to himself, counting jugs on dresser.—Half a hundred beyond. Ten there. A score that’s above. Eighty jugs. Six cups and a broken one. Two plates. A power of glasses. Bottles, a school-master’d be hard set to count, and enough in them, I’m thinking, to drunken all the wealth and wisdom of the County Clare. There’s her boots now, nice and decent for her evening use, and isn’t it grand brushes she has? Well, this’d be a fine place to be my whole life talking out with swearing Christians, in place of my old dogs and cat, and I stalking around, smoking my pipe and drinking my fill, and never a day’s work but drawing a cork an odd time, or wiping a glass, or rinsing out a shiny tumbler for a decent man. Didn’t I know rightly I was handsome, though it was the divil’s own mirror we had beyond, would twist a squint across an angel’s brow; and I’ll be growing fine from this day, the way I’ll have a soft lovely skin on me and won’t be the like of the clumsy young fellows do be ploughing all times in the earth and dung. Is she coming again? Stranger girls. God help me, where’ll I hide myself away and my long neck naked to the world? I’d best go to the room maybe till I’m dressed again.

Christy Monologue from The Playboy of the Western World

Rehearse Christy's monologue