Don't cross me or I'll loose The Beast that's kennelled here.... And soon you will be howling for a truce, Howling out with fear. But my dear, Strip also, that women may battle unhindered.... But you, you'll be too sore to eat garlic more, or one black bean, I really mean, so great's my spleen, to kick you black and blue With these my dangerous legs. I'll hatch the lot of you, If my rage you dash on, The way the relentless Beetle Hatched the Eagle's eggs. Scornfully aside I set Every silly old-man threat While Lampito's with me. Or dear Ismenia, the noble Theban girl. Then let decree Be hotly piled upon decree; in vain will be your labours, You futile rogue abominated by your suffering neighbour To Hecate's feast I yesterday went-- Off I sent To our neighbours in Boeotia, asking as a gift to me For them to pack immediately That darling dainty thing ... a good fat eel I meant of course; But they refused because some idiotic old decree's in force. O this strange passion for decrees nothing on earth can check, Till someone puts a foot out tripping you, and slipping you Break your neck. LYSISTRATA enters in dismay.

Women Monologue from Lysistrata

Rehearse Women's monologue