From The Well of the Saints: A Comedy in Three Acts by J. M. (John Millington) Synge

seizing the moment that he has her attention. — I’m thinking by the mercy of God it’s few sees anything but them is blind for a space (with excitement.) It’s a few sees the old woman rotting for the grave, and it’s few sees the like of yourself. ((He bends over her.)) Though it’s shining you are, like a high lamp would drag in the ships out of the sea. (MOLLY BYRNE: shrinking away from him. — Keep off from me, Martin Doul.) quickly, with low, furious intensity. — It’s the truth I’m telling you. ((He puts his hand on her shoulder and shakes her.)) And you’d do right not to marry a man is after looking out a long while on the bad days of the world; for what way would the like of him have fit eyes to look on yourself, when you rise up in the morning and come out of the little door you have above in the lane, the time it’d be a fine thing if a man would be seeing, and losing his sight, the way he’d have your two eyes facing him, and he going the roads, and shining above him, and he looking in the sky, and springing up from the earth, the time he’d lower his head, in place of the muck that seeing men do meet all roads spread on the world.

Martin Doul Monologue from The Well of the Saints: A Comedy in Three Acts

Rehearse Martin Doul's monologue