now you will find on top of the monologue silly faces that is my rank for them for example a happy face means very good, a dry face means ok , an oh my face means i don't like it but you might , and a puke face means i hate it.
THAT IS HOW I AM SETTING THEM OUT AN ARROW WILL POINT WHICH ONE IS MY RANK. FEEL FREE TO COPY AND PASTE IT TO WORD OR SOMETHING BUT DO NOT FORGET THE termsandconditions
When The Train Comes In Monologue by Nixon Waterman Character:
Member of public Gender:
Male Age (range):
|Love Is The Best Doctor Monologue by Molière|
FILERIN: Are you not ashamed, gentlemen, to have shown so little prudence for people of your age, and to have quarrelled like two young madcaps? Do you not see What harm such disputes do us in the world, and is it not enough that learned men should see the want of agreement and difference of opinions which exist between the authors of our time and our ancient masters, without our showing by our quarrels the knavery of our art? For my part, I understand nothing of the mischievous policy of some of our brethren, and we must acknowledge that all these contentions have of late done us a great deal of harm, and if we are not more careful we shall bring about our own ruin. I do not speak for myself, for, thank Heaven, I have managed my own affairs pretty well; let the wind blow, let the rain or hail come down, those who are dead are dead, and I have enough money now to be independant of the living; but, to say the least, all these disputes do no good to our calling. Since it is the will of Heaven that for so many centuries men should have been infatuated with us, let us not ourselves destroy their illusions with our noisy cabals, but profit as much as we can by their foolishness. You know that we are not the only people who try to build on the weaknesses of mankind. It is the study of half the world, and everyone tries to take their fellow-men by their weak side, and to extract some profit from them. Flatterers, for instance, seek to profit by the love men have of praise, by giving them all the vain incense they wish for; and it is an art by the help of which, as we can see every day, large fortunes are made. Alchemists try to profit by the passion men have for riches, by promising mountains of gold to those who listen to them. Fortune-tellers, with deceitful predictions, profit by the vanity and ambition of credulous minds. But the greatest weakness men are subject to, is the love they have for life; and we profit by it. With our pompous jargon we know how to take advantage of the veneration for our trade the fear of death impresses on them. Let us keep ourselves, then, in the place of respect which their weakness has given us, and let us agree before our patients so as to ascribe to ourselves whatever happy termination their illnesses may have had, and throw upon Nature all the blunders of our science. Let us not foolishly destroy their fortunate fondness for an error which provides bread for so many people, and which, with the money of those we kill, allows us to raise noble heritages for ourselves.
|The Wasps Monologue by Aristophanes|
PHILOCLEON: At the outset I will prove to you that there exists no king whose might is greater than ours. Is there a pleasure, a blessing comparable with that of a juryman? Is there a being who lives more in the midst of delights, who is more feared, aged though he be? From the moment I leave my bed, men of power, the most illustrious in the city, await me at the bar of the tribunal; the moment I am seen from the greatest distance, they come forward to offer me a gentle hand--that has pilfered the public funds; they entreat me, bowing right low and with a piteous voice, "Oh, father," they say, "pity me, I beseech you!" Why, the man who thus speaks would not know of my existence, had I not let him off on some former occasion. These entreaties have appeased my wrath, and I enter the courts--firmly resolved to do nothing that I have promised. Nevertheless I listen to the accused. Oh! what tricks to secure acquittal! Ah! there is no form of flattery that is not addressed to the court! Some groan over their property and they exaggerate the truth in order to make their troubles equal to my own. Others tell us anecdotes or some comic story from AE sop. Others, again, cut jokes; they fancy I shall be appeased if I laugh. If we are not even then won over, why, then they drag forward their young children by the hand, both boys and girls, who prostrate themselves and whine with one accord, and then the father, trembling as if before a god, begs me not to condemn him out of pity for them, "If you love the voice of the lamb, have pity on my son," and because I am fond of little sows, I must yield to his daughter's prayers. Then we relax the heat of our wrath a little for him. Is not this great power indeed? A father on his death-bed names some husband for his daughter, who is his sole heir; but we care little for his will or for the shell so solemnly placed over the seal; we give the young maiden to him who has best known how to secure our favour. Name me another duty that is so important? But I am forgetting the most pleasing thing of all. When I return home with my pay, everyone runs to greet me because of my money. First my daughter bathes me, anoints my feet, stoops to kiss me and, while she is calling me "her dearest father," fishes out my triobolus with her tongue. Then my little wife comes to wheedle me and brings a nice little cake; she sits beside me and entreats me in a thousand ways, "Do take this now; do have some more." All this delights me hugely. Am I not equal to the king of the gods? If our assembly is noisy, all say as they pass, "Great gods! the tribunal is rolling out its thunder!" If I let loose the lightning, the richest, aye, the noblest are half dead with fright and crap themselves with terror. You yourself are afraid of me, yea, by Demeter! you are afraid.
