Audition Monologues - Faculty of the VCA and MCM - University of ...

Faculty of the VCA and Music 

School of Performing Arts 

Audition Monologues 

Bachelor of Dramatic Art 

Monologue Selections for 2011 entry 

Please read the following instructions carefully 

You must prepare two monologues for your audition: 

• Choose one piece from the selection of monologues from the plays of 

Shakespeare. 

• Choose another piece from the selection of monologues from contemporary plays. 

It is essential that both your pieces are chosen from this list, otherwise we cannot audition you. 

Where possible, you are advised to read the entire plays from which your pieces are chosen in 

order to place the speech in context. 

The pieces you choose should be contrasting; they should also be speeches to which you 

relate and which you think show you to advantage. 

Here are some notes to help you prepare and present your pieces: 

• They must be learnt. We are unable to audition you otherwise. 

• Use your natural accent. 

• With the Shakespeare monologues, by all means observe the verse form and 

language, but do not let them intimidate you. A connection to meaning is all that is 

needed. 

• We are not, at this stage, interested in seeing if you can play characters well 

outside your age range. A piece of this kind might be suitable only if you 

can relate to it in a personal way. 

• Try to present the speeches in a way which shows an understanding of the text and 

which is simple and truthful. 

Faculty of the VCA and Music, The University of Melbourne 

Bachelor of Dramatic Art Audition Monologue Booklet – For 2011 Entry 

Page 1 of 42

Index 

Male - Shakespeare 

KING LEAR 

Act I; Scene ii – Edmund...................................................................................................................................... 5 

HAMLET 

Act III; Scene iii – Hamlet .................................................................................................................................... 6 

MACBETH 

Act I; Scene vii – Macbeth ................................................................................................................................... 7 

THE COMEDY OF ERRORS 

Act III; Scene ii – S. Antipholus ........................................................................................................................... 8 

JULIUS CAESAR 

Act I; Scene ii – Cassius ..................................................................................................................................... 9 

JULIUS CAESAR 

Act I; Scene iii – Cassius ................................................................................................................................... 10 

THE TAMING OF THE SHREW 

Act IV; Scene i – Petruchio ............................................................................................................................... 11 

OTHELLO 

Act II; Scene i – Iago ......................................................................................................................................... 12 

JULIUS CAESAR 

Act III; Scene i – Mark Anthony ......................................................................................................................... 13 

KING HENRY V 

Act III; Scene i – King Henry V .......................................................................................................................... 14 

Female - Shakespeare 

THE WINTER’S TALE 

Act III; Scene ii – Hermione ............................................................................................................................... 15 

TWELFTH NIGHT 

Act II; Scene ii – Viola ....................................................................................................................................... 16 

THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

Act III Scene ii – Portia ...................................................................................................................................... 17 

HENRY IV PART I 

Act II; Scene iii – Lady Percy ............................................................................................................................ 18 

HENRY IV PART III 

Act I; Scene iv – Queen Margaret...................................................................................................................... 19 

A MIDSUMMER NIGHT’S DREAM 

Act III; Scene ii – Helena ................................................................................................................................... 20 




ROMEO AND JULIET 

Act II; Scene v – Juliet ....................................................................................................................................... 21 

AS YOU LIKE IT 

Act III; Scene v – Rosalind................................................................................................................................. 22 

ALL’S WELL THAT ENDS WELL 

Act I; Scene iii – Helena..................................................................................................................................... 23 

Male - Contemporary 

THE HOMECOMING 

Harold Pinter – Lenny ....................................................................................................................................... 24 

THE LIBERTINE 

Stephen Jeffreys – Rochester ........................................................................................................................... 25 

THE CHERRY ORCHARD 

Anton Chekhov – Lopakhin ............................................................................................................................... 26 

THE GOLDEN AGE 

Louis Nowra – Francis ...................................................................................................................................... 27 

THE SEAGULL 

Anton Chekhov – Treplev .................................................................................................................................. 28 

FOOL FOR LOVE 

Sam Shepard – Eddie ....................................................................................................................................... 29 

DEATH OF A SALESMAN 

Arthur Miller – Biff .............................................................................................................................................. 30 

DEAD HEART 

Nick Parsons – Ray ........................................................................................................................................... 31 

THE CHERRY ORCHARD 

Anton Chekhov – Trofimov ................................................................................................................................ 32 

Female - Contemporary 

THE BLACK SEQUIN DRESS 

Jenny Kemp – Woman 1.................................................................................................................................... 33 

THREE SISTERS 

Anton Chekhov – Irena ..................................................................................................................................... 34 

WILD HONEY 

Anton Chekhov – Anna Petrovna ...................................................................................................................... 35 

HATE 

Stephen Sewell - Celia....................................................................................................................................... 36 

7 STAGES OF GRIEVING 

Wesley Enoch, Deborah Mailman – Murri Woman ........................................................................................... 37 




THE LIBERTINE 

Stephen Jeffreys – Elizabeth ............................................................................................................................ 39 

THREE SISTERS 

Anton Chekhov – Natasha ................................................................................................................................ 40 

MARCO POLO SINGS A SOLO 

John Guare - Diane............................................................................................................................................ 41 

VICTORY 

Howard Barker – Devonshire ............................................................................................................................ 42 




King Lear – Act I; Scene ii 

Edmund: 

Thou, Nature, art my goddess; to thy law 

My services are bound. Wherefore should I 

Stand in the plague of custom, and permit 

The curiosity of nations to deprive me, 

For that I am some twelve or fourteen moon-shines 

Lag of a brother? Why bastard? Wherefore base? 

When my dimensions are as well compact, 

My mind as generous, and my shape as true, 

As honest madam's issue, why brand they us 

With ‘base’? with ‘baseness’? ‘bastardy’? ‘base, base’? 

Who, in the lusty stealth of nature, take 

More composition and fierce quality 

Than doth, within a dull, stale, tired bed 

Go to the creating a whole tribe of fops 

Got 'tween asleep and wake? Well, then, 

Legitimate Edgar, I must have your land. 

Our father's love is to the bastard Edmund 

As to the legitimate. Fine word ‘legitimate’! 

Well, my ‘legitimate’, if this letter speed, 

And my invention thrive, Edmund the base 

Shall top the legitimate. I grow. I prosper. 

Now, gods, stand up for bastards! 


Text taken from http://www.shakespeareswords.com/PlayList.aspx. Entire plays, definitions and other resources can also 

be found at this site. 




Hamlet – Act III; Scene iii 

Hamlet: 

Now might I do it pat, now he is praying. 

And now I’ll do’t. And so he goes to heaven. 

And so am I revenged. That would be scanned. 

A villain kills my father; and for that 

I, his sole son, do this same villain send 

To heaven. 

Why, this is hire and salary, not revenge. 

He took my father grossly, full of bread, 

With all his crimes broad blown, as flush as May; 

And how his audit stands, who knows save heaven? 

But in our circumstance and course of thought, 

‘Tis heavy with him. And am I then revenged, 

To take him in the purging of his soul, 

When he is fit and seasoned for his passage? 

