BREAKALEGG

Like every week we post a monologue for you to enjoy. This week it’s from Shakespears’ “The Merchant of Venice” Let me say this is one of my favorite plays, and there are just so many monologues worth while. Funny enough, they arent as used for auditions as they could be so they still seem refreshingly unexpected. This one is by the Prince of Morrocco as he deliberates which chest to open: gold, silver or lead. :

Some god direct my judgment! Let me see–I will survey th’ inscriptions back again.

What says this leaden casket? ‘Who chooseth me must give and hazard all he hath.’

Must give — for what? for lead! hazard for lead? This casket threatens; men that hazard all

Do it in hope of fair advantages. A golden mind stoops not to shows of dross;

I’ll then nor give nor hazard aught for lead. What says the silver with her virgin hue?

‘Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserves.’ As much as he deserves? Pause there, Morocco,

And weigh thy value with an even hand: If thou be’st rated by thy estimation,

Thou dost deserve enough; and yet enough May not extend so far as to the lady;

And yet to be afeard of my deserving Were but a weak disabling of myself.

As much as I deserve? Why that’s the lady! I do in birth deserve her, and in fortunes,

In graces, and in qualities of breeding; But more than these, in love I do deserve.

What if I strayed no farther, but chose here? Let’s see once more this saying graved in gold:

‘Who chooseth me shall gain what many men desire.’ Why that’s the lady! All the world desires her;

From the four corners of the earth they come To kiss this shrine, this mortal breathing saint.

The Hyrcanian deserts and the vasty wilds Of wide Arabia are as thoroughfares now

For princes to come view fair Portia. The watery kingdom, whose ambitious head

Spits in the face of heaven, is no bar To stop the foreign spirits, but they come

As o’er a brook to see fair Portia. One of these three contains her heavenly picture.

Is’t like that lead contains her? ‘Twere damnation To think so base a thought; it were too gross

To rib her cerecloth in the obscure grave. Or shall I think in silver she’s immured,

Being ten times undervalued to tried gold? O sinful thought! Never so rich a gem

Was set in worse than gold. They have in England A coin that bears the figure of an angel

Stamped in gold — but that’s insculped upon; But here an angel in a golden bed

Lies all within. Deliver me the key. Here do I choose, and thrive I as I may!

Posted on June 21st, 2009 under Monologues • Tags: MONOLOGUE, SHAKESPEAR. •  Print This Post •  Email This Post • RSS 2.0 feed • Leave a response, or trackback