How bright the face of heaven, and how sweet The air this day, that layeth at my feet The woman that I . . . Nay: 'twas not for her I came. 'Twas for the man, the cozener And thief, that ate with me and stole away My bride. But Paris lieth, this long day, By God's grace, under the horse-hoofs of the Greek, And round him all his land. And now I seek . . . Curse her! I scarce can speak the name she bears, That was my wife. Here with the prisoners They keep her, in these huts, among the hordes Of numbered slaves.--The host whose labouring swords Won her, have given her up to me, to fill My pleasure; perchance kill her, or not kill, But lead her home.--Methinks I have foregone The slaying of Helen here in Ilion . . . Over the long seas I will bear her back, And there, there, cast her out to whatso wrack Of angry death they may devise, who know Their dearest dead for her in Ilion.--Ho! Ye soldiers! Up into the chambers where She croucheth! Grip the long blood-reeking hair, And drag her to mine eyes . . . [Controlling himself. And when there come Fair breezes, my long ships shall bear her home. [The Soldiers go to force open the door of the second hut on the left.

Menelaus Monologue from The Trojan Women

Rehearse Menelaus's monologue