No. 

Up, sword, and know thou a more horrid hent. 

When he is drunk asleep, or in his rage, 

Or in th’incestuous pleasure of his bed, 

At game, a-swearing, or about some act 

That has no relish of salvation in’t -- 

Then trip him, that his heels may kick at heaven, 

And that his soul may be as damned and black 

As hell, whereto it goes. My mother stays. 

This physic but prolongs thy sickly days. 







Macbeth – Act I; Scene vii 

Macbeth: 

If it were done when ‘tis done, then ‘twere well 

It were done quickly. If the assassination 

Could trammel up the consequence, and catch 

With his surcease success; that but this blow 

Might be the be-all and the end-all! -- here, 

But here, upon this bank and shoal of time, 

We’d jump the life to come. But in these cases 

We still have judgment here; that we but teach 

Bloody instructions, which, being taught, return 

To plague the inventor. This even-handed justice 

Commends the ingredients of our poisoned chalice 

To our own lips. He’s here in double trust: 

First, as I am his kinsman and his subject, 

Strong both against the deed; then, as his host, 

Who should against his murderer shut the door, 

Not bear the knife myself. Besides, this Duncan 

Hath borne his faculties so meek, hath been 

So clear in his great office, that his virtues 

Will plead like angels, trumpet-tongued, against 

The deep damnation of his taking-off; 

And Pity, like a naked new-born babe, 

Striding the blast, or heaven’s cherubim, horsed 

Upon the sightless couriers of the air, 

Shall blow the horrid deed in every eye, 

That tears shall drown the wind. I have no spur 

To prick the sides of my intent, but only 

Vaulting ambition, which o’erleaps itself 

And falls on the other. 


Text taken from http://www.shakespeareswords.com/PlayList.aspx. 

Entire plays, definitions and other resources can also be found at this site. 




The Comedy of Errors – Act III; Scene ii 

S. Antipholus: 

Sweet mistress, what your name is else, I know not, 

Nor by what wonder you do hit of mine. 

Less in your knowledge and your grace you show not 

Than our earth’s wonder, more than earth divine. 

Teach me, dear creature, how to think and speak. 

Lay open to my earthy gross conceit, 

Smothered in errors, feeble, shallow, weak, 

The folded meaning of your words’ deceit. 

Against my soul’s pure truth why labour you 

To make it wander in an unknown field? 

Are you a god? Would you create me new? 

Transform me, then, and to your power I’ll yield. 

But if that I am I, then well I know 

Your weeping sister is no wife of mine, 

Nor to her bed no homage do I owe. 

Far more, far more to you do I decline. 

O, train me not, sweet mermaid, with thy note, 

To drown me in thy sister’s flood of tears. 

Sing, siren, for thyself, and I will dote. 

Spread o’er the silver waves thy golden hairs, 

And as a bed I’ll take thee, and there lie, 

And in that glorious supposition, think 

He gains by death that hath such means to die. 

Let love, being light, be drowned if she sink. 







Julius Caesar – Act I; Scene ii 

Cassius: 

Why, man, he doth bestride the narrow world 

Like a Colossus, and we petty men 

Walk under his huge legs, and peep about 

To find ourselves dishonourable graves. 

Men at some time are masters of their fates; 

The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, 

But in ourselves, that we are underlings. 

Brutus and Caesar. What should be in that 'Caesar'? 

Why should that name be sounded more than yours? 

Write them together, yours is as fair a name; 

Sound them, it doth become the mouth as well; 

Weigh them, it is as heavy; conjure with 'em, 

‘Brutus’ will start a spirit as soon as ‘Caesar’. 

Now, in the names of all the gods at once, 

Upon what meat doth this our Caesar feed, 

That he is grown so great? Age, thou art shamed! 

Rome, thou hast lost the breed of noble bloods! 

When went there by an age, since the great flood, 

But it was famed with more than with one man? 

When could they say, till now, that talked of Rome, 

That her wide walls encompassed but one man? 

Now is it Rome indeed, and room enough, 

When there is in it but one only man. 

O, you and I have heard our fathers say, 

There was a Brutus once that would have brooked 

Th’ eternal devil to keep his state in Rome 

As easily as a king. 







Julius Caesar – Act I; Scene iii 

Cassius: 

You are dull, Casca, and those sparks of life 

That should be in a Roman you do want, 

Or else you use not. You look pale, and gaze 

And put on fear, and cast yourself in wonder, 

To see the strange impatience of the heavens; 

But if you would consider the true cause 

Why all these fires, why all these gliding ghosts, 

Why birds and beasts from quality and kind, 

Why old men, fools, and children calculate, 

Why all these things change from their ordinance, 

Their natures, and preformed faculties, 

To monstrous quality, why, you shall find 

That heaven hath infused them with these spirits 

To make them instruments of fear and warning 

Unto some monstrous state. 

Now could I, Casca, name to thee a man 

Most like this dreadful night, 

That thunders, lightens, opens graves, and roars 

As doth the lion in the Capitol; 

A man no mightier than thyself, or me, 

In personal action, yet prodigious grown, 

And fearful, as these strange eruptions are. 







The Taming of the Shrew – Act IV; Scene i 

Petruchio: 

Thus have I politicly begun my reign, 

And 'tis my hope to end successfully. 

My falcon now is sharp and passing empty, 

And till she stoop she must not be full-gorged, 

For then she never looks upon her lure. 

Another way I have to man my haggard, 

To make her come and know her keeper's call, 

That is, to watch her, as we watch these kites 

That bate and beat and will not be obedient. 

She eat no meat today, nor none shall eat. 

Last night she slept not, nor tonight she shall not. 

As with the meat, some undeserved fault 

I'll find about the making of the bed, 

And here I'll fling the pillow, there the bolster, 

This way the coverlet, another way the sheets. 

Ay, and amid this hurly I intend 

That all is done in reverend care of her. 

And, in conclusion, she shall watch all night, 

And if she chance to nod I'll rail and brawl, 

And with the clamour keep her still awake. 

This is a way to kill a wife with kindness, 

And thus I'll curb her mad and headstrong humour. 

He that knows better how to tame a shrew, 

Now let him speak -- 'tis charity to show. 


Text taken from http://www.shakespeareswords.com/PlayList.aspx. Entire plays, definitions and other resources can also be found at 

this site. 




Othello – Act II; Scene i 

Iago: 

That Cassio loves her, I do well believe’t: 

That she loves him, 'tis apt and of great credit. 

