We have chosen monologues from a range of Shakespeare plays, and all the monologues are of varying styles. 2.This is our list of the Best Male Shakespeare monologues. Henry IV, Part II , King Henry laments his inability to sleep. The stableboy is slow in coming out to help, and the carriers are annoyed.Hamlets soliloquy in Act 1 Scene II is his first of the play and, as a consequence. At an inn yard in Rochester, beside the main highway about twenty-five miles outside of London, two carriersmiddlemen who deliver goods from one merchant to anotherare readying their horses to depart in the early-morning darkness.
Henry Iv Part 1 Act 1 Scene 2 Full Monologue TextThough there are many more wonderful monologues across his plays we felt these were the most engaging and exciting for performance.Click the boxes below to reveal the full monologue text.Parolles: Virginity being blown down man will quicklier be blown up marry, in blowing him down again, with the breach yourselves made you lose your city. Here is our list of Shakespeare’s greatest monologues for men. Two carriers (we’d call them couriers) are discussing the various foibles of life on the road, including having to urinate in the fireplace. List of Great Male Shakespeare MonologuesHenry IV Part 1 Act 2 Scene 1. Another helpful trick is to reference the original first folio punction and use that as a guide for performance. The Arden, RSC or Cambridge Shakespeare editions are what we would recommend, but use your instincts and ignore punctuation where necessary.Virginity, by being once lost may be ten times found by being ever kept it is ever lost. That you were made of is mettel to make virgins. Loss of virginity is rational increase, and there was never virgin got till virginity was first lost.Keep it not you cannot choose but loose by’t. Besides, virginity is peevish, proud, idle, made of self-love which is the most inhibited sin in the canon. Virginity breeds mites, much like a cheese consumes itself to the very paring, and so dies with feeding his own stomach. He that hangs himself is a virgin virginity murthers itself, and should be buried in highways out of all sanctified limit, as a desperate offendress against nature. To speak on the part of virginity, is to accuse your mothers which is most infallible disobedience. Away with ‘t!There’s little can be said in’t ’tis against the rule of nature.And then the lover,Sighing like furnace, with a woeful balladMade to his mistress’ eyebrow. At first the infant,Then, the whining school-boy, with his satchelAnd shining morning face, creeping like snailUnwillingly to school. Away with ‘t!And all the men and women merely players.They have their exits and their entrances,And one man in his time plays many parts,His acts being seven ages. Some coiner with his toolsMade me a counterfeit: yet my mother seem’dThe nonpareil of this. Last scene of all,Is second childishness and mere oblivion,Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.Antipholus: Sweet mistress, what your name is else I know not,Less in your knowledge and your grace you show notThan our earth’s wonder, more than earth divine.Teach me, dear creature, how to think and speak Smother’d in errors, feeble, shallow, weak,The folded meaning of your words’ deceit.Against my soul’s pure truth, why labour youTransform me then, and to your power I’ll yield.O, train me not, sweet mermaid, with thy noteTo 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,He gains by death that hath such means to die Let love, being light, be drowned if she sink.Posthumus: Is there no way for men to be, but womenMust be half-workers? We are all bastards,When I was stamp’d. The sixth age shiftsWith spectacles on nose, and pouch on side,His youthful hose well sav’d, a world too wideFor his shrunk shank, and his big manly voice,Turning again toward childish treble, pipesAnd whistles in his sound. And then the justice,In fair round belly, with good capon lin’d,With eyes severe, and beard of formal cut,And so he plays his part. That it should come to this!But two months dead: nay, not so much, not two.Hyperion to a satyr, so loving to my motherThat he might not beteem the winds of heavenVisit her face too roughly. I’ll write against them,Detest them, curse them: yet ’tis greater skillIn a true hate, to pray they have their will:The very devils cannot plague them better.Hamlet: O, that this too too solid flesh would melt,His canon ‘gainst self-slaughter! O God, God!Fie on’t! O, fie, fie! ‘Tis an unweeded gardenThat grows to seed: things rank and gross in naturePossess it merely. Could I find outThe woman’s part in me – For there’s no motionIt is the woman’s part: be it lying, note it,The woman’s: flattering, hers deceiving, hers:Lust and rank thoughts, hers, hers revenges, hers Ambitions, covetings, change of prides, disdain,All faults that name, nay, that hell knows, why, hersIn part, or all: but rather all.For even to viceThey are not constant, but are changing still Not half so old as that. O, all the devils!This yellow Iachimo, in an hour, was ‘t not?Or less at first? Perchance he spoke not, butCried ‘O!’ and mounted found no oppositionBut what he look’d for should oppose and sheShould from encounter guard. Pdf reader application free downloadNor do not saw the air too much with your hand, thus, but use all gently for in the very torrent, tempest, and, as I may say, whirlwind of your passion, you must acquire and beget a temperance that may give it smoothness. Soft you now,Hamlet: Speak the speech, I pray you, as I pronounced it to you, trippingly on the tongue: but if you mouth it, as many of our players do, I had as live the town crier spoke my lines. To die, to sleep-The heartache and the thousand natural shocksThat flesh is heir to: ‘Tis a consummationTo sleep, perchance to dream: ay, there’s the rub.For in that sleep of death what dreams may comeWhen we have shuffled off this mortal coil,For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,The oppressor’s wrong, the proud man’s contumely,The pangs of desprized love, the law’s delay,That patient merit of the unworthy takes,With a bare bodkin? Who would these fardels bear,But that the dread of something after death,The undiscovered country, from whose bournAnd makes us rather bear those ills we haveThus conscience does make cowards of us all:Is sicklied o’er with the pale cast of thought,With this regard their currents turn awryAnd lose the name of action. O, most wicked speed, to postWith such dexterity to incestuous sheets!But break my heart, for I must hold my tongue.Hamlet: To be, or not to be, that is the question:Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to sufferThe slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,And by opposing end them.
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