Wrapped in clouds and a flurry of snow, Like a roaring lion March comes in; All a boisterous, blustering blow! I rattle windows, and doors I slam; And people’s hats, to their great chagrin, I snatch and send on a whirling spin; Then, hiding in chimneys, laugh Ho, ho! Oh, what a practical joker I am! Or, rocking the tree-tops to and fro, I climb aloft like a harlequin To play my pranks on the world below. Stout timbers creak when ice-flows jam From sea to harbour where ships come in; And flood and freshet their foam-wreaths throw, And mill-wheels turn with furious din As the mill-stream rushes over the dam! “O wintry March, will it never go!” You cry, “and suffer sweet spring to win, With fields for ploughing and seed to sow?” Then how I laugh, for ’tis all a sham, My blustering roar and lion’s skin... My practical joke, to take you in! For, see! I’m the mildest month you know, As I tiptoe off like a gentle lamb!

March Monologue from Festival Plays: One-Act Pieces

Rehearse March's monologue