The Moor – howbeit that I endure him not – 

Is of a constant, loving, noble nature, 

And, I dare think, he'll prove to Desdemona 

A most dear husband. Now, I do love her too; 

Not out of absolute lust – though peradventure 

I stand accountant for as great a sin – 

But partly led to diet my revenge 

For that I do suspect the lusty Moor 

Hath leaped into my seat, the thought whereof 

Doth, like a poisonous mineral, gnaw my inwards, 

And nothing can, or shall, content my soul 

Till I am evened with him, wife for wife; 

Or failing so, yet that I put the Moor 

At least into a jealousy so strong 

That judgment cannot cure. Which thing to do, 

If this poor trash of Venice, whom I leash 

For his quick hunting, stand the putting on, 

I'll have our Michael Cassio on the hip, 

Abuse him to the Moor in the rank garb – 

For I fear Cassio with my night-cap too – 

Make the Moor thank me, love me, and reward me 

For making him egregiously an ass, 

And practising upon his peace and quiet, 

Even to madness. 'Tis here, but yet confused: 

Knavery's plain face is never seen till used. 



this site. 




Julius Caesar – Act III; Scene i 

Mark Antony: 

O, pardon me, thou bleeding piece of earth, 

That I am meek and gentle with these butchers. 

Thou art the ruins of the noblest man 

That ever lived in the tide of times. 

Woe to the hand that shed this costly blood! 

Over thy wounds now do I prophesy -- 

Which, like dumb mouths, do ope their ruby lips, 

To beg the voice and utterance of my tongue -- 

A curse shall light upon the limbs of men; 

Domestic fury and fierce civil strife 

Shall cumber all the parts of Italy; 

Blood and destruction shall be so in use 

And dreadful objects so familiar, 

That mothers shall but smile when they behold 

Their infants quartered with the hands of war, 

All pity choked with custom of fell deeds; 

And Caesar's spirit, ranging for revenge, 

With Ate by his side, come hot from hell, 

Shall in these confines with a monarch's voice 

Cry havoc, and let slip the dogs of war, 

That this foul deed shall smell above the earth 

With carrion men, groaning for burial. 



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King Henry V – Act III; Scene i 

King Henry V: 

Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more, 

Or close the wall up with our English dead! 

In peace there's nothing so becomes a man 

As modest stillness and humility: 

But when the blast of war blows in our ears, 

Then imitate the action of the tiger; 

Stiffen the sinews, conjure up the blood, 

Disguise fair nature with hard-favoured rage; 

Then lend the eye a terrible aspect; 

Let it pry through the portage of the head 

Like the brass cannon; let the brow o'erwhelm it 

As fearfully as doth a galled rock 

O'erhang and jutty his confounded base, 

Swilled with the wild and wasteful ocean. 

Now set the teeth, and stretch the nostril wide, 

Hold hard the breath, and bend up every spirit 

To his full height! On, on, you noblest English, 

Whose blood is fet from fathers of war-proof! – 

Fathers that, like so many Alexanders, 

Have in these parts from morn till even fought, 

And sheathed their swords for lack of argument. 

Dishonour not your mothers; now attest 

That those whom you called fathers did beget you! 

Be copy now to men of grosser blood, 

And teach them how to war. And you, good yeoman, 

Whose limbs were made in England, show us here 

The mettle of your pasture; let us swear 

That you are worth your breeding – which I doubt not; 

For there is none of you so mean and base 

That hath not noble lustre in your eyes. 

I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips, 

Straining upon the start. The game's afoot! 

Follow your spirit, and upon this charge 

Cry 'God for Harry, England, and Saint George!' 


Text taken from 

http://www.shakespeareswords.com/PlayList.aspx. 

Entire plays, definitions and other resources can 

also be found at this site. 




The Winter’s Tale – Act III; Scene ii 

Hermione: 

Sir, spare your threats! 

The bug which you would fright me with I seek. 

To me can life be no commodity: 

The crown and comfort of my life, your favour, 

I do give lost, for I do feel it gone, 

But know not how it went. My second joy, 

And first-fruits of my body, from his presence 

I am barred, like one infectious. My third comfort, 

Starred most unluckily, is from my breast – 

The innocent milk in its most innocent mouth – 

Haled out to murder. Myself on every post 

Proclaimed a strumpet; with immodest hatred 

The childbed privilege denied, which ‘longs 

To women of all fashion; lastly, hurried 

Here to this place, i’th’ open air, before 

I have got strength of limit. Now, my liege, 

Tell me what blessings I have here alive 

That I should fear to die. Therefore proceed. 

But yet hear this – mistake me not: no life, 

I prize it not a straw; but for mine honour, 

Which I would free – if I shall be condemned 

Upon surmises, all proofs sleeping else 

But what your jealousies awake, I tell you 

‘Tis rigour and not law. Your honours all, 

I do refer me to the oracle: 

Apollo be my judge! 



this site. 




Twelfth Night – Act II; Scene ii 

Viola: 

I left no ring with her; what means this lady? 

Fortune forbid my outside have not charmed her! 

She made good view of me, indeed so much 

That – methought – her eyes had lost her tongue, 

For she did speak in starts, distractedly. 

She loves me, sure, the cunning of her passion 

Invites me in this churlish messenger. 

None of my lord’s ring? Why, he sent her none. 

I am the man! If it be so – as ‘tis – 

Poor lady, she were better love a dream. 

Disguise, I see thou art a wickedness 

Wherein the pregnant enemy does much. 

How easy is it for the proper false 

In women’s waxen hearts to set their forms. 

Alas, our frailty is the cause, not we, 

For such as we are made, if such we be. 

How will this fadge? My master loves her dearly; 

And I, poor monster, fond as much on him; 

And she, mistaken, seems to dote on me. 

What will become of this? As I am man, 

My state is desperate for my master’s love. 

As I am woman – now, alas the day, 

What thriftless sighs shall poor Olivia breathe! 

O time, thou must untangle this, not I! 

It is too hard a knot for me t’untie. 



this site. 




The Merchant of Venice – Act III; Scene ii 

Portia: 

You see me, Lord Bassanio, where I stand, 

Such as I am. Though for myself alone 

I would not be ambitious in my wish 

To wish myself much better, yet for you 

I would be trebled twenty times myself, 

A thousand times more fair, ten thousand times 

More rich, that only to stand high in your account, 

I might in virtues, beauties, livings, friends, 

Exceed account; but the full sum of me 

Is sum of something, which to term in gross, 

Is an unlessoned girl, unschooled, unpractised, 

Happy in this, she is not yet so old 

But she may learn; happier than this, 

She is not bred so dull but she can learn; 

Happiest of all is that her gentle spirit 

Commits itself to yours to be directed, 

As from her lord, her governor, her king. 

Myself and what is mine to you and yours 

Is now converted. But now I was the lord 

Of this fair mansion, master of my servants, 

Queen o’er myself; and even now, but now, 

This house, these servants, and this same myself 

Are yours, my lord’s. I give them with this ring, 

Which when you part from, lose, or give away, 

Let it presage the ruin of your love 

And be my vantage to exclaim on you. 


Text taken from http://www.shakespeareswords.com/PlayList.aspx. 

Entire plays, definitions and other resources can also be found at this site. 




Henry IV Part I – Act II; Scene iii 

Lady Percy: 

O my good lord, why are you thus alone? 

For what offence have I this fortnight been 

A banished woman from my Harry's bed? 

Tell me, sweet lord, what is it that takes from thee 

Thy stomach, pleasure, and thy golden sleep? 

