(Showing her off) Seventy-seven! Wot's 'er income? Twelve bob a week; seven from the Gover'ment an' five from the sweat of 'er brow. Look at 'er! 'Yn't she a tight old dear to keep it goin'! No workus for 'er, nao fear! The gryve rather! (Murmurs from the crowd, at Whom MRS. LEMMY is blandly smiling.) You cawn't git below 'er--impossible! She's the foundytions of the country--an' rocky 'yn't the word for 'em. Worked 'ard all 'er life, brought up a family and buried 'em on it. Twelve bob a week, an' given when 'er fingers goes, which is very near. Well, naow, this torf 'ere comes to me an' says: "I'd like to do somefin' for yer muvver. 'Ow's ten bob a week?" 'e says. Naobody arst 'im--quite on 'is own. That's the sort 'e is. (Sinking his voice confidentially) Sorft. You bring yer muvvers 'ere, 'e'll do the syme for them. I giv yer the 'int. (VOICE: What's 'is nyme?) They calls 'im Bill.

Lemmy Monologue from The Foundations (An Extravagant Play)

Rehearse Lemmy's monologue