Old man, old man, He never closed a door Unless one opened. I am desolate, For a most sad resolve wakes in my heart: But always I have faith. Old men and women, Be silent; He does not forsake the world, But stands before it modelling in the clay And moulding there His image. Age by age The clay wars with His fingers and pleads hard For its old, heavy, dull, and shapeless ease; At times it crumbles and a nation falls, Now moves awry and demon hordes are born. [The peasants cross themselves. But leave me now, for I am desolate, I hear a whisper from beyond the thunder. [She steps down from the oratory door. Yet stay an instant. When we meet again I may have grown forgetful. Oona, take These two—the larder and the dairy keys. But take you this. It opens the small room Of herbs for medicine, of hellebore, Of vervain, monkshood, plantain, and self-heal And all the others; and the book of cures Is on the upper shelf. You understand, Because you doctored goats and cattle once.

Cathleen Monologue from The Land of Heart's Desire

Rehearse Cathleen's monologue