Why dost thou bend thine eyes upon the earth, 

And start so often when thou sittest alone? 

Why hast thou lost the fresh blood in thy cheeks, 

And given my treasures and my rights of thee 

To thick-eyed musing, and curst melancholy? 

In thy faint slumbers I by thee have watched 

And heard thee murmur tales of iron wars, 

Speak terms of manage to thy bounding steed, 

Cry 'Courage! To the field!' And thou hast talked 

Of sallies, and retires, of trenches, tents, 

Of palisadoes, frontiers, parapets, 

Of basilisks, of cannon, culverin, 

Of prisoners' ransom, and of soldiers slain, 

And all the currents of a heady fight. 

Thy spirit within thee hath been so at war 

And thus hath so bestirred thee in thy sleep, 

That beads of sweat have stood upon thy brow 

Like bubbles in a late-disturbed stream, 

And in thy face strange motions have appeared, 

Such as we see when men restrain their breath 


On some great sudden hest. O, what portents are these? 

Some heavy business hath my lord in hand, 

And I must know it, else he loves me not. 



Entire plays, definitions and other resources can also 





Henry VI Part III – Act I; Scene iv 

Queen Margaret: 

Brave warriors, Clifford and Northumberland, 

Come, make him stand upon this molehill here. 

What! Was it you that would be England’s king? 

Was’t you that revelled in our parliament 

And made a preachment of your high descent? 

Where are your mess of sons to back you now? 

The wanton Edward and the lusty George? 

And where’s that valiant crook-back prodigy, 

Dicky your boy, that with his crumbling voice 

Was wont to cheer his dad in mutinies? 

Or, with the rest, where is your darling Rutland? 

Look, York; I stained this napkin with the blood 

That valiant Clifford, with his rapier’s point, 

Made issue from the bosom of the boy; 

And if thine eyes can water for his death, 

I give thee this to dry thy cheek withal. 

Alas, poor York! But that I hate thee deadly, 

I should lament thy miserable state. 

I prithee grieve, to make me merry, York. 

What! Hath thy fiery heart so parched thine entrails 

That not a tear can fall for Rutland’s death? 


Why art thou patient, man? Thou shouldst be mad; 

And I, to make thee mad, do mock thee thus. 

Stamp, rave, and fret, that I may sing and dance. 

Thou wouldst be fee'd, I see, to make me sport; 

York cannot speak, unless he wear a crown. 

A crown for York! And, lords, bow low to him; 

Hold you his hands, whilst I do set it on. 

Ay, marry, sir, now looks he like a king! 

Ay, this is he that took King Henry's chair; 

And this is he was his adopted heir. 

But how is it that great Plantagenet 

Is crowned so soon, and broke his solemn oath? 

As I bethink me, you should not be king 

Till our King Henry had shook hands with Death. 

And will you pale your head in Henry's glory, 

And rob his temples of the diadem, 

Now in his life, against your holy oath? 

O, 'tis a fault too too unpardonable! 

Off with the crown; and, with the crown, his head; 

And, whilst we breathe, take time to do him dead. 


this site. 




A Midsummer Night’s Dream – Act III; Scene ii 

Helena: 

Lo, she is one of this confederacy. 

Now I perceive they have conjoined all three 

To fashion this false sport in spite of me. 

Injurious Hermia, most ungrateful maid, 

Have you conspired, have you with these contrived 

To bait me with this foul derision? 

Is all the counsel that we two have shared – 

The sisters’ vows, the hours that we have spent 

When we have chid the hasty-footed time 

For parting us – O, is all forgot? 

All schooldays' friendship, childhood innocence? 

We, Hermia, like two artificial gods 

Have with our needles created both one flower, 

Both on one sampler, sitting on one cushion, 

Both warbling of one song, both in one key, 

As if our hands, our sides, voices, and minds, 

Had been incorporate. So we grew together 

Like a double cherry, seeming parted 

But yet an union in partition, 

Two lovely berries moulded the one stem, 

So with two seeming bodies but one heart, 

Two of the first, like coats in heraldry, 

Due but to one, and crowned with one crest. 

And will you rent our ancient love asunder, 

To join with men in scorning your poor friend? 

It is not friendly, 'tis not maidenly. 

Our sex as well as I may chide you for it, 

Though I alone do feel the injury. 









Romeo and Juliet – Act II; Scene v 

Juliet: 

The clock struck nine when I did send the Nurse. 

In half an hour she promised to return. 

Perchance she cannot meet him. That’s not so. 

O, she is lame! Love’s heralds should be thoughts, 

Which ten times faster glides than the sun’s beams, 

Driving back shadows over louring hills. 

Therefore do nimble-pinioned doves draw love, 

And therefore hath the wind-swift Cupid wings. 

Now is the sun upon the highmost hill 

Of this day’s journey, and from nine till twelve 

Is three long hours, yet she is not come. 

Had she affections and warm youthful blood, 

She would be as swift in motion as a ball. 

My words would bandy her to my sweet love, 

And his to me. 

But old folks, many feign as they were dead – 

Unwieldy, slow, heavy and pale as lead. 

O God, she comes! O honey Nurse, what news? 

Hast thou met with him? Send thy man away. 







As You Like It – Act III; Scene v 

Rosalind: 

And why, I pray you? Who might be your mother, 

That you insult, exult and all at once 


Over the wretched? What though you have no beauty – 

As, by my faith, I see no more in you 

Than without candle may go dark to bed – 

Must you be therefore proud and pitiless? 

Why, what means this? Why do you look on me? 

I see no more in you than in the ordinary 

Of nature's sale-work. 'Od's my little life, 

I think she means to tangle my eyes too! 

No, faith, proud mistress, hope not after it: 

'Tis not your inky brows, your black silk hair, 

Your bugle eyeballs, nor your cheek of cream 

That can entame my spirits to your worship. 

You foolish shepherd, wherefore do you follow her, 

Like foggy south, puffing with wind and rain? 

You are a thousand times a properer man 

Than she a woman. 'Tis such fools as you 

That makes the world full of ill-favoured children. 

'Tis not her glass, but you that flatters her, 

And out of you she sees herself more proper 

Than any of her lineaments can show her. 

But, mistress, know yourself; down on your knees 

And thank heaven, fasting, for a good man's love! 

For I must tell you friendly in your ear, 

Sell when you can, you are not for all markets. 

Cry the man mercy, love him, take his offer. 

Foul is most foul, being foul to be a scoffer. 

So take her to thee, shepherd. Fare you well. 








All’s Well that Ends Well – Act I; Scene iii 

Helena: 

Then, I confess, 

Here on my knee, before high heaven and you, 

That before you, and next unto high heaven, 

I love your son. 

My friends were poor, but honest; so's my love. 

Be not offended, for it hurts not him 

That he is loved of me. I follow him not 

By any token of presumptuous suit, 

Nor would I have him till I do deserve him, 

Yet never know how that desert should be. 

