to Christy. —The blessing of God and the holy angels on your head, young fellow. I hear tell you’re after winning all in the sports below; and wasn’t it a shame I didn’t bear you along with me to Kate Cassidy’s wake, a fine, stout lad, the like of you, for you’d never see the match of it for flows of drink, the way when we sunk her bones at noonday in her narrow grave, there were five men, aye, and six men, stretched out retching speechless on the holy stones. (CHRISTY: uneasily, watching Pegeen. —Is that the truth?) It is then, and aren’t you a louty schemer to go burying your poor father unbeknownst when you’d a right to throw him on the crupper of a Kerry mule and drive him westwards, like holy Joseph in the days gone by, the way we could have given him a decent burial, and not have him rotting beyond, and not a Christian drinking a smart drop to the glory of his soul? (CHRISTY: gruffly. —It’s well enough he’s lying, for the likes of him.) slapping him on the back. —Well, aren’t you a hardened slayer? It’ll be a poor thing for the household man where you go sniffing for a female wife; and ((pointing to Shawn.)) look beyond at that shy and decent Christian I have chosen for my daughter’s hand, and I after getting the gilded dispensation this day for to wed them now.

Michael Monologue from The Playboy of the Western World

Rehearse Michael's monologue