Shakespeare Monologues: 20 for Women and Men

Shakespeare monologues

Showing 20 of 20. Real Shakespeare, public domain, from standard modern editions. Running times are estimates at 140 spoken words a minute. Time yourself out loud.

• DramaticMale20s to 30s1 to 2 minutesGood for teens

  To be, or not to be

  William Shakespeare, Hamlet, Act 3, Scene 1

  Alone in the castle, Hamlet weighs whether it is nobler to put up with life's pain or to end it, and asks why people go on bearing it.

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  To be, or not to be, that is the question: Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, And by opposing end them? To die, to sleep, No more; and by a sleep to say we end The heart-ache, and the thousand natural shocks That flesh is heir to: 'tis a consummation Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep. To sleep, perchance to dream, ay, there's the rub, For in that sleep of death what dreams may come, When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, Must give us pause. There's the respect That makes calamity of so long life. For who would bear the whips and scorns of time, The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely, The pangs of dispriz'd love, the law's delay, The insolence of office, and the spurns That patient merit of the unworthy takes, When he himself might his quietus make With a bare bodkin? Who would these fardels bear, To grunt and sweat under a weary life, But that the dread of something after death, The undiscover'd country, from whose bourn No traveller returns, puzzles the will, And makes us rather bear those ills we have Than fly to others that we know not of? Thus conscience does make cowards of us all, And thus the native hue of resolution Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought, And enterprises of great pith and moment, With this regard their currents turn awry And lose the name of action.

  262 words, about 1 min 52 sec spoken (estimate)

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• DramaticMale20s to 30s1 to 2 minutesGood for teens

  O that this too too solid flesh would melt

  William Shakespeare, Hamlet, Act 1, Scene 2

  Left alone after the court celebrates, Hamlet rages that his mother married his uncle within two months of his father's death.

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  O that this too too solid flesh would melt, Thaw, and resolve itself into a dew! Or that the Everlasting had not fix'd His canon 'gainst self-slaughter. O God! O God! How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable Seem to me all the uses of this world! Fie on't! Oh fie! 'tis an unweeded garden That grows to seed; things rank and gross in nature Possess it merely. That it should come to this! But two months dead, nay, not so much, not two: So excellent a king; that was to this Hyperion to a satyr; so loving to my mother, That he might not beteem the winds of heaven Visit her face too roughly. Heaven and earth! Must I remember? Why, she would hang on him As if increase of appetite had grown By what it fed on; and yet, within a month, Let me not think on't! Frailty, thy name is woman! A little month, or ere those shoes were old With which she followed my poor father's body Like Niobe, all tears. Why she, even she, O God! A beast that wants discourse of reason Would have mourn'd longer, married with mine uncle, My father's brother; but no more like my father Than I to Hercules. Within a month, Ere yet the salt of most unrighteous tears Had left the flushing in her galled eyes, She married. O most wicked speed, to post With such dexterity to incestuous sheets! It is not, nor it cannot come to good. But break, my heart, for I must hold my tongue.

  260 words, about 1 min 51 sec spoken (estimate)

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• SeriocomicMaleTeen1 to 2 minutesGood for teens

  But soft, what light through yonder window breaks

  William Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet, Act 2, Scene 2

  Hiding in the Capulet garden after the party, Romeo sees Juliet at her window and cannot stop describing her.

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  But soft, what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun! Arise fair sun and kill the envious moon, Who is already sick and pale with grief, That thou her maid art far more fair than she. Be not her maid since she is envious; Her vestal livery is but sick and green, And none but fools do wear it; cast it off. It is my lady, O it is my love! O, that she knew she were! She speaks, yet she says nothing. What of that? Her eye discourses, I will answer it. I am too bold, 'tis not to me she speaks. Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven, Having some business, do entreat her eyes To twinkle in their spheres till they return. What if her eyes were there, they in her head? The brightness of her cheek would shame those stars, As daylight doth a lamp; her eyes in heaven Would through the airy region stream so bright That birds would sing and think it were not night. See how she leans her cheek upon her hand. O that I were a glove upon that hand, That I might touch that cheek.

