's another way of not thinking. People get what they deserve?
Sounds like the Liberal Party with a joint in its mouth.

Beat.

All bad deeds are accounted for? Really? In my experience there are great
numbers of very bad people leading very happy lives. It's a pretty false comfort,
wouldn't you say, to think they'll all get a spank in Hell. To think they'll all come
back as a piece of dogshit.

Beat.

Surely the point is what we do now. Who we become, how we behave. To leave
all the judgement up to God or the karmic compost— that's a terrible
impotence, isn't it? Adults, grown men and women, with a dummy in the mouth.
And look closely at this, Malcolm, look at the people who glue themselves to
these ideas. For the happy and healthy these ideas are a way of feeling smug.
Fifty cents in the poor box and the knowledge that the poor will always be with
us. And those who actually suffer? What are they saying? I am suffering because
God wants me to? I think of those American slave songs, so uplifting, and I want
to be sick. In my training they take you around the wards. There was a woman,
both breasts long gone into the hospital incinerator. She tried to hold my gaze

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while the sutures were taken out. Until the hospital chaplain came sliding across
the Iino. And her pale fierce eyes slid him right back through the curtain.

Beat.

You see, I don't believe that justice is something you light a candle for. It's just
the way you behave.

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16. Laughter on the 23rd Floor by Neil Simon

IRA STONE

IRA. (Holds his chest.) I can't breathe.I can't catch my breath. I think it's a
heart attack. It could be a stroke. Don't panic, just do what I tell you. (HE sits
with his coat on. HE talks breathlessly.) Call Columbia Presbyterian Hospital.
Ask for Dr. Milton Bruckman. Tell him I got a sharp stabbing pain down my
left arm, across my chest, down my back into my left leg.

If he's in surgery, call Dr. Frank Banzerini at St. John's Hospital, sixth floor,
Cardiology. Tell him I suddenly got this burning sensation in my stomach. At
first I thought it was breakfast. I had smoked salmon. It was still smoking. It
didn't feel right going down. If his line is busy, call the Clayton and Marcus
Pharmacy on 72nd and Madison. Ask for Al. Tell him I need a refill on my
prescription from Dr. Schneider. I can't remember the drug. Zodioprotozoc.
No. Vasco something. Vasco da Dama, what the hell was it? I can't get air to
my brain ... This scarf is choking me, get it off my neck. (HE pulls it off,
throws it away. NO ONE has moved. THEY've all been through this before.)
Don't call my wife ... No, maybe you should call her. But don't tell her it's a
stroke. If she thinks it's a stroke, she'll call my mother. I have no time to talk
to my mother, she drives me crazy. (HE begins to hyperventilate and wheeze,
looking to the others who just stare.) This could be it, I swear to God. (HE still
wheezes, then looks at Brian.) Why are you just sitting there? What the hell
are you waiting for? (HE gets up.) You think this is a joke? You think this is
funny? You think I would walk in here with a pain so bad, I- wait a minute!
(HE holds his chest.) Wait a minute! ... Hold it! Wait a minute! (HE doesn't
move.) Ohhh. OHilli ... I just passed gas! Thank God! I thought it was all over
for me. Whoo.
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17. Les Dangerous Liasons by Christopher Hampton

MARQUISE DE MERTEUIL:

Well, I had no choice, did I, I’m a woman. Women are obliged to be far more
skilful than men because whoever wastes time cultivating inessential skills? You
think we put as much ingenuity into winning us as we put into losing: well, it’s
debatable, I suppose, but from then on, you hold every ace in the pack. You can
ruin us whenever the fancy takes you: all we can achieve by denouncing you is to
enhance your prestige. We can’t even get rid of you when we want to: we’re
compelled to unstitch, painstakingly, what you would just cut through. We
either have to devise some way of making you want to leave us, so you’ll feel
too guilty to harm us; or find a reliable means of blackmail: otherwise you can
destroy our reputation and our life with a few well-chosen words. So, of course, I
had to invent: not only myself, but ways of escape no one else has ever thought
of, not even I because I had to be fast enough on my feet to know how to
improvise. And I’ve succeeded, because I always knew I was born to dominate
your sex and avenge my own.

When I came out into society, I’d already realized that the role I was condemned
to, namely to keep quiet and do as I was told, gave me the perfect opportunity
to listen and pay attention: not to what people told me, which was naturally of
no interest, but to whatever it was they were trying to hide. I practiced
detachment. I learned how to smile pleasantly while, under the table, I stuck a
fork into the back of my hand. I became not merely impenetrable, but a virtuoso
of deceit. Needless to say, at that stage nobody told me anything: and it wasn’t
pleasure I was after, it was knowledge. But when, in the interests of furthering
that knowledge, I told my confessor I’d done “everything”, his reaction was so
appalled, I began to get a sense of how extreme pleasure might be. No sooner
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had I made this discovery than my mother announced my marriage: so I was

able to contain my curiosity and arrived in Monsieur de MerteuiI’s arms a virgin.

All in all, Merteuil gave me little cause for complaint: and the minute I began to
find him something of a nuisance, he very tactfully died. I used my year of
mourning to complete my studies: I consulted the strictest moralists to learn
how to appear; philosophers to find out what to think; and novelists to see what
I could get away with. And finally I was well placed to perfect my techniques.

Only flirt with those you intend to refuse: then you acquire a reputation for
invincibility, whilst slipping safely away with the lover of your choice. A poor
choice is less dangerous tun an obvious choice. Never write letters. Get them to
write letters. Always be sure they think they’re the only one. Win or die. Always
And in the end I distilled everything o one wonderfully simple principle, win or
die.

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18. Love, loss and what I wore by Nora and Delia Ephron
ROSIE:

The truth is, I have no fashion sense - never did. For many years I blamed this on
my mom's death. Then again, I blame pretty much everything on that, my
weight, my addiction to television, my inability to spell. In my fantasy world, had
my mother lived, I would be extremely well dressed. I would know what went
with what, and everything I tried on would fit. Mom and I would shop together
at the places that moms and daughters go - a department store, an outlet mall,
the flea market. I would wear a lot of tasteful make-up too. We would lunch
someplace while shopping. It would be at a café where we would have salad and
like it. We'd laugh about how great our lives turned out and make plans for the
things we were still going to do. But that's all a dream, because my mother did
not live. She died when she was 39 years old. (Beat) The fact is that no item of
clothing has ever moved me in any way - except one. After my mom died, my
father took his five motherless children to Belfast, Northern Ireland. I guess he
thought we could best recover from the trauma of her death by living in a war
zone. The IRA was nowhere near as scary as what had just happened to our lives.
When we returned, we found her side of the closet empty. All her clothes were
gone. (Beat) A few years later my dad got remarried to a lovely woman. She was
a schoolteacher named Mary May. After the wedding she moved in. That first
morning she was there, I was eating breakfast with a few of my siblings when my
new stepmom walked down the stairs and into the kitchen. She was wearing a
long burgundy velour three quarter sleeve zip bathrobe with a thick vertical
white stripe down the center, surrounding the zipper. No one said a word. My
mother had had the same exact bathrobe - in blue. Electric blue. (Beat) To this
day that bathrobe is the only piece of clothing I can actually see in my mind.