I know I love in vain, strive against hope, 

Yet in this captious and intenable sieve 

I still pour in the waters of my love 

And lack not to lose still. Thus, Indian-like, 

Religious in mine error, I adore 

The sun that looks upon his worshipper 

But knows of him no more. My dearest madam, 

Let not your hate encounter with my love, 

For loving where you do; but if yourself, 

Whose aged honour cites a virtuous youth, 

Did ever in so true a flame of liking, 

Wish chastely and love dearly, that your Dian 

Was both herself and love – O then, give pity 

To her whose state is such that cannot choose 

But lend and give where she is sure to lose; 

That seeks not to find that her search implies, 

But riddle-like lives sweetly where she dies. 









The Homecoming – Harold Pinter 

Lenny: 


I mean, I am very sensitive to atmosphere, but I tend to get desensitized, if you know what I mean, 

when people make unreasonable demands on me. For instance, last Christmas I decided to do a bit 

of snow-clearing for the Borough Council, because we had a heavy snow over here that year in 

Europe. Well, that morning, while I was having my mid-morning cup of tea in a neighbouring cafe, the 

shovel standing by my chair, an old lady approached me and asked me if I would give her a hand 

with her iron mangle. Her brother-in-law, she said, had left it for her, but he'd left it in the wrong room, 

he'd left it in the front room. Well, naturally, she wanted it in the back room. It was a present he'd 

given her, you see, a mangle, to iron out the washing. But he'd left it in the wrong room, he'd left it in 

the front room, well that was a silly place to leave it, it couldn't stay there. So I took time off to give 

her a hand. She only lived up the road. Well, the only trouble was when I got there I couldn't move 

this mangle. It must have weighed about half a ton. How this brother-in-law got it up there in the first 

place I can't even begin to envisage. So there I was, doing a bit of shoulders on with the mangle, 

risking a rupture, and this old lady just standing there, waving me on, not even lifting a little finger to 

give me a helping hand. So after a few minutes I said to her, now look here, why don't you stuff this 

iron mangle up your arse? Anyway, I said, they're out of date, you want to get a spin drier. I had a 

good mind to give her a workover there and then, but as I was feeling jubilant with the snow-clearing I 

just gave her a short-arm jab to the belly and jumped on a bus outside. Excuse me, shall I take this 

ashtray out of your way? 




The Libertine – Stephen Jeffreys 

Rochester: 


Allow me to be frank at the commencement: you will not like me. No, I say you will not. The gentlemen will be 

envious and the ladies will be repelled. You will not like me now and you will like me a good deal less as we 

go on. Oh yes, I shall do things you will like. You will say ‘That was a noble impulse in him’ or ‘He played a 

brave part there,’ but DO NOT WARM TO ME, it will not serve. When I become a BIT OF A CHARMER that is 

your danger sign for it prefaces the change into THE FULL REPTILE a few seconds later. What I require is not 

your affection but your attention. I must not be ignored or you will find me as troublesome a package as ever 

pissed in the Thames. Now. Ladies. An announcement. (He looks around.) I am up for it. All the time. That’s 

not a boast. Or an opinion. It is bone hard medical fact. I put it around, d’y know? And you will watch me 

putting it around and sigh for it. Don’t. It is a deal of trouble for you and you are better off watching and 

drawing your conclusions from a distance than you would be if I got my arse pointing up your petticoats. 

Gentlemen. (He looks around.) Do not despair, I am up for that as well. When the mood is on me. And the 

same warning applies. Now, gents: if there be vizards in the house, jades, harlots (as how could there not be) 

leave them be for the moment. Still your cheesy erections till I have had my say. But later when you shag – 

and later you will shag, I shall expect it of you and I will know if you have let me down – I wish you to shag 

with my homuncular image rattling in your gonads. Feel how it was for me, how it is for me and ponder. ‘Was 

that shudder the same shudder he sensed? Did he know something more profound? Or is there some wall of 

wretchedness that we all batter with our heads at that shinning, livelong moment.’ That is it. That is my 

prologue, nothing in rhyme, certainly no protestations of modesty, you were not expecting that I trust. I 

reiterate only for those who have arrived late or were buying oranges or were simply not listening: I am John 

Wilmot, Second Earl of Rochester and I do not want you to like me. 




The Cherry Orchard – 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! 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! 

Translation by Michael Frayn 




The Golden Age – Louis Nowra 

Francis: 


Are you looking at the sunset? (Startled BETSHEB turns around. Smiling) I’m not a monster… No more 

running. Look at us reflected in the water, see? Upside-down. (He smiles and she smiles back. Silence) So 

quiet. I’m not used to such silence. I’m a city boy, born and bred. 

You’ve never seen a city or town, have you? Where I live there are dozens of factories: shoe factories, some 

that make gaskets, hydraulic machines, clothing. My mother works in a shoe factory. (Pointing to his boots) 

These came from my mother’s factory. 

(Silence) 

These sunsets here, I’ve never seen the likes of them. A bit of muddy orange light in the distance, behind the 

chimneys, is generally all I get to see. (Pause) 

You’d like the trams, especially at night. They rattle and squeak, like ghosts rattling their chains, and every so 

often the conducting rod hits a terminus, and there is a brilliant spark of electricity, like an axe striking a rock. 

‘Spiss!’ On Saturday afternoon thousands of people go and watch the football. A huge oval of grass. (Miming 

a football) A ball like this. Someone hand passes it, ‘Whish’, straight to me. I duck one lumbering giant, spin 

around a nifty dwarf of a rover, then I catch sight of the goals. I boot a seventy-yard drop kick straight through 

the centre. The crowd goes wild! 

(He cheers wildly. BETSHEB laughs at his actions. He is pleased to have made her laugh.) 

Not as good as your play. (Pause.) 

This is your home. My home is across the river, Bass Strait. 

(Silence) 

What is it about you people? Why are you like you are? 

Don’t go. 

I was watching you pick these. My mother steals flowers from her neighbour’s front garden so every morning 

she can have fresh flowers in her vase for Saint Teresa’s portrait. She was a woman centuries ago. God fired 

a burning arrow of love into her. (Smiling) When it penetrated her, Saint Teresa could smell the burning flesh 

of her heart. 




The Seagull – Anton Chekhov 

Treplev: 


(pulling petals off a flower) She loves me - she loves me not…She loves me - she loves me not… Loves me, 

loves me not. (laughs) There you are – she doesn’t love me. Well, of course she doesn’t. She wants to live 

and love and dress in light colours, and there am I, twenty-five years old, perpetually reminding her that she’s 

stopped being young. When I’m not there she’s thirty-two – when I am she’s forty-three; and that’s why she 

hates me. Then again I don’t acknowledge the theatre. She loves the theatre – she thinks she’s serving 

humanity and the sacred cause of art, whereas in my view the modern theatre is an anthology of stereotypes 

and received ideas. When the curtain goes up, and there, in a room with three walls lit by artificial lighting 

because it’s always evening, these great artists, these high priests in the temple of art, demonstrate how 

people eat and drink, how they love and walk about and wear their suits; when out of these banal scenes and 

trite words they attempt to extract a moral – some small and simple moral with a hundred household uses; 

when under a thousand different disguises they keep serving me up the same old thing, the same old thing, 

the same old thing – then I run and don’t stop running, just as Maupassant ran from the sight of the Eiffel 

Tower, that weighed on his brain with its sheer vulgarity. What we need are new artistic forms. And if we don’t 

get new forms it would be better if we had nothing at all. 