|The Bachelor's Soliloquy Monologue by Anonymous|
|The Man Who Married A Dumb Wife Monologue by Anatole France|
LEONARD: My wife is dumb. Quite dumb. I admit, I noticed it before we were married. I couldn't help noticing it, of course, but it didn't seem to make so much difference to me then as it does now. I considered her beauty, and her property, and thought of nothing but the advantages of the match and the happiness I should have with her. But now these matters seem less important, and I do wish she could talk; that would be a real intellectual pleasure for me, and, what's more, a practical advantage for the household. What does a judge need most in his house? Why, a good-looking wife, to receive the suitors pleasantly, and, by subtle suggestions, gently bring them to the point of making proper presents, so that their cases may receive--more careful attention. People need to be encouraged to make proper presents. A woman, by clever speech and prudent action, can get a good ham from one, and a roll of cloth from another; and make still another give poultry or wine. But this poor dumb thing Catherine gets nothing at all. While my fellow judges have their kitchens and cellars and stables and store-rooms running over with good things, all thanks to their wives, I hardly get wherewithal to keep the pot boiling. You see, Master Adam Fumée, what I lose by having a dumb wife. I'm not worth half as much. . . . And the worst of it is, I'm losing my spirits, and almost my wits, with it all. When I hold my wife in my arms--a woman as beautiful as the finest carved statue, at least so I think--and quite as silent, that I'm sure of--it makes me feel queer and uncanny; I even ask myself if I'm holding a graven image or a mechanical toy, or a magic doll made by a sorcerer, not a real human child of our Father in Heaven; sometimes, in the morning, I am tempted to jump out of bed to escape from bewitchment. Worse yet! What with having a dumb wife, I'm going dumb myself. Sometimes I catch myself using signs, as she does. The other day, on the Bench, I even pronounced judgment in pantomime, and condemned a man to the galleys, just by dumb show and gesticulation!
< i like it euoght said
Living at Home
by Anthony Giardinaving
John:You want to know why I left? Okay, you got it. One night last January, I'm sitting in this bar in Amherst, talking to some girl. I started telling her this story. When my brother and I were little, we used to play this game: Robert the Robot. One of us had to be Robert the Robot, and Robert, see, Robert had to climb down the steps leading to he basement and catch the other one. You had to walk like a robot. You had to be -- very mechanical. Mostly I had to be Robert because David was better at hiding. So I'd hunch my shoulders up and climb down the stairs, chasing David. Only he was nowhere to be found. I'd do my mechanical walk pretending to look for him, but, see, I had no idea. And pretty soon I'd scare myself. Being Robert the Robot, having to go through the motions, scared me. So I'd sit down, I'd stop being Robert, and David would come out all pissed off and say What's the matter? The only thing I could ever say was, I don't like being Robert. I don't want to be Robert anymore.