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19. Mother Teresa is Dead by Helen Edmundsen

JANE:

The woman, in the shantytown, with the thin baby. I gave her my passport and
my keys and my rings, and she gave me her baby. And it tucked itself into my
neck, like a tiny bat. And I started to walk. I walked and walked to find a safe
place for the baby, because I have to take care of this baby. It's dark, ifs night
and now there are people following me. And so I walk faster, and I almost drop
the baby, and so I put it in my bag to keep it safe. And I run. And I reach a shore.
It is the sea. And now I can see them. They're coming from the darkness. They're
boys. They're only boys. Each one's older than the one before. They're begging
from me - "Medam, Medam." They start to touch me, tugging at my sleeves, just
touching, slightly - "Medam, Medam." "I can't," I say, "I've got nothing."
"Medam, Medam," they tap their mouths, and point down into their throats.
Their throats are like caves. They pull at me now - "Medam, Medam." I lift the
bag above my head to keep the baby safe. I'm panicking - "I've got nothing."
They love it, my fear, ifs thrilling them. The youngest one's on the ground, he's
got his hands around my legs, "Medam, Medam." I drag him, with every step I
drag him along the sand. I try to get his fingers off my ankles, but they're so
strong, they're strong with need. "Get off me. Get off me." Then I free my leg,
my leg's free and I kick, I kick him in the head. I kick. His fingers come off me. He
falls back. There's nothing. There's shock. And then he sits up and rubs his head,
like he's in a cartoon, and they boys laugh and laugh, and I run. And when I stop,
ifs almost light and I'm in a square. And I sit down on the ground, the stone
ground, and I open up the bag and reach inside for the baby... the baby... but ifs
dead. Ifs dry, and hard, and flat. Ifs dead.

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20. Noah by Andre Obey

NOAH:

{softly). Lord—{Louder.) Lord—{Very loud.) Lord.

—Yes, Lord, it’s me. Terribly sorry to bother you again, but—What? Yes, I know
you’ve other things to think of, but after I’ve shoved off, won’t it be a little late?
Oh, no, Lord, no, no, no—Now, Lord, please don’t think that—Oh, but look, of
course I trust you! You could tell me to set sail on a plank—on a branch—on just
a cabbage leaf. Why, you could tell
me to put out to sea with nothing but my loincloth, even without my loincloth—
completely—Yes, yes, I beg your pardon. Your time is precious. Well, this
is all I wanted to ask: Should I make a rudder? I say, a rudder—No, no. R as in
Robert; U as in Hubert; D as in—That’s it, a rudder. Ah, good—very good, very
good. The winds, the current, the tides—What was that, Lord? The tempests?
Oh, and while I have
you, one other little question—Are you listening, Lord? Gone! He’s in a temper—
Well, you can’t blame Him; He has so much to think of. All right; no rudder. (He
considers the ark.) The tides, the currents, the winds. (He imitates the winds.)
Psch!—Psch!—The tempests. (He imitates the tempests.) Vloum! Ba da
bloum!—That’s going to be something—(He makes a
quick movement.)—No, no, Lord, I’m not afraid. I know that you’ll be with me. I
was just trying to imagine—Oh, Lord, while you’re there I’d like to ask—(To the
audience.) Chk! Gone again. You see how careful you have to be. (He laughs.) He
was listening all the time. Tempests—I’m going to put a few more nails in down
here. (He hammers and sings.)
When the boat goes well, all goes well. When all goes well, the boat goes well.
(He admires his work.) And when I think that a year ago I couldn’t hammer a tack

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without mashing a nail.

That’s pretty good, if I do say so myself. (He climbs aboard the ark and stands
there like a captain.) Larboard and starboard!—Cast off!—Close the portholes!
—’Ware shoals!—Wait till the squall’s over—Good!— Fine! Now I’m ready,
completely ready, super-ready!
(He cries to heaven.) I am ready! (Then quietly.) There. I’d like to know how this
business is going to begin. (He looks all around, at the trees, the bushes, and the
sky.) The weather is magnificent; the heat—oppressive, and there’s not a sign of
a cloud. Well, that part of
the program is His affair.

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21. Oedipus Rex by Sophocles

OEDIPUS:

Oedipus Rex by Sophocles OEDIPUS: I care not for thy counsel or thy praise; For
with what eyes could I have e'er beheld My honoured father in the shades
below, Or my unhappy mother, both destroyed By me? This punishment is
worse than death, And so it should be. Sweet had been the sight Of my dear
children--them I could have wished To gaze upon; but I must never see Or them,
or this fair city, or the palace Where I was born. Deprived of every bliss By my
own lips, which doomed to banishment The murderer of Laius, and expelled The
impious wretch, by gods and men accursed: Could I behold them after this? Oh
no! Would I could now with equal ease remove My hearing too, be deaf as well
as blind, And from another entrance shut out woe! To want our senses, in the
hour of ill, Is comfort to the wretched. O Cithaeron! Why didst thou e'er receive
me, or received, Why not destroy, that men might never know Who gave me
birth? O Polybus! O Corinth! And thou, long time believed my father's palace,
Oh! what a foul disgrace to human nature Didst thou receive beneath a prince's
form! Impious myself, and from an impious race. Where is my splendour now?

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22. One Flew over the Cuckoo’s Nest by Daniel Mc Neill

RANDALL MCMURPHY:
All right. All I need is one vote, right? Right?

Okay.

Want to watch the World Series? Come on in pal, this could be a big moment
for you. Now you want to watch a baseball game? You want to watch
baseball? Just raise that hand up. Just raise the hand

– What do you say?

Sorry.

Bancini, old horse. What do you say-You want to watch the ball game on TV?
Huh? Want to watch the ball game? Baseball? World Series? What do you say,
pal?

You're tired? Just raise your hand up, Bancini. Watch the ball game, huh?

Okay. All right. –

What about you, pal? All we need's one vote. Just one vote. Just your one
vote. That's all we need. Just raise your hand up

(Patient 3 walks away)

and your buddies can watch the baseball game.

(McMurphy approaches patient 4 who is tied to wall, and scary looking. Sighs,
and walks of.)

General, you remember, don't you? October, the banner, the starspang ...
"Oh, say can you ... " The World Series. Raise your hand up, Gen. "By the
dawns early ... " Just raise your hand up. "So ... "-

(Patient 5 dances by, catching McMurphy's attention)

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What about you pal, huh? Want to watch the ball game? Want to watch the
ball game, huh? Just one vote. Just raise your ...

For Christ's sake, isn't there one of you fucking maniacs ... that knows what
I'm talking about?

Ah?

Alright just wait a minute, will you? Just one minute?