  204 words, about 1 min 27 sec spoken (estimate)

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• SeriocomicFemaleTeen1 to 2 minutesGood for teens

  Thou knowest the mask of night is on my face

  William Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet, Act 2, Scene 2

  Caught out because Romeo overheard her say she loves him, Juliet drops the games and asks him straight if he loves her back.

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  Thou knowest the mask of night is on my face, Else would a maiden blush bepaint my cheek For that which thou hast heard me speak tonight. Fain would I dwell on form, fain, fain deny What I have spoke; but farewell compliment. Dost thou love me? I know thou wilt say Ay, And I will take thy word. Yet, if thou swear'st, Thou mayst prove false. At lovers' perjuries, They say Jove laughs. O gentle Romeo, If thou dost love, pronounce it faithfully. Or if thou thinkest I am too quickly won, I'll frown and be perverse, and say thee nay, So thou wilt woo. But else, not for the world. In truth, fair Montague, I am too fond; And therefore thou mayst think my 'haviour light: But trust me, gentleman, I'll prove more true Than those that have more cunning to be strange. I should have been more strange, I must confess, But that thou overheard'st, ere I was 'ware, My true-love passion; therefore pardon me, And not impute this yielding to light love, Which the dark night hath so discovered.

  183 words, about 1 min 18 sec spoken (estimate)

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• DramaticFemale20s to 30sAbout 1 minuteGood for teens

  The raven himself is hoarse

  William Shakespeare, Macbeth, Act 1, Scene 5

  Hearing that King Duncan will sleep in her castle tonight, Lady Macbeth calls on dark spirits to strip out her pity so he can be killed.

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  The raven himself is hoarse That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan Under my battlements. Come, you spirits That tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here, And fill me, from the crown to the toe, top-full Of direst cruelty! make thick my blood, Stop up th' access and passage to remorse, That no compunctious visitings of nature Shake my fell purpose, nor keep peace between Th' effect and it! Come to my woman's breasts, And take my milk for gall, your murd'ring ministers, Wherever in your sightless substances You wait on nature's mischief! Come, thick night, And pall thee in the dunnest smoke of hell That my keen knife see not the wound it makes, Nor heaven peep through the blanket of the dark To cry, "Hold, hold!"

  128 words, about 55 sec spoken (estimate)

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• DramaticMale40s plusAbout 1 minuteGood for teens

  Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow

  William Shakespeare, Macbeth, Act 5, Scene 5

  Told that his wife is dead, with an army at his walls, Macbeth decides that life means nothing at all.

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  She should have died hereafter. There would have been a time for such a word. Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow, Creeps in this petty pace from day to day, To the last syllable of recorded time; And all our yesterdays have lighted fools The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle! Life's but a walking shadow; a poor player, That struts and frets his hour upon the stage, And then is heard no more: it is a tale Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, Signifying nothing.

  90 words, about 39 sec spoken (estimate)

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• SeriocomicFemale20s to 30s1 to 2 minutesGood for teens

  How happy some o'er other some can be

  William Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night's Dream, Act 1, Scene 1

  Helena aches because Demetrius chases her friend Hermia instead of her, then decides to tell him about Hermia's plan to run away.

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  How happy some o'er other some can be! Through Athens I am thought as fair as she. But what of that? Demetrius thinks not so; He will not know what all but he do know. And as he errs, doting on Hermia's eyes, So I, admiring of his qualities. Things base and vile, holding no quantity, Love can transpose to form and dignity. Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind; And therefore is wing'd Cupid painted blind. Nor hath love's mind of any judgment taste. Wings, and no eyes, figure unheedy haste. And therefore is love said to be a child, Because in choice he is so oft beguil'd. As waggish boys in game themselves forswear, So the boy Love is perjur'd everywhere. For, ere Demetrius look'd on Hermia's eyne, He hail'd down oaths that he was only mine; And when this hail some heat from Hermia felt, So he dissolv'd, and showers of oaths did melt. I will go tell him of fair Hermia's flight. Then to the wood will he tomorrow night Pursue her; and for this intelligence If I have thanks, it is a dear expense. But herein mean I to enrich my pain, To have his sight thither and back again.