Translation by Michael Frayn 




Fool for Love – Sam Shepard 

Eddie: 


And we walked right through town. Past the donut shop, past the miniature golf course, past the Chevron 

station. And he opened the bottle up and offered it to me. Before he even took a drink, he offered it to me first. 

And I took it and drank it and handed it back to him. And we just kept passing it back and forth like that as we 

walked until we drank the whole thing dry. And we never said a word the whole time. Then, finally, we reached 

this little white house with a red awning, on the far side of town. I’ll never forget the red awning because it 

flapped in the night breeze and the porch light made it glow. It was a hot, desert breeze and the air smelt like 

new-cut alfalfa. We walked right up to the front porch and he rang the bell and I remember getting real nervous 

because I wasn’t expecting to visit anybody. I though we were just out for a walk. And then this woman comes 

to the door. This real pretty woman with red hair. And she throws herself into his arms. And he starts crying. 

He just breaks down right there in front of me. And she’s kissing him all over the face and holding him real tight 

and he’s just crying like a baby. And then through the doorway, behind them both, I see this girl. She just 

appears. She’s just standing there, staring at me and I’m staring back at her and we can’t take our eyes off 

each other. It was like we knew each other from somewhere but we couldn’t place where. But the second we 

saw each other, that very second, we knew we’d never stop being in love. 




Death of a Salesman – Arthur Miller 

Biff: 


Now hear this, Willy, this is me… You know why I had no address for three months? I stole a suit in Kansas 

City and I was in jail… I stole myself out of every good job since high school!... And I never got anywhere 

because you blew me so full of hot air I could never stand taking orders from anybody! That’s whose fault it is! 

I had to be boss big shot in two weeks, and I’m through with it! I ran down eleven flights with a pen in my hand 

today. And suddenly I stopped, you hear me? And in the middle of that office building, I saw the things that I 

love in this world. The work and the food and time to sit and smoke. And I looked at the pen and said to 

myself, what the hell am I grabbing this for? Why am I trying to become what I don’t want to be? What am I 

doing in an office, making a contemptuous, begging fool of myself, when all I want is out there, waiting for me 

the minute I say I know who I am! Why can’t I say that, Willy?... Pop! I’m a dime a dozen, and so are you! I am 

not a leader of men, Willy, and neither are you. You were never anything but a hard-working drummer who 

landed in the ash-can like all the rest of them! I’m one dollar an hour! Do you gather my meaning? I’m not 

bringing them home!... Pop, I’m nothing! I’m nothing, Pop. Can’t you understand that? There’s no spite in it 

anymore. I’m just what I am, that’s all. (CRYING, BROKEN) Will you let me go, for Christ’s sake? Will you 

take that phony dream and burn it before something happens? 




Dead Heart – Nick Parsons 

Ray: 


No! No! No! Don’t give me that bullshit. That spooky Aboriginal bullshit. I don’t want to hear it; I don’t want 

to know. Christ. Time was the man was dead and that was it. A man was just a man. Now they follow you 

round. If he’s dead he should be in the ground: in the cold fucking ground; he should be … growing into 

something else, not … crawling out and trailing you with his long rope hangin’ off him. That’s not … the way 

it’s done. I won’t stand for it. 

I’ve worked for people. I’ve tried to make … They gotta learn to be whitefellas! (Tapping his head) Up here. 

That’s what the world is. You know that Dave; You – you seen it. Tribal way is finished; it doesn’t have a 

chance, and Poppy is not gunna drag this on and on and on till every last young fella’s drunk himself to death 

or … strung himself up because he doesn’t know what he is any more. And some poor fuckwit walks out the 

station and sees that … see that … that thing … hangin’ there and …and carries it round for the rest of his 

life. I’m telling you: Poppy is going down for what he’s done. I’ve got something on him and he’s going 

down. 

(Pause) 

I try and think of him … like he was, you know? Like on the footy field or something. But I can’t see his face 

any more; it’s all got … sucked out somehow. All I can see is a … black tongue hangin’ out. Swollen up. 

Nothing else will come, you know? That’s all that’s left. Of him. In my head. A black … tongue. 




The Cherry Orchard – Anton Chekhov 

Trofimov: 


All Russia is our orchard. The earth is broad and beautiful. There are many marvelous places. 

Think for a moment, Anya: your grandfather, your great-grandfather – all your forebears – they were the 

masters of serfs. They owned living souls. Can’t you see human faces, looking out at you from behind every 

tree-trunk in the orchard – from every leaf and every cherry? Can’t you hear their voices? The possession of 

living souls – it’s changed something deep in all of you, hasn’t it. So that your mother and you and your 

uncle don’t even notice you’re living on credit, at the expense of others – at the expense of people you don’t 

allow past the front hall… We’re two hundred years behind the times at least. We still have nothing – no 

properly defined attitude to the past. We just philosophise away, and complain about our boredom or drink 

vodka. But it’s only too clear that to start living in the present we have to redeem our past – we have to break 

with it. And it can be redeemed only by suffering, only by the most unheard-of, unceasing labour. You must 

understand that, Anya. 

Throw the keys down the well, and go. Be free as the wind. 

Have faith in me, Anya! Have faith in me! I’m not thirty yet – I’m young – I’m still a student – but I’ve borne so 

much already! Every winter I’m hungry, sick and fearful, as poor as a beggar. And the places I’ve been to! 

The places where fate has driven me! And all the time, at every minute of the day and night, my soul has 

been filled with premonitions I can’t explain or describe. I have a premonition of happiness, Anya. I can just 

see it now. 




The Black Sequin Dress – Jenny Kemp 

Woman 1: 


I can see a beautiful nightclub. Black shiny surfaces, all polished and clean, sparkling glasses full of 

champagne, gin and tonic, cocktails, liqueurs etc. Women melting into their partners’ bodies, the men 

wrapped around them like blankets. The band, in a row laid back, handsome. Snacks, cards, cigarettes, 

money, lipstick, watches, jewellery, high stools, dancing, wild dancing, bare bodies under not much. They 

abandon themselves here. Get out of their day shoes and set off at a gallop, drinks whizzing down the gullet, 

talk gurgling up, hands wandering all over the place, anywhere will do, who cares.They have learned how not 

to care, how here to let go the reins. 

They want to show off, they want to fall in love with the moment and it to fall in love with them. Greedy are 

they? No, not greedy. Hungry. 

I love, I love, I love, love they think. Love me, me, me, me, all of me. Fill me up, fill me up. I’ve had a bath, 

I’ve put on my deodorant, my clothes are impeccable. Now now now do the next bit, come over they seem to 

be screaming. 

Come over here and really fill me up with something significant something - of value. 