Alright, Chief ... you're our last chance. What do you say? Huh? Just raise your
hand up. That's all we need from you today, Chief. Just raise your hand up one
time. Show her that you can do it. Just show her that you can still do it. Just
raise your hand up. All the guys have got them up. Just raise your hand up,
Chief. Will you? Huh? (sigh)

(Chief raises his hand)

Come on, there's got to be one guy here that's not a total fucking nut! Chief!
The Chief! AHHH! CHIEEF (running back to Nurse Ratched)

Nurse Ratched? Nurse Ratched, look! Look. The Chief put his hand up. The
Chief put his hand up. Look, he voted. Would you please turn the television
set on? The Chief has got his hand up, right there. (Nurse Ratched slides glass
window of office open)

The Chief voted. Now ... will you please turn the television set on?

But the vote was ten to eight. The Chief, he's got his hand up! Look!

Ah Come on, you're not going to say that now! You're not going to say that
now! You're going to pull that henhouse shit, now, when the vote ... The Chief
just voted! It was ten to nine! I want that television set turned on! Right now!

(Mac walks off. Nurse Ratched closes sliding door of office. Mac bangs chair on floor)

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23. One Man, Two Guvnors by Richard Bean

FRANCIS:

My father, Tommy Henshall, God rest his soul, he woulda been proud of me,
what I done with my life, until today. I used to play washboard in a skiffle band,
but they went to see the Beatles last Tuesday night, and sacked me Wednesday
morning. Ironic, because I started the Beatles. I saw them in Hamburg. Rubbish. I
said to that John Lennon, I said ‘John, you’re going nowhere mate, it’s
embarrassing, have you ever considered writing your own songs’. So I’m skint,
I’m busking, guitar, mouth organ on a rack, bass drum tied to me foot, and the
definition of mental illness, cymbals between my knees. So there I am, middle of
Victoria Station, I’ve only been playing ten minutes, this lairy bloke comes over,
he says – ‘do you do requests?’ I say ‘yes’ he says ‘I’d like you to play a song for
my mother’. I said ‘no problem, where is she?’ He said ‘Tasmania.’ So I nutted
him. This little bloke Roscoe Crabbe seen all this and offers me a week’s work in
Brighton, says he needs a bit of muscle. I tell him this is all fat. But I need a wage.
I haven’t eaten since last night. And what is my first job in the criminal
underworld? Walk into Charlie the Duck’s house in Brighton and put the fear of
God into him. Kaw! That was a bit of test for my arsehole. But it’s all acting.
‘Watcha! Wooa! Wot you looking at? You want some? Come on then! Eh, eh, eh,
eh.’ I can do that, I’m a geezer. But I don’t get paid until the end of the week,
and I can’t stop thinking about CHIPS. I’m staying in a pub, and I don’t even have
enough shrapnel for a PINT.

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24. Punk Rock by Simon Stephens

CHADWICK:

Human beings are pathetic. Everything human beings do finishes up bad in the
end. Everything good human beings ever make is built on something monstrous.
Nothing lasts. We certainly won’t. We could have made something really
extraordinary and we won’t. We’ve been around one hundred thousand years.
We’ll have died out before the next two hundred.

You know what we’ve got to look forward to? You know what will define the
next two hundred years? Religions will become brutalised; crime rates will
become hysterical; everybody will become addicted to internet sex; suicide will
become fashionable; there’ll be famine; there’ll be floods; there’ll be fires in the
major cities of the Western world. Our education systems will become battered.
Our health services unsustainable; our police forces unmanageable; our
governments corrupt. There’ll be open brutality in the streets; there’ll be
nuclear war; massive depletion of resources on every level; insanely increasing
third-world population. It’s happening already. It’s happening now.

Thousands die every summer from floods in the Indian monsoon season.
Africans from Senegal wash up on the beaches of the Mediterranean and get
looked after by guilty holidaymakers. Somalians wait in hostels in Malta or
prison islands north of Australia. Hundreds die of heat or fire every year in Paris.
Or California. Or Athens. The oceans will rise. The cities will flood. The power
stations will flood. Airports will flood. Species will vanish forever. Including ours.
So, if you think I’m worried by you calling me names, Bennet, you little, little
boy, you are fucking kidding yourself.

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25. Richard III by William Shakespeare

GLOUCESTER:

Now is the winter of our discontent

Made glorious summer by this sun of York;
And all the clouds that lour'd upon our house
In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.
Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths;
Our bruised arms hung up for monuments;
Our stern alarums changed to merry meetings,
Our dreadful marches to delightful measures.
Grim-visaged war hath smooth'd his wrinkled front;
And now, instead of mounting barded steeds
To fright the souls of fearful adversaries,
He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber
To the lascivious pleasing of a lute.
But I, that am not shaped for sportive tricks,
Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass;
I, that am rudely stamp'd, and want love's majesty
To strut before a wanton ambling nymph;
I, that am curtail'd of this fair proportion,
Cheated of feature by dissembling nature,
Deformed, unfinish'd, sent before my time
Into this breathing world, scarce half made up,
And that so lamely and unfashionable
That dogs bark at me as I halt by them;
Why, I, in this weak piping time of peace,

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Have no delight to pass away the time,

Unless to spy my shadow in the sun
And descant on mine own deformity:
And therefore, since I cannot prove a lover,
To entertain these fair well-spoken days,
I am determined to prove a villain
And hate the idle pleasures of these days.
Plots have I laid, inductions dangerous,
By drunken prophecies, libels and dreams,
To set my brother Clarence and the king
In deadly hate the one against the other:
And if King Edward be as true and just
As I am subtle, false and treacherous,
This day should Clarence closely be mew'd up,
About a prophecy, which says that 'G'
Of Edward's heirs the murderer shall be.
Dive, thoughts, down to my soul: here
Clarence comes.

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26. Romeo and Juliet by William Shakespeare

NURSE

Even or odd, of all days in the year,

Come Lammas Eve at night shall she be fourteen.

Susan and she (God rest all Christian souls!)

Were of an age. Well, Susan is with God;

She was too good for me. But, as I said,

On Lammas Eve at night shall she be fourteen.

That shall she. Marry, I remember it well.

’Tis since the earthquake now eleven years,

And she was weaned (I never shall forget it)

Of all the days of the year, upon that day.

For I had then laid wormwood to my dug,

Sitting in the sun under the dovehouse wall.

My lord and you were then at Mantua.

Nay, I do bear a brain. But, as I said,

When it did taste the wormwood on the nipple

Of my dug and felt it bitter, pretty fool,

To see it tetchy and fall out with the dug.

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“Shake,” quoth the dovehouse. ’Twas no need, I

trow,

To bid me trudge.

And since that time it is eleven years.

For then she could stand high-lone. Nay, by th’

rood,

She could have run and waddled all about,

For even the day before, she broke her brow,

And then my husband (God be with his soul,

He was a merry man) took up the child.

“Yea,” quoth he, “Dost thou fall upon thy face?

Thou wilt fall backward when thou hast more wit,

Wilt thou not, Jule?” And, by my holidam,

The pretty wretch left crying and said “Ay.”