A hush falls over the bar. I realize everybody's been listening. I looked around, saw all these college heads nodding sagely at the profoundness of my Robert story, and had a revelation. I realized that in all this time, I hadn't succeeded in shaking myself free of this family, but only tied myself tighter, that my friends were not gods, not the golden generation that was going to change the world, but simply the sons of the lower middle class, playing at getting an education, that we would take our lower-middle-class attitudes with us wherever we went because you can t shake loose of them, you can t just say, I don't want to be Robert anymore and make it work. You ve got your roots in a bowling alley and in the streets of some town like Watertown. You are Eddie Bogle's son, and you carry him inside you, and try as you might to suppress that part to be something else, sooner or later you find yourself in a bar telling a story you thought happened in another life, and suddenly the jig is up. You can't fool yourself any longer.
© 2006 All Rights Reserved. Monologue found by Martin Bayliss director of the matrix theatre Enterprises
< really funny
The Crow Road by Iain Banks Prentice McHoan: Eventually, the noise stopped. I was about to suggest we run away very soon and to some considerable distance before anyone discovered what had happened, when Marion grabbed both my buttocks with a grip like steel and snarled those words, which I, in common with most men I suspect, would eventually become relatively familiar in similar if rather less dramatic circumstances. DONT STOP! It seemed only right to comply, but my mind wasn't really on what I was doing. Marion seemed to have some sort of fit. It coincided with, or perhaps was the cause of, the rear window falling in. It showered us both with little jagged lumps of glass, green under the tarpaulin light, like dull emeralds. We both stayed like that for a bit, breathing heavily and laughing nervously. Then we started the difficult task of disengaing and trying to dress in the back of a tarpaulin-covered car full of gravelly glass, shaking bits out of our clothes and hair. We continued dressing outside the car in the garage shaking more glass out of our clothes onto the garage floor. I had the prescence of mind to put these back on the back seat, there was, I noticed, with small pride and considerable horror, a small stain on the cracked green leather. Probably more Marion than me to be honest but there was nothing I could do about that than wiping it with my hanky. We closed the garage doors behind us, grabbed our bikes and headed for the hills. It was a week before Dad discovered the disaster scene in the garage. He never did work it out. © 2006 All Rights Reserved. Monologue found by Martin Bayliss director of the matrix theatre Enterprises
The Crow Road
by Iain Banks
Prentice McHoan: Eventually, the noise stopped. I was about to suggest we run away very soon and to some considerable distance before anyone discovered what had happened, when Marion grabbed both my buttocks with a grip like steel and snarled those words, which I, in common with most men I suspect, would eventually become relatively familiar in similar if rather less dramatic circumstances. DONT STOP! It seemed only right to comply, but my mind wasn't really on what I was doing. Marion seemed to have some sort of fit. It coincided with, or perhaps was the cause of, the rear window falling in. It showered us both with little jagged lumps of glass, green under the tarpaulin light, like dull emeralds. We both stayed like that for a bit, breathing heavily and laughing nervously. Then we started the difficult task of disengaing and trying to dress in the back of a tarpaulin-covered car full of gravelly glass, shaking bits out of our clothes and hair. We continued dressing outside the car in the garage shaking more glass out of our clothes onto the garage floor. I had the prescence of mind to put these back on the back seat, there was, I noticed, with small pride and considerable horror, a small stain on the cracked green leather. Probably more Marion than me to be honest but there was nothing I could do about that than wiping it with my hanky. We closed the garage doors behind us, grabbed our bikes and headed for the hills. It was a week before Dad discovered the disaster scene in the garage. He never did work it out.