A right word a soft word at just the right moment straight down the ear hole, ping bullseye, right to the hungry 

spot, ping and then ah, ah, that was it. Got it thank you, now anything I can do for you back? No, yes, not a 

sure thing at all, perhaps not. 

Or someone could walk up their timing perfect, and stand fitting the shape of me. Perfection, it would 

register. I would breath out, relax and they would sit and put a hand out somewhere on the table, it would 

contact my hand and ping down the arm would go, the message and it would run up the shoulder into the 

head, down whiz straight to the heart and zoom, zing the genitals aflame. And my dress would fill up with 

light. I would wake up and dance I would jump off the end of the pier, free fall. And he would fly over the end 

after me splash, gurgle gurgle gurgle. 

And down we go. 




Three Sisters – Anton Chekhov 

Irena: 


Tell me, why is it I'm so happy today? As if I were sailing, with the wide, blue sky above me, and great white 

birds soaring in the wind. Why is it? Why? I woke up this morning, I got up, I washed - and suddenly I felt 

everything in this world was clear to me - I felt I knew how life had to be lived. Dear Ivan Romanich, I can see 

it all. A human being has to labour, whoever he happens to be, he has to toil in the sweat of his face; that’s 

the only way he can find the sense and purpose of his life, his happiness, his delight. How fine to be a 

working man who rises at first light and breaks stones on the road, or a shepherd, or a teacher, or an engine 

driver on the railway… Lord, never mind being human even – better to be an ox, better to be a simple horse, 

just so long as you work – anything rather than a young lady who rises at noon, then drinks her coffee in bed, 

then takes two hours to dress… that’s terrible! In hot weather sometimes you long to drink the way I began 

longing to work. And if I don’t start getting up early and working, then shut your heart against me, Ivan 

Romanich. 




Wild Honey – Anton Chekhov 

Anna Petrovna: 


How can you say that? How can you lie to me, on such a night as this, beneath such a sky? Tell your lies in 

autumn, if you must, in the gloom and the mud, but not now, not here. You’re being watched! Look up, you 

absurd man! A thousand eyes, all shining with indignation! You must be good and true, just as all this is 

good and true. Don’t break this silence with your little words! There’s no man in the world I could ever love 

as I love you. There’s no woman in the world you could ever love as you love me. Let’s take that love; and 

all the rest, that so torments you – we’ll leave that to others to worry about. Are you really such a terrible Don 

Juan? You look so handsome in the moonlight! Such a solemn face! It’s a woman who’s come to call, not a 

wild animal! All right – if you really hate it all so much I’ll go away again. Is that what you want? I’ll go away, 

and everything will be just as it was before. Yes…? (she laughs) Idiot! Take it! Snatch it! Seize it! What 

more do you want? Smoke it to the end, like a cigarette – pinch it out – tread it under your heel. Be human! 

You funny creature! A woman loves you – a woman you love – fine summer weather. What could be simpler 

than that? You don’t realise how hard life is for me. And yet life is what I long for. Everything is alive, 

nothing is ever still. We’re surrounded by life. We must live, too, Misha! Leave all the problems for 

tomorrow. Tonight, on this night of nights, we’ll simply live! 




Hate – Stephen Sewell 

Celia: 

Show me, Michael! Show me how to live! 

I know he’s alive! 

I love him! 

I don’t know how, but I do! 

[Pause] 


I love his power and his strength: I love the clarity of his mind; I love his lack of pettiness, his drive; I love his 

vision, his unflinching gaze; I love his willpower. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for him. I love him. 

If he’s so mad, so’s the world. I want it, Michael. I want its fury to possess me. 

I’m worth nothing. 

I’m a lie. 

I never loved Geoffrey; I can see that now. All it ever was was just one more battle with Father. 

As soon as I had him I could see everything Dad had said was true. He was a fool, he was a coward; he was 

everything Father wasn’t and I hated him. I hated him so much I’d find myself daydreaming he’d been killed in 

a car accident; stabbed, bashed. I wanted him dead. And then he just slipped away, somehow slipped out of 

my consciousness and I forgot he even existed. One day I found myself in bed with another man and I felt 

nothing: no remorse, just empty, the sheets of the bed and this stranger next to me, touching me as if he 

owned me, the light through the window. Who was he? The first man? The tenth? How many men had I slept 

with? Who were they? Where do all these men come from? What do they want? I hated him! 

He was inside me and I hated him; in my thoughts, in my dreams; even the way I held a teacup reminded me 

of him. And then I realized there was nothing I could do, nothing I could be, to ever get away from him. 

Look at him, look at him through the windows: his dark land; his anger. Look at how he scoured his soul. 

Razed it to the ground and scorched it, possessed it like an animal and ridden it till it screamed in anguish. 

I love him. 





7 Stages of Grieving – Wesley Enoch, Deborah Mailman 

Murri Woman: 

Have you ever been black? You know when you wake up one morning and you’re black? Happened 

to me this morning. I was in the bathroom, looking in the mirror and I thought, “Nice hair, beautiful 

black skin, white shiny teeth… I’m BLACK!” 

You get a lot of attention, special treatment from being black. I’m in this expensive shop and there’s 

this guy next to me, nice hair, nice tie, nice suit, waving a nice big gun in the air and the shop 

assistant says, “Keep an eye on the nigger… eye on the nigger.” 

OK, so I went to try on a dress and the shop assistant escorts me to the ‘special’ dressing room, the 

one equipped with video cameras, warning to shop lifters, a security guard, fucken sniffer dog… ‘Get 

out of it’. Just so I don’t put anything I shouldn’t on my nice dress, nice hair, beautiful black skin and 

white shiny teeth… 

Now I’m in this crowded elevator, bathed in perfume, in my nice dress, nice hair, beautiful black skin 

and white shiny teeth… ‘Hey which way’. The Woman sniffs the air. 

Somebody boodgi and they all look at me! 

Now I go to my deadly Datsun, looking pretty deadly myself, which way, lock my keys in the car. Eh 

but this Murri too good, she got a coat hanger in her bag! Fiddling around for a good five seconds and 

started hearing sirens, look around, policeman, fireman, army, fucken UN and that same sniffer 

dog. Just to make sure everything’s OK. 

Spoken in an American accent while holding the audience at ‘gunpoint’. 

“Who owns the car, Ma’am?” (CONTINUED ON NEXT PAGE) 




Indicating herself. 

“ME.” 

So I’m driving along in my deadly Datsun, stylin up to that rear vision mirror. Car breaks down. Get 

out. Started waving people for help. 

Imitating a fast car. 

Started waving people for help. Vrooom! 

Started waving people for help. Vrooom! 

Next minute I see this black shape coming down the road – fucken sniffer dog. 

Finally get home, with the help of the policeman, fireman, army, fucken UN. Still looking deadly in my 

nice dress, nice hair, beautiful black skin and white shiny teeth. Aunty comes in, “Eh Sisgirl, nice 

dress, can I borrow it? ‘Mmmm’. 