To see now how a jest shall come about!

I warrant, an I should live a thousand years,

I never should forget it. “Wilt thou not, Jule?”

quoth he.

And, pretty fool, it stinted and said “Ay.”

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27. Ruben Guthrie by Brendan Cowell

RUBEN GUTHRIE:

Hello my name is Ruben Guthrie and how exciting is this!?

Hey…I’m excited are you excited – this is the next level! We are blessed. Blessed
to be sober and clean, blessed to be here, on this special Saturday morning, in
Centennial Park, with our dogs! Or in Janelle’s case with her pig. I’m sorry Janelle
what is that thing? Oh it’s a pig-dog. Was that a rescue?

Thanks for responding so positively to this idea Group. I never thought I’d be
standing here in the sunlight with you people but I gotta say it feels good. To
have organised something with my Home Group I really. I’m chuffed. So thank
you for the constant love and support.

Ken I think your Rottweiler is taking a shit on my rug. Ken you may want to…

What do you feed that thing?

It’s… let’s admit! It is fucking boring being sober. Sometimes Janelle sometimes!

It’s the nights really isn’t it? The days are ok because you feel so fresh, you don’t
have a hangover, and nothing clouds you – you’re firing from the time you
bounce out of bed; I’m alive I’m sober I’m drinking orange juice it’s 6.05 in the
morning and Mel and Koshie are my friends!

But then the night comes.

When you’re drinking it’s the days that feel heavy and the nights that sing. Stop
drinking it’s the days that sing songs and the night it just presses on your brain, it
sticks needles in your eyes it makes pain in the middle of your chest it says
‘drink’ it says ‘walk through the walls Ruben follow the lights Ruben follow the
lights down the shiny road to the golden place’.
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28. Saint Joan by George Bernard Shaw

JOAN:

Yes: they told me you were fools and that I was not to listen to your fine words
not trust to your charity. You promised me my life; but you lied. You think that
life is nothing but not being stone dead. It is not the bread and water I fear: I can
live on bread: when have I asked for more? It is no hardship to drink water if the
water be clean. Bread has no sorrow for me, and water no affliction. But to shut
me from the light of the sky and the sigh of the fields and flowers; to chain my
feet so that I can never again ride with the soldiers nor climb the hills; to make
me breathe foul damp darkness, and keep from me everything that brings me
back to the love of God when your wickedness and foolishness tempt me to hate
Him: all this is worse than the furnace in the Bible that was heated seven times. I
could do without my warhorse; I could drag about in a dirt; I could let the
banners and the trumpets and the knights and soldiers pass me and leave me
behind as they leave the other women, if only I could still hear the wind in the
trees, the larks in the sunshine, the young lambs crying through the healthy
frost, and the blessed blessed church bells that send my angel voices floating to
me on the wind. But without these things I cannot live; and by your wanting to
take them away from me, or from any human creature, I know that your counsel
is of the devil, and that mine is of God.

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29. Secret Bridesmaid’s Business by Elizabeth Coleman

COLLEEN:

You know, I opened a wedding account for Meg two weeks after she was born.
It’s added up to quite a nice amount now, much more than I’d ever thought, but
then, we weren’t expecting to wait 33 years. But anyway, it’s all worked out for
the best now, because Meg’s got James; and he’s a lawyer and he owns a house,
and a flat – not that that matters, of course, but I have to say he’s a lot more
successful than any of Joyce Grainger’s sons-in-law. So anyway, I’ve spent
months planning every detail for tomorrow – because every girl deserves a
beautiful wedding. She should be able to show off those photos forever and say,
“That was the happiest day of my life and everything was perfect”. Goodness
knows, you don’t want people saying, “Is that a coffin in the corner?”, like they
say when look at my wedding photos. Nothing was the way I wanted it – and I’m
not just talking about the funeral – I didn’t have any say in anything – But
anyway, that was a long time ago, and it’s Meg’s turn now. And her wedding’s
going to be perfect – because my mother–God rest her soul, is gone–so she can’t
hijack Meg’s wedding like she did mine!

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30. Skylight by David Hare

KYRA:

‘Female'? That's a very odd choice of word. You see I'm afraid I think this is
typical. It's something that's happened . . . it's only happened of late. That
people should need to ask why I'm helping these children. I'm helping them
because they need to be helped.

Everyone makes merry, discussing motive. Of course she does this. She works in
the East End. She only does it because she's unhappy. She does it because of a
lack in herself. She doesn't have a man. If she had a man, she wouldn't need to
do it. Do you think she's a dyke? She must be fucked up, she must be an
Amazon, she must be a weirdo to choose to work where she does . . . Well I say,
what the hell does it matter why I'm doing it? Why anyone goes out and helps?
The reason is hardly of primary importance. If I didn't do it, it wouldn't get done.

I'm tired of these sophistries. I'm tired of these right-wing fuckers. They wouldn't
lift a finger themselves. They work contentedly in offices and banks. Yet now
they sit pontificating in parliament, in papers, impugning our motives,
questioning our judgements. And why? Because they themselves need to feel
better by putting down everyone whose work is so much harder than theirs. You
only have to say the words 'social worker’ . . . 'probation officer' . . . 'counsellor' .
. . for everyone in this country to sneer. Do you know what social workers do?
Every day? They try and clear out society's drains. They clear out the rubbish.
They do what no one else is doing, what no one else is willing to do. And for
that, oh Christ, do we thank them? No, we take our own rotten consciences,
wipe them all over the social worker's face, and say'if...’ FUCK!

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'if I did the job, then of course if I did it...oh no, excuse me, I wouldn’t do it like
that. . .’ Well I say: 'OK, then, fucking do it, journalist. Politician, talk to the
addicts. Hold families together. Stop the kids from stealing in the streets. Deal
with couples who beat each other up. You fucking try it, why not? Since you're
so full of advice. Sure, come and join us. This work is one big casino. By all
means. Anyone can play. But there's only one rule. You can't play for nothing.
You have to buy some chips to sit at the table. And if you won't pay with your
own time . . . with your own effort . . . then I’m sorry. Fuck off!’

