The pillars of it go up like the brawny trunks of heroes: the sweet human flesh of men and women is moulded about its bulwarks, strong, impregnable: the faces of little children laugh out from every corner-stone: the terrible spans and arches of it are the joined hands of comrades; and up in the heights and spaces there are inscribed the numberless musings of all the dreamers of the world. It is yet building--building and built upon. Sometimes the work goes forward in deep darkness: sometimes in blinding light: now beneath the burden of unutterable anguish: now to the tune of a great laughter and heroic shoutings like the cry of thunder. (Softer.) Sometimes, in the silence of the night-time, one may hear the tiny hammerings of the comrades at work up in the dome--the comrades that have climbed ahead. (There is a short silence, broken only by the champing jaws of the BISHOP, who has resumed his sausages. ROBERT speaks first.) ROBERT (slowly). I think I begin to understand you, comride: especially that bit abaht... (his eyes stray upwards)... the 'ammerins' an' the--the harches--an'... Humph! I'm only an 'og!... S'pose there's no drain 'ands wanted in that there church o' yours?

Manson Monologue from The Servant in the House

Rehearse Manson's monologue