  208 words, about 1 min 29 sec spoken (estimate)

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• ComedicAny gender20s to 30sAbout 1 minuteGood for teens

  If we shadows have offended

  William Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night's Dream, Act 5, Scene 1

  The play over, the mischief making fairy Puck asks the audience to forgive anything that offended and to applaud.

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  If we shadows have offended, Think but this, and all is mended, That you have but slumber'd here While these visions did appear. And this weak and idle theme, No more yielding but a dream, Gentles, do not reprehend. If you pardon, we will mend. And, as I am an honest Puck, If we have unearnèd luck Now to 'scape the serpent's tongue, We will make amends ere long; Else the Puck a liar call. So, good night unto you all. Give me your hands, if we be friends, And Robin shall restore amends.

  94 words, about 40 sec spoken (estimate)

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• ComedicFemale20s to 30s1 to 2 minutesGood for teens

  Think not I love him, though I ask for him

  William Shakespeare, As You Like It, Act 3, Scene 5

  The shepherdess Phebe insists to her lovesick admirer Silvius that she does not love the young man who scolded her, while describing him in loving detail.

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  Think not I love him, though I ask for him. 'Tis but a peevish boy, yet he talks well. But what care I for words? Yet words do well When he that speaks them pleases those that hear. It is a pretty youth, not very pretty, But sure he's proud, and yet his pride becomes him. He'll make a proper man. The best thing in him Is his complexion; and faster than his tongue Did make offence, his eye did heal it up. He is not very tall, yet for his years he's tall; His leg is but so-so, and yet 'tis well. There was a pretty redness in his lip, A little riper and more lusty red Than that mixed in his cheek. 'Twas just the difference Betwixt the constant red and mingled damask. There be some women, Silvius, had they marked him In parcels as I did, would have gone near To fall in love with him; but for my part I love him not nor hate him not; and yet I have more cause to hate him than to love him. For what had he to do to chide at me? He said mine eyes were black and my hair black, And now I am remembered, scorned at me. I marvel why I answered not again. But that's all one: omittance is no quittance. I'll write to him a very taunting letter, And thou shalt bear it. Wilt thou, Silvius?

  243 words, about 1 min 44 sec spoken (estimate)

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• ComedicFemale20s to 30s1 to 2 minutesGood for teens

  And why, I pray you? Who might be your mother

  William Shakespeare, As You Like It, Act 3, Scene 5

  Disguised as a young man, Rosalind tells off a proud shepherdess for treating her devoted suitor with contempt.

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  And why, I pray you? Who might be your mother, That you insult, exult, and all at once, Over the wretched? What though you have no beauty, As, by my faith, I see no more in you Than without candle may go dark to bed, Must you be therefore proud and pitiless? Why, what means this? Why do you look on me? I see no more in you than in the ordinary Of nature's sale-work. 'Od's my little life, I think she means to tangle my eyes too! No, faith, proud mistress, hope not after it. 'Tis not your inky brows, your black silk hair, Your bugle eyeballs, nor your cheek of cream, That can entame my spirits to your worship. You foolish shepherd, wherefore do you follow her, Like foggy south, puffing with wind and rain? You are a thousand times a properer man Than she a woman. 'Tis such fools as you That makes the world full of ill-favoured children. 'Tis not her glass but you that flatters her, And out of you she sees herself more proper Than any of her lineaments can show her. But, mistress, know yourself; down on your knees, And thank heaven, fasting, for a good man's love. For I must tell you friendly in your ear, Sell when you can; you are not for all markets. Cry the man mercy, love him, take his offer; Foul is most foul, being foul to be a scoffer. So take her