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31. The Caretaker by Harold Pinter

MICK:

You’re stinking the place out. You’re an old robber, there’s no getting away
from it. You’re and old skate. You don’t belong in a nice place like this. You’re
an old barbarian . Honest. You got no business wandering about in an
unfurnished flat. I could change seven quid a week for this if I wanted to. Get a
taker tomorrow. Three hundred and fifty a year exclusive. No argument. I
mean, if that sort of money’s in your range don’t be afraid to say no. Here you
are. Furniture and fittings, I’ll take four hundred or the nearest offer. Rateable
value ninety quid for the annum. You can reckon water, heating and lighting at
close on fifty. That’ll cost you eight hundred and ninety if you’re all that keen.
Say the word and I’ll have my solicitors draft you out a contract. Otherwise I’ve
got the van outside, I can run you to the police station in five minutes, have you
in for trespassing, loitering with intent, daylight robbery, filching, thieving and
stinking the place out. What do you say? Unless you’re really keen on a
straighforwarded purchase. Of course, I’ll get my brother to decorate it up for
you first. I’ve got a brother who’s a number one decorator. He’ll decorate it up
for you. If you want more space, there’s four more rooms along the landing
ready to go. Bathroom, living-room, bedroom and nursery. You can have this
study as your study. This brother I mentioned, he’s just about to start on the
other rooms. Yes, just about to start. So what do you say? Eight hundred odd
for this room or three thousand down for the whole upper storey. On the other
hand, if you prefer to approach it in the long-term way I know an insurance
form in West Ham’ll be pleased to handle the deal for you. No strings attached,
open and above board, untarnished record; twenty percent interest, fifty per
cent deposit; down payments, back payments, family allowances, bonus

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schemes, remission of term for good behaviour, six months lease, yearly
examination of the relevant archives, ten laid on, disposal of shares, benefit
extension, compensation on cessation, comprehensive indemnity against Riot,
Civil Commotion, Labour Disturbances, Storm, Tempest, Thunderbolt, Larceny
or Cattle all subject to a daily check and double check. Of course we’d need a
signed declaration from your personal medical attendant as assurance that you
possess the requisite fitness to carry the can, won’t we? Who do you bank
with? (Pause.) Who do you bank with?

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32. The Cherry Orchard by Anton Chekhov

LOPAKHIN:

I bought it…I bought it! One moment…wait…if you would, ladies and
gentlemen…My head’s going round and round, I can’t speak… (laughs). So now
the cherry orchard is mine! Mine! (he gives a shout of laughter) Great God in
heaven – the cherry orchard is mine! Tell me I’m drunk – I’m out of my mind –
tell me it’s all an illusion…Don’t laugh at me! If my father and grandfather could
rise from their graves and see it all happening – if they could see me, their
Yermolay, their beaten, half-literate Yermolay, who ran barefoot in winter – if
they could see this same Yermolay buying the estate…The most beautiful thing
in the entire world! I have bought the estate where my father and grandfather
were slaves, where they weren’t even allowed into the kitchens. I’m asleep –
this is all just inside my head – a figment of the imagination. Hey, you in the
band! Play away! I want to hear you! Everyone come and watch Yermolay
Lopakhin set about the cherry orchard with his axe! Watch these trees come
down! Weekend houses, we’ll build weekend houses, and our grandchildren
and our great grandchildren will see a new life here… Music! Let’s hear the band
play! Let’s have everything the way I want it. Here comes the new landlord, the
owner of the cherry orchard!

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33. The Christian Brothers by Ron Blair

THE CHRISTIAN BROTHER:

I've noticed a growing dependence on smut in this class. This morning I saw a
group of boys from this class over by the bubblers. Looking at this! Now boys, I
want you to understand that the misguided young woman who posed for this
unfortunate photo has the same physical characteristics as the Blessed Virgin
Mary. There is nothing intrinsically wrong with her. What is wrong is the absence
of clothes and the immodest way she is disporting herself. So when you see
pictures of this nature ask yourself: Would the mother of Christ be seen like
this? Boys, the human body is a temple of the Holy Ghost and believe me, for
those who abuse that temple by either posing near naked or leering on that
pose are trafficking with the devil himself. And for those who publish such
photographs - in this case (Consulting the print at the bottom of the page)
Sungravure - there is a pit in hell awaiting them this very minute and in that pit is
a fire (Indicating the lighter) a world wider than this, which will rage and burn
them body and soul. (He burns the picture) Gentlemen, in hell there is no such
thing as time. Eternity means time without end. A million years is nothing.
Absolutely nothing. Hell means torture without any end whatsoever. Think that
today will end, but in hell no day ever ends and no night neither because both
are one and both are without end. Is it worth risking this terrible punishment for
a minute - an hour - of passing sinful pleasure? Oh, boys, it's not! So when these
temptations arise, do something else. Go and play handball. Handball's great
virtue is that it demands such energy that it outpaces the devil. Don't think that
the Brothers don't feel these temptations of the flesh. We're human and the
devil is particularly anxious that we should fall. You know, boys, don't you, that
the worst punishments in hell are reserved for the fallen religious? And they say

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that damned priests suffer terribly. That's why we play handball! You look in
after school one day. You'll see a few Brothers whipping the handball. Outpacing
the devil, I call it. But I personally think the best way to avoid temptation is to
pray to the Blessed Virgin Mary. (Pause) I've ... I've actually seen the Blessed
virgin Mary. (Pause) Take out your geography books and get on with your cross-
sections.

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34. The Crucible by Arthur Millar

MARY WARREN:

I never knew it before. I never knew anything before. When she come into the
court I say to myself, I must not accuse this woman, for she sleeps in ditches,
and so very old and poor. But then- then she sit there, denying and denying, and
I feel a misty coldness climbin' up my back, and the skin on my skull begin to
creep, and I feel a clamp around my neck and I cannot breathe air; and then
(entranced) I hear a voice, a screamin' voice, and it were my voice- and all at
once I remembered everything she done to me!

So many times, Mr. Proctor, she come to this very door, beggin' bread and a cup
of cider-and mark this: whenever I turned her away empty, she mumbled. But
what does she mumble? You must remember, Goody Proctor. Last month-a
Monday, I think--she walked away, and I thought my guts would burst for two
days after. Do you remember it?

And so I told that to Judge Hathorne, and he asks her so. "Sarah Good," says he,
"what curse do you mumble that this girl must fall sick after turning you away?"
And then she replies (mimicking an old crone) "Why, your excellence, no curse at
all. I only say my commandments; I hope I may say my commandments," says
she! Then Judge Hathorne say, "Recite for us your commandments!" (Leaning
avidly toward them) And of all the ten she could not say a single one. She never
knew no commandments, and they had her in a flat lie!

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35. The Glass Menagerie by Tennessee Williams

TOM:

I didn't go to the moon, I went much further - for time is the longest distance
between two places. Not long after that I was fired for writing a poem on the lid
of a shoe-box. I left Saint Louis. I descended the steps of this fire escape for a last
time and followed, from then on, in my father's footsteps, attempting to find in
motion what was lost in space. I travelled around a great deal. The cities swept
about me like dead leaves, leaves that were brightly colored but torn away from
the branches. I would have stopped, but I was pursued by something. It always
came upon me unawares, taking me altogether by surprise. Perhaps it was a
familiar bit of music. Perhaps it was only a piece of transparent glass. Perhaps I
am walking along a street at night, in some strange city, before I have found
companions. I pass the lighted window of a shop where perfume is sold. The
window is filled with pieces of colored glass, tiny transparent bottles in delicate
colors, like bits of a shattered rainbow. Then all at once my sister touches my
shoulder. I turn around and look into her eyes. Oh, Laura, Laura, I tried to leave
you behind me, but I am more faithful than I intended to be! I reach for a
cigarette, I cross the street, I run into the movies or a bar, I buy a drink, I speak
to the nearest stranger - anything that can blow your candles out! For nowadays
the world is lit by lightning! Blow out your candles, Laura - and so goodbye.

