Yus, you dessay! I know. Every loafer that can't do nothink calls isself a painter. Well, I'm a real painter: grainer, finisher, thirty-eight bob a week when I can get it. (THE WOMAN: Then why don't you go and get it?) I'll tell you why. Fust: I'm intelligent--fffff! it's rotten cold here (he dances a step or two) --yes: intelligent beyond the station o life into which it has pleased the capitalists to call me; and they don't like a man that sees through em. Second, an intelligent bein needs a doo share of appiness; so I drink somethink cruel when I get the chawnce. Third, I stand by my class and do as little as I can so's to leave arf the job for me fellow workers. Fourth, I'm fly enough to know wots inside the law and wots outside it; and inside it I do as the capitalists do: pinch wot I can lay me ands on. In a proper state of society I am sober, industrious and honest: in Rome, so to speak, I do as the Romans do. Wots the consequence? When trade is bad--and it's rotten bad just now--and the employers az to sack arf their men, they generally start on me. (THE WOMAN: What's your name?) Price. Bronterre O'Brien Price. Usually called Snobby Price, for short.

The Man Monologue from Major Barbara

Rehearse The Man's monologue