© 2006 All Rights Reserved. Monologue found by Martin Bayliss director of the matrix theatre Enterprises
< to loveable for me
Loves Loabors Lost
by William Shakespeare
Boyet : Under the cool shade of a sycamoreI thought to close mine eyes some half an hour;When, lo! to interrupt my purposed rest,Toward that shade I might behold addrestThe king and his companions: warilyI stole into a neighbour thicket by,And overheard what you shall overhear,That, by and by, disguised they will be here.Their herald is a pretty knavish page,That well by heart hath conn'd his embassage:Action and accent did they teach him there;'Thus must thou speak,' and 'thus thy body bear:'And ever and anon they made a doubtPresence majestical would put him out,'For,' quoth the king, 'an angel shalt thou see;Yet fear not thou, but speak audaciously.'The boy replied, 'An angel is not evil;I should have fear'd her had she been a devil.'With that, all laugh'd and clapp'd him on the shoulder,Making the bold wag by their praises bolder:One rubb'd his elbow thus, and fleer'd and sworeA better speech was never spoke before;Another, with his finger and his thumb,Cried, 'Via! we will do't, come what will come;'The third he caper'd,andcried,Allgoeswell;'Thefourthturn'don the toe, and down he fell.With that, they all did tumble on the ground,With such a zealous laughter, so profound,That in this spleen ridiculous appears,To cheque their folly, passion's solemn tears.
< now this one has a meaning and i like that
|Age (range):||Late 20s-30s|
by Nick Hornby
Rob: What came first? The music or the misery? People worry about kids playing with guns or watching violent videos that some sort of culture of violence will take them over. Nobody worries about kids listening to thousands, literally thousands, of songs about heartbreak, rejection, pain, misery, and loss. Did I listen to pop music because I was miserable? Or was I miserable because I listened to pop music? It would be nice to think that since I was 14, times have changed. Relationships have become more sophisticated. Females less cruel. Skins thicker. Instincts more developed. But there seems to be an element of that afternoon in everything that's happened to me since. All my romantic stories -- are a scrambled version of that first one.
< very funny but abit boring >
by Neil Simon
Lenny: At exactly six o'clock tonight I came home from work. My wife, Myra, was in her room getting dressed for the party. I got a bottle of champagne from the refrigerator and headed upstairs. Rosetta, the cook, was in the kitchen with Romero, her son. I tapped on her door. She opens it. I hand her a glass of champagne. We drink, we kiss, and we toast. We drink, we kiss, we toast again...By seven o'clock the bottle is finished, my wife is sloshed, and I'm completely toasted.
Suddenly, a gentle knock on the door. The door opens and a strange young man looks down on us with a knife in his hands. Myra screams. I jump up and run for the gun in my drawer. I run back in with the pistol, ready to save my wife's life. The strange young man says, "Yo quito se dablo enchilada por quesa en quinto minuto." But I don't speak Spanish, and I never saw Rosetta's son, Romero, before, So I aimed my gun at him, Myra screams and pulls my arm. The gun goes off and shoots me in the ear lobe. Rosetta's son, Romero, runs downstairs to tell Rosetta , El hombre que loco, que bang-bang So, Rosetta, and Romero leave in a huff.
My earlobe is bleeding all over Myra's new dress. Suddenly we hear a car pull up. Myra grabs a bathrobe, and runs downstairs to the basement where we keep the dresses she wore last year. She can't find the light, trips down the stairs, and passes out in the dark. I run downstairs looking for Myra, notice the basement door is open and afraid the strange-looking man will come back, so I lock the door, not knowing Myra is still down there. Then I run upstairs to take some aspirin . But the blood on my fingertips gets in my eyes and by mistake I take four Valium instead. I hear the guests downstairs and I want to tell them to look for Myra. But suddenly, I can't talk from the Valium. So I start to write a note explaining what happened, but the note looks like gibberish. And I'm afraid they'll think it was a suicide note and they'll call the police, so I tore up the note, and flushed it down the toilet. And just as they walked into the room, I passed out on the bed.
< i perform this one and its really good
Over The Tavern
by Tom Dudzick
(Rushes in, kneels and does the Sign of the Cross.) Rudy: Jesus, I hate him. I hate him! I know I'll go to hell for saying that, but I can't help it! I do! You could do something to help us, why don't you? Couldn't we have Robert Young for just one day? ...Jesus, I never hear from you. I pray every night for things to get better. If you could just let me know you're listening. A sign. Nothing big, just something so I'll know your listening. Uhhh, here, I'll watch that candle.