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36. The Good Father by Christian O’Reilly

TIM:
She looks at me and says, ‘Are you aware that you only have one testicle?’
Well, I nearly dropped, or I would have only she was holding me by the –
and obviously one of them hadn’t dropped, or somethin’. ‘You’re jokin’?’ I
says.

She says, ‘Surely you must have noticed?’ But that was the thing. I always
just assumed I had two. Like I never bothered countin’ them. I thought, I
dunno, I thought maybe they were so close together they felt like one, or maybe
when one was down there, the other was off doing somethin’ else – like I dunno,
I just never thought about it. So she tells me then that I might have what they
call an ‘undescended testes’, meanin’ that one dropped, but the other
didn’t...She said I’d have to get it checked out, cos if there was one still up there
it would have to be removed because, guess what – it could become
cancerous. So I go home, an’ I’m delighted, like, that I don’t already have
cancer – cancer of the missin’ ball, an’ I’m thinkin’ I’ve a great story for the lads if
ever I had the nerve to tell them, but all I’m thinkin’ is, ‘Am I fertile or not’?

Like I didn’t know until that moment just how much I wanted to be a
father. It’s stupid, but like I’d started imaginin’ it, what I’d be like, walkin’
around with a little fella holdin’ me hand, teachin’ him how to cross the road, or
a little girl and holdin’ her up in the air – the way they look down at you, they’re
so amazed to be up high. And bein’ a good father like – encouragin’ your kids,
givin’ them a tenner if they’re stuck, askin’ them how they are, always knowin’ if
somethin’ was up, bein’ there for them, bein’ there for them always,
always...givin’ your life for them, givin’ your life to them – fuckin’ hell, that’s the
kind of person you want to be to somebody, more of those kind of people, the
kind of person I want to be. Father I wanted to be.
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37. The Merchant of Venice by William Shakespeare

PORTIA:

I pray you, let me look upon the bond.

Shylock, there's thrice thy money offer'd thee.
Why, this bond is forfeit;
And lawfully by this the Jew may claim
A pound of flesh, to be by him cut off
Nearest the merchant's heart.
Be merciful: Take thrice thy money; bid me tear the bond.
(Pause)
Why then, thus it is:
You must prepare your bosom for his knife.
The court awards it, and the law doth give it.
This bond doth give thee here no jot of blood;
The words expressly are 'a pound of flesh:1
Take then thy bond, take thou thy pound of flesh;
But, in the cutting it, if thou dost shed
One drop of Christian blood, thy lands and goods
Are, by the laws of Venice, confiscate
Soft! The Jew shall have all justice; soft! no haste:
You shall have nothing but the penalty.
Why doth the Jew pause? Take thy forfeiture. He hath refused it in the open
court.
He shall have merely justice and his bond.
Tarry, Jew.
The law hath yet another hold on you.

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It is enacted in the laws of Venice,

If it be proved against a foreign resident That by direct or indirect attempts
He seek the life of any citizen,
The party 'gainst the which he doth contrive Shall seize one half his goods. The
other half Comes to the privy coffer of the state,
in which predicament I say thou stand’st, For it appears by manifest proceeding
That indirectly—and directly too—
Thou hast contrived against the very life Of the defendant
Down, therefore and beg the mercy of the Duke.

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38. The Merchant of Venice by William Shakespeare

SHYLOCK:

Signior Antonio, many a time and oft

In the Rialto you have rated me
About my moneys and my usances:
Still have I borne it with a patient shrug,
(For suff ranee is the badge of all our tribe)
You call me misbeliever, cut-throat dog,
And spit upon my Jewish gabardine,
And all for use of that which is mine own.
Well then, it now appears you need my help:
Go to then, you come to me, and you say,
''Shylock, we would have moneys," you say so:
You that did void your rheum upon my beard,
And foot me as you spurn a stranger cur
Over your threshold, moneys is your suit.
What should I say to you? Should I not say
"Hath a dog money? Is it possible
A cur can lend three thousand ducats?" or
Shall I bend low, and in a bondman's key
With bated breath, and whisp'ring humbleness
Say this:
"Fair sir, you spit on me on Wednesday last,
You spurn'd me such a day, another time
You call'd me dog: and for these courtesies
I'll lend you thus much moneys"?

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39. The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde

DORIAN:

This play was good enough for us, Harry. It was Romeo and Juliet. I must admit
that I was rather annoyed at the idea of seeing Shakespeare done in such a
wretched hole of a place. Still, I felt interested, in a sort of way. At any rate, I
determined to wait for the first act. There was a dreadful orchestra, presided
over by a young Hebrew who sat at a cracked piano, that nearly drove me away,
but at last the drop-scene was drawn up, and the play began. Romeo was a stout
elderly gentleman, with corked eyebrows, a husky tragedy voice, and a figure
like a beer-barrel. Mercutio was almost as bad. He was played by the low-
comedian, who had introduced gags of his own and was on most friendly terms
with the pit. They were both as grotesque as the scenery, and that looked as if it
had come out of a country booth. But Juliet! Harry, imagine a girl, hardly
seventeen years of age, with a little flower-like face, a small Greek head with
plaited coils of dark-brown hair, eyes that were violet wells of passion, lips that
were like the petals of a rose. She was the loveliest thing I had ever seen in my
life. You said to me once that pathos left you unmoved, but that beauty, mere
beauty, could fill your eyes with tears. I tell you, Harry, I could hardly see this girl
for the mist of tears that came across me. And her voice--I never heard such a
voice. It was very low at first, with deep, mellow notes, that seemed to fall singly
upon one's ear. Then it became a little louder, and sounded like a flute or a
distant hautbois. In the garden scene it had all the tremulous ecstasy that one
hears just before dawn when nightingales are singing. There were moments,
later on, when it had the wild passion of violets. You know how a voice can stir
one. Your voice and the voice of Sibyl Vane are two things that I shall never
forget. When I close my eyes, I hear them, and each of them says something

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different. I don't know which to follow. Why should I not love her? Harry, I do
love her. She is everything to me in life. Night after night I go to see her play.
One evening she is Rosalind, and the next evening she is Imogen. I have seen her
die in the gloom of an Italian tomb, sucking the poison from her lover's lips. I
have watched her wandering through the forest of Arden, disguised as a pretty
boy in hose and doublet and dainty cap. She has been mad, and has come into
the presence of a guilty king, and given him rue to wear, and bitter herbs to
taste of. She has been innocent, and the black hands of jealousy have crushed
her reed-like throat. I have seen her in every age and in every costume. Ordinary
women never appeal to one's imagination. They are limited to their century. No
glamour ever transfigures them. One knows their minds as easily as one knows
their bonnets. One can always find them. There is no mystery in any of them.
They ride in the Park in the morning, and chatter at tea-parties in the afternoon.
They have their stereotyped smile, and their fashionable manner. They are quite
obvious. But an actress! How different an actress is! Harry! why didn't you tell
me that the only thing worth loving is an actress?"