Thinking that tomorrow will be a better day, I go to bed. Kicking that sniffer dog out. Still with the sound of 

sirens in my head. Snuggling up to my doona and pillow. Morning comes, I wake up, looking in the mirror. 

Nice hair, beautiful black skin, white shiny teeth. I’M STILL BLACK! NUNNA! 




The Libertine – Stephen Jeffreys 

Elizabeth: 


You have no understanding, do you? You have comprehended – just – that I am tired of being your mistress 

and your solution is to conscript me into becoming your wife. It is not being a mistress I am tired of, John. I 

am tired of you. I do not wish to be your wife. I do not wish to be anyone’s wife. I wish to continue being the 

creature I am. I am no Nell Gwyn, I will not give up the stage as soon as a King or a Lord has seen me on it 

and, wishing me to be his and his alone, will then pay a fortune to keep me off it. I am not the sparrow you 

picked up in the roadside, my love. London walks into this theatre to see me – not George’s play nor Mr. 

Betterton. They want me and they want me over and over again. And when people desire you in such a 

manner, then you can envisage a steady river of gold lapping at your doorstep, not five pound here or there 

for pity or bed favours, not a noble’s ransom for holding you hostage from the thing you love, but a lifetime of 

money amassed through your own endeavours. That is riches. ‘Leave this gaudy, gilded stage’. You’re right, 

this stage is gilded. It is gilded with my future earnings. And I will not trade those for a dependency on you. I 

will not swap my certain glory for your undependable love. 




Three Sisters – Anton Chekhov 

Natasha: 


It’s carnival time, the servants are getting careless, you have to keep an eye on them constantly, to make sure 

nothing’s wrong. I walked through the dining room at midnight last night, and there was a candle left burning. 

And I still haven’t found out who lit it. 

Olga and Irina still aren’t in. They haven’t come home. They’re kept busy the whole time, poor things. Olga and 

her staff meeting, Irina at her telegraph office… I said that to your sister this morning, ‘You must look after 

yourself, Irina darling’, I said. But she doesn’t listen. Quarter past eight, did you say? You know, I’m afraid our 

little Bobik isn’t at all well. Why is he so cold? He had a fever yesterday, and today he’s freezing… I’m really 

worried about him! 

We’d better see he’s eating properly. I’m worried. And there’s supposed to be carnival people arriving at ten 

o’clock, I’d rather they didn’t come, Andryusha. 

You know, that darling little boy woke up this morning and looked at me, and he suddenly smiled – yes, he 

recognized me. ‘Hello, Bobik!’ I said, ‘Hello, my darling!’ And he laughed, yes. Children know everything that’s 

going on, they understand perfectly. Anyway, Andryusha, I’ll tell them not to let the musicians in. 

I’ve ordered sour milk for supper. The doctor says you’re to have nothing but sour milk, otherwise you’ll never 

lose weight. Bobik gets a chill so easily. I’m worried in case it’s too cold for him in there. We ought to put him in 

another room, at least until the warm weather. Irina’s room, for instance – that’s just perfect for a baby: it’s dry, 

and it gets the sun all day. She’ll have to be told, and she can move in with Olga meantime… She’s not at 

home during the day anyway she’s only here at nights… 




Marco Polo Sings a Solo – John Guare 

Diane: 


I really had started cookin’ when I was eight. I sat down at the piano as I had every day since I could walk, 

threw back the lid of the Knabe-Bechstien-Steinway and there on the keys was Mozart. I was never lonely 

playing the piano. Brahms was always there. Bach. Chopin. And here was Mozart. Hi, Mozart! Only this time, 

he had a raincoat on. A little raincoat. Now I had been told to beware of men in raincoats, but after all, it was 

Mozart. Mozart’s no degenerate. Mozart’s no creep. You can trust Mozart. The cool water of Mozart. He says, 

‘Hello, little girl. You gonna bring me back to La Vie?’ I said, ‘Golly, I’ll try’. And I began playing that Kochel 

listing I had been practicing for a year with that magical imitative brilliance that children can have. The 

technical mastery and total non-comprehension that children can have. I lifted my hands, dug them into the 

eighty-eights and Mozart says: ‘Yeah. Give it to me.’ I looked down. Mozart. The raincoat. Opened. The keys 

became erect. Black. White. I became terrified. Mozart! This isn’t a school yard. This is a hall named after Mr. 

Andrew Carnegie and I’m only 8 years old and what the hell are you doing??? ‘More. More. More’, says 

Mozart and he throws back his head. ‘Dig those digits into these eighty-eights. Bring me back to life. Bring me 

back to life’. Mother??? Dad?? They’re in the wings blowing kisses at me. Holding up signs. ‘You’ve never 

played better.’ Mozart moans. It’s a short piece. It ends. Mozart spurts all over me. I’m wet. Mozart wet. 

Frightened. The audience roars. This child prodigy. Can’t they see what’s happened? I look down and hear a 

chorus of ‘yeahs’ coming from all those little dead men in raincoats. There’s a scuffle and Brahms leaps on 

the keys. ‘Me next! Me next! Bring me back to life.’ My fingers dig into Brahms. Well, I started to like it. Mozart 

lives. Brahms lives. For the next twenty years that was my life. Diane de la Nova and her circus of Music. 

Diane de la Nova and her Massage Parlour of Melody. 




Victory – Howard Barker 

Devonshire: 


I do feel clean here. I do feel clean. The wind off the estuary. And the low cloud racing, and the grey flat 

water, the thin surf on the mudbank, really it is better than a marine landscape by Mr Van Oots and in any 

case I don’t think I like sex. [Pause. She breathes.] Oh, this is pure, this is absolute life, I never felt so whole 

and so completely independent, this is the third letter in a week begging me back and in verse too! All very 

flattering but really it is pure dick, a woman should never forget a poem is actually dick, should she?... 

To look at me you’d think she knows no pain, no, wouldn’t you? I’m sure you say that, privately. Admit you 

say that… 

Oh, you do, you do! Her lovely this, her lovely that, you do, of course you do, you think I have no agonies. But 

there are pains and pains, aren’t there?... 

I am twenty-four and have miscarried seven times. That is wicked, isn’t it, of God?... 

It is particularly cruel because I care for men. Last week I thought the floor of my body was being, was being 

bitten out, by rats, by dogs, I thought my whole floor was going, have you had that?... 

I cannot keep a child in, absolutely cannot, yet I conceive from a look, what is the matter with God, my womb 

is only fit for a nun, is that His way, do you think? I will die from one of these drops. I would keep away from 

dick if I could, but you cannot be as good as I am, looking as I do, and keep away from them, can you? I am 

trying to appreciate views instead, but he writes so beautifully, my rump, my rump, he goes on about, keeps 

him awake at nights, my whispering hair and so on, I go back tonight, I know all poems are dick but I go back, 

I will die of him, it is silly but he makes me feel alive. What’s your advice? I believe in asking strangers for 

advice, you cannot trust your friends, I believe in essence all your friends wish you dead. Say yes or no.

Audition Monologues - Faculty of the VCA and MCM - University of ...

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