(Looks somewhere off in the distance) If you make it light up, I'll know everything's going to be okay. You ready? Okay, go. (Rudy watches intently for a while. Nothing happens) The one on the end there. On the Left. (Again, nothing happens) Okay, I'll close my eyes.
(Puts his hands over his eyes. After a a while, peeks through) Okay, you probably want to give me a better sign. Like when the angel appeared to Mary. Okay, so I'll wait. I'll wait till tomorrow morning. We had a deal, Jesus. I said I'd be a soldier for you. Please Jesus. If you don't... I dunno. I guess I'll just have some thinking to do.
ARTIST: [Bass voice, looking at watch.] Eight-thirty PM, and my boy not home yet. My, how times have changed. When I was his age I was never out later than the next day. [Stamps foot.] Ah! I hear the front door slamming. It is my boy. [Faces Left.] Ah, Griswold, you are home at last. [Runs across to Left, takes hat from beneath coat and dons it. Faces Right. High voice.] Yes, father, I am home. But, Father, I have a confession to make. I am late because I stopped on the way home and robbed the First National Bank. [Runs to Center, hides hat beneath coat. Faces Left, bass voice.] What's this, my boy? You robbed the First National Bank? How times do change! When I was your age I never robbed anything larger than the United States mint. Griswold, what will your mother say? [Runs Right, dons hat. Faces Right. High voice.] I do not know what Mother will say, Father. [Runs Center, hides hat. Faces Left, bass voice.] We must keep it from her, my boy. She shall never know. [Runs Left, dons hat. Faces Right. High voice.] That's right. [Runs Center, hides hat. Faces Left. Bass voice.] Shhh! Your mother is coming now. [Runs Left, dons hat. Faces Right. High voice.] Where? [Runs Center, hides hat, faces Left. Bass voice.] There. [Points Left. Runs to table, dons wig. Dashes Left. Faces Right. Falsetto voice.] Ah, my boy, Griswold, is home. Josephus, our boy is a wonderful son, is he not? [Snatches off wig, runs Center. Faces Left. Bass voice.] Yes, Annabellizzy, Griswold is a son to be proud of. [Runs to table, dons wig. Turns. Falsetto voice.] Griswold, tell me. Are you hiding something from me? [Sniffs.] I smell mothballs. Griswold, something tells me. It must be a mother's intuition. Did you rob the First National Bank? [Removes wig. Dons hat. High voice.] Yes, Mother. I could not resist. Something seemed to pull me into the bank. Yes, Mother, I did rob the First National Bank. [Removes hat. Dons wig. Falsetto voice.] Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh! My Griswold! You must return what you have stolen at once. How much did you take from the bank? [Removes wig. Dons hat. High voice.] These mother. [Holds out blotters.] Two blotters and a pen point. [Removes hat. Dons wig. Falsetto voice.] Oh! [Faints.] NOTE: On the last change he may wear the wig over his hat.
Male Age (range):
The Deep Blue Sea
John Patrick Shanley
I was at this party. A guy named Skull. Everybody was getting fucked up. Somebody said there was some guys outside. I went out. There were these two guys from another neighborhood. I asked 'em what they were doing there. They knew somebody. One of 'em was a big guy. Real drunk. He said they wanted to go., but something about twenty dollars. I told him to give me the twenty dollars, but he didn't have it. I started hitting him. But when I hit him, it never seemed to be hard, ya know? I hit him a lot in the chest and face but it didn't seem to do nothing. I had him over a car hood. His friend wanted to take him away. I said okay. They started to go down the block. And they started to fight. So I ran after them. I hit on the little guy a minute, and then I started working on the big guy again. Everybody just watched. I hit him as hard as I could for about ten minutes. It never seemed like enough. Then I looked at his face... His teeth were all broken. He fell down. I stomped on his fuckin chest and I heard something break. I grabbed him under the arms and pushed him over a little fence. Into somebody's driveway. Somebody pointed to some guy and said he had the twenty dollars. I kicked him in the nuts. He went right off the ground. Then I left.