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40. The Pillowman by Martin McDonagh

TUPOLSKI:

I have to fill out this form now. It’s a form in case anything happens to you in
custody (Pause) We’ve got a mistake here with your name. I think. Your surname
is Katurian, yes?...See we’ve got your first name as Katurian. (Pause ) Your first
name is Katurian?...And your second name is Katurian?...Your name is Katurian
Katurian?...Hm Middle initial?...Your name is Katurian Katurian Katurian?...Your
address is Kamenice 4443?...Which you share with…? Ah Michal. At least it’s not
fucking ‘Katurian’!…Well, here’s where we stand as of 5:15p.m…Monday the
fourth. Your brother has admitted enough about the killings for us to execute
him before the evenings out, but, as Ariel said, he’s hardly the brains behind the
operation. So we want you to confess too. We like executing writers. Dimwits we
can execute any day. And we do. But, you execute a writer, it sends a signal,
y’know? (Pause.) I don’t what signal it sends out, that’s not really my area, but it
sends out a signal. (Pause.) No, I’ve got it. I know what signal it sends out. It
sends out the signal “DON’T…GO… AROUND… KILIING… LITTLE… FUCKING…
KIDS!” (Pause.) Where’s the mute girl? Your brother didn’t seem to want to spill
the beans… I’d best go with the electrodes.

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41. The Positive Hour by April de Angelis

PAULA:

I don’t want any more bollocks.

I’m a desperate woman. You must’ve seen one of us before?
We smoke and have hastily applied mascara. It’s my daughter.
Victoria Savage. Eight and three-quarters. Her favourite groups
are Spice Girls and Michael Jackson. I haven’t got the heart to
tell her he’s a pervert. I mean, children are in their own special
world, aren’t they? (pause) Temporarily fostered with the Clements. Mr and Mrs
Patrick of Sussex. They don’t like me going there. They say it
upsets Victoria. Course it does. I’m her mother. It’s a wrench
when I leave. She cries, I cry. It’s a fucking mess. Patrick’s a
bank manager and Isobel doesn’t know what to do with herself.
Victoria’s a very demanding child. That house was dead and now they’re wetting
themselves with having a bit of life in their life, but it’s my
fucking bit of life. You see, this thing has happened in their heads. Somehow
they think they are Victoria’s parents and I am a passing annoyance.
And people are going to look at them and look at me and
think she’s better off with them. But she’s my daughter.
(Pause) Do you like me? Because it’s important, isn’t it, Miranda, that you like
me?
What you think is important?
So what are you going to do about Victoria?
A process?
Five months now they’ve had her.
So how long’s a process?

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I’m sick of people keep putting me off.

I’m never happy, not without Victoria. I wake up in the
morning and it’s like there’s a big hole in my chest only I’m
too scared to look down because once I do I’m going to feel
this pain.

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42. The Second Mrs Jacob Anderson by Ann Wuehler

MRS JACOBSON:

Adults are never honest. Let’s be children. Let’s throw

rocks, let’s weep and say everything we actually think.
Why do you love him? He says you can’t find a job right
now. He says you’re so pretty and so nice. Nice- you’re
what every man wants a woman to be. Nice. [Mrs.
Andersen smiles very gently at Lisa, beckons her closer.
Lisa does not move.] Here we are...both picking out
vegetables for the same man.
Well...Lisa, is it? What a cheerleader sort of name. Do
you cheerlead for him now? Tell him he’s the best, the
brightest, the bravest? I can see you doing it. With
pompoms in your hands. With that little flippy skirt.
You’d look nice in navy. [Sighs. But still steady and
calm.] I once had a name. But now it’s bitch and
second-best. It’s Mrs. Andersen. Why would you give up
your name? Why would you let him erase it from your
head with his acid? His sweet...numbing acid...I’ll take
care of you, I’ll take care of everything.
All I want is a confession. Is that so hard? Can you face
me and confess...confess how you love my husband?
[Lisa puts her hand into the vegetables. She examines
them.] It’s hard, isn’t it. Sleeping with him is easy. Telling
me about it...difficult.
The second Mrs. Jacob Andersen. There are many

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nameless women behind you...many before you. You

are not the only one. And what a beautiful love story. We
met, we fought it, we fucked. Spare, succinct, to the
point. Nothing flowery or pretty. Just bodies and
selfishness.
Some day, it's going to be you here in my place, a name
with nothing to it, looking at a young, stupid woman.
Because it won't end with you. Jacob always tires of his
new toys

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43. The Stronger by August Strindberg

MME X:

Our acquaintance has been so queer. When I saw you for the first time I was
afraid of you - I didn't dare have you for an enemy so I became your friend. But
there always was discord when you came to our house, because I saw that my
husband couldn't endure you, and the whole thing seemed as awry to me as an
ill-fitting gown - until you became engaged. Then came a violent friendship
between the two of you, so that it looked all at once as though you both dared
show your real feelings only when you were secure. I didn't get jealous - strange
to say! And I remember at the christening, when you acted as godmother, I
made him kiss you - he did so, and you became so confused - as it were, I didn't
notice it then, didn't think about it later either, have never thought about it until
- now! Why are you silent? You haven't said a word this whole time. You have
sat there, and your eyes have reeled out at me all these thoughts which lay like
raw silk in its cocoon - thoughts - suspicious thoughts, perhaps. Why did you
break your engagement? Why do you never come to our house anymore? You
needn't speak - I understand it all! That's why I wear your clothes, read your
authors, eat your favourite dishes - that's why - oh - God - it's terrible.
Everything. Everything came from you to me. Your soul crept into mine, ate and
ate, bored and bored, until nothing was left. I tried to get away from you, but I
couldn't - I felt as if I lay in the water with bound feet, and the stronger I strove
to keep up, the deeper I worked myself down, until I sank to the bottom, where
you lay like a giant crab to clutch me in your claws - and there I am lying now.

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44. Thebans, by Liz Lochhead

ISMENE:
I was there I
saw it all
I was with my uncle Kreon
when we got to the body of Polyneikes
what the dogs had left of it
watched
as he washed the torn and stinking carcass of my brother
I tried to help he snarled
so I stopped just stood there
slapped me off
watched couldn’t weep
he said a prayer I moved my lips
as he honoured Polyneikes my brother with
a sweet a decent covering mound of earth
then we went running to Antigone
to the cave where still living
they interred her
by the time we got there
the wall of stones was all but torn away by soldiers we were sure we could hear
something someone was shouting deep inside
slowly
in silence
we walked into the stillness
into the darkness our torches
Antigone!

