Monologue

Tramp Monologue from In the Shadow of the Glen

From In the Shadow of the Glen by J. M. (John Millington) Synge

male · melancholic · 1:08 min

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((Speaking mournfully.)) Is it myself, lady of the house, that does be walking round in the long nights, and crossing the hills when the fog is on them, the time a little stick would seem as big as your arm, and a rabbit as big as a bay horse, and a stack of turf as big as a towering church in the city of Dublin? If myself was easily afeard, I’m telling you, it’s long ago I’ld have been locked into the Richmond Asylum, or maybe have run up into the back hills with nothing on me but an old shirt, and been eaten with crows the like of Patch Darcy—the Lord have mercy on him—in the year that’s gone. (NORA: You knew Darcy?) Wasn’t I the last one heard his living voice in the whole world?

About this piece

30s · melancholy · isolation · death · identity · madness

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