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Antigone hanging from a rope

my sister twisted dangling from a
rope fashioned from strips of her own wedding-dress twisted
her slip soaked her trousseau torn Antigone dangling
Haemon was there he Haemon howling he pressed his face to her belly sobbing
he clutched at her hugging her limp lower limbs to him
hanged Antigone
Antigone
his love he
pulled out a blade we saw it glinting
he cut the noose she fell white lifeless broken he roared
he sprang at his father
spat in his face
his bright dagger at his father’s throat
Kreon saw
he stood would have stood it would have taken it
accepted it as justice
not lifted a finger
but
Haemon laughed
he turned it
held the blade of the knife towards himself
plunged it
hard into his own body once
his bursting heart bespattered Antigone the blood came bubbling
gouts of it from his loving mouth as he kissed his Antigone
one last time
and death has heard their vows and married them for ever.
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45. Top Girls by Caryl Churchill

DULL GRET:

We come to hell through a big mouth. Hell’s black and red. It’s like the village
where I come from. There’s a river and a bridge and houses. There’s places on
fire like when the soldiers come. There’s a big devil sat on a roof with a big hole
in his arse and he’s scooping stuff out of it with a big ladle and it’s falling down
on us, and it’s money, so a lot of the women stop and get some. But most of us
is fighting the devils. There’s lots of little devils our size, and we get them down
all right and give them a beating. There’s lots of funny creatures round your feet,
you don’t like to look, like rats and lizards, and nasty things, a bum with a face,
and fish with legs, and faces on things that don’t have faces on. But they don’t
hurt, you just keep going. Well we’d had worse, you see, we’d had the Spanish.
We’d all had family killed. My big son die on a wheel. Birds eat him. My baby, a
soldier run her through with a sword. I’d had enough, I was mad, I hate the
bastards. I come out of my front door that morning and shout till my neighbours
come out and I said, “Come on, we’re going where the evil come from and pay
the bastards out.”And they all come out just as they was from baking or from
washing in their aprons, and we push down the street and the ground opens up
and we go through a big mouth into a street just like ours but in Hell. I’ve got a
sword in my hand from somewhere and I fill a basket with gold cups they drink
out of down there. You just keep running on and fighting, you didn’t stop for
nothing. Oh we give them devils such a beating.

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46. Two Gentlemen of Verona by William Shakespeare

LAUNCE:

Nay, 'twill be this hour ere I have done weeping;

all the kind of the Launces have this very fault. I
have received my proportion, like the prodigious
son, and am going with Sir Proteus to the Imperial's
court. I think Crab, my dog, be the sourest-natured
dog that lives: my mother weeping, my father
wailing, my sister crying, our maid howling, our cat
wringing her hands, and all our house in a great
perplexity, yet did not this cruel-hearted cur shed
one tear: he is a stone, a very pebble stone, and
has no more pity in him than a dog: a Jew would have
wept to have seen our parting; why, my grandam,
having no eyes, look you, wept herself blind at my
parting. Nay, I'll show you the manner of it. This
shoe is my father: no, this left shoe is my father:
no, no, this left shoe is my mother: nay, that
cannot be so neither: yes, it is so, it is so, it
hath the worser sole. This shoe, with the hole in
it, is my mother, and this my father; a vengeance
on't! there 'tis: now, sit, this staff is my
sister, for, look you, she is as white as a lily and
as small as a wand: this hat is Nan, our maid: I
am the dog: no, the dog is himself, and I am the
dog--Oh! the dog is me, and I am myself; ay, so,

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so. Now come I to my father; Father, your blessing:

now should not the shoe speak a word for weeping:
now should I kiss my father; well, he weeps on. Now
come I to my mother: O, that she could speak now
like a wood woman! Well, I kiss her; why, there
'tis; here's my mother's breath up and down. Now
come I to my sister; mark the moan she makes. Now
the dog all this while sheds not a tear nor speaks a
word; but see how I lay the dust with my tears.

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47. Waking UP by Dario Fo and Franca Rame

CHARACTER:

She mimes turning on him in a rage.

'Listen, Stupid,' I tell him, 'I don't need to listen to feminists or radicals or
anybody else to find out what a shitty life we lead. We both work like dogs and
we never have a minute to talk. We never talk to each other! Is that marriage?
Like does it ever even enter your mind to think about what's going on inside me?
How I feel? Ever ask me if I'm tired . .. if you could give me a hand? Ha!'

Mimes bearing down on him threateningly.

'Who does the cooking? Me! Who does the washing up? Me! Who does the
shopping? Me! And who does the death-defying financial acrobatics so we can
get through to the end of the month? Me me me! And I'm working full time at
the factory, remember. Your dirty socks ... who washes them eh? How many
times have you washed my socks? We should talk to each other, Luigi! We never
talk. I mean it's ok with me that you problems are my problems but why can't
my problems be your problems too instead of yours being ours and mine being
only mine. I just want us to live together not just in the same place. We should
talk to each other! But what do we do? You come home from work, watch the
telly and go to be. Day after day it's always the same. Oh, except for Sundays. '

Scornfully.

'Hooray hooray it's football day! Every Sunday off you go to watch twenty-two
idiots in their underpants kicläng a ball around and some other mentally
deficient maniac dashing up and down blowing a whistle!' He ... that Luigi ... he
went purple in the face! You'd think I'd insulted his mother. 'How could a person
like you ever know the first thing about sport?'
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Brief pause.

Not the best thing he could have said, really.

With relish.

I freaked. 'Who the fuck would want to?' I shouted at him. And then I really
started raving on like a lunatic. Oh I said it all. Everything! I screamed at him, he
yelled back at me, I screamed louder, he yelled louder ... we were just about
shouting the building down. So finally I said 'Right! If this is marriage we've made
a mistake!' and I picked up my mistake and I walked out.

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48. West by Steven Berkoff

MIKE:

Do you wanna dance / I took her on the floor / the crystal ball smashed the light
into a million pieces / a shattered lake at sunrise / the music welled up / and the
lead guitarist / plugged into ten thousand watts zonging in our ears / callused
thumb whipping chords / down the floor we skate / I push her thigh with mine /
and backwards she goes to the gentle signal / no horse moved better / and I
move my left leg which for a second leaves me hanging on her thigh / then she
moves hers / swish / then she’s hanging on mine / like I am striding through the
sea / our thighs clashing and slicing past each other like huge cathedral bells /
whispering past flesh-encased nylon / feeling / all the time knees / pelvis /
stomach / hands / fingertips / grip smell / moving interlocking fingers / ice floes
melting / skin silk weft and warp / blood-red lips gleaming / pouting / stretching
over her hard sharp and wicked-looking Hampsteads / words dripping out her
red mouth gush like honey / I lap it up / odours rising from the planet of the
flesh / gardens after light showers / hawthorn and wild mimosa / Woolie’s best /
crushed fag ends / lipstick / powder / gin and tonic / all swarming together on
one heavenly nerve-numbing swill / meanwhile huge mountains of aching fleshy
worlds are drifting past each other holding their moons / colliding and drifting
apart again / the light stings / the journey is over / the guitarist splattered in
acne as the rude knife of light stabs him crushes his final shattering chord / the
ball of fire stops / and I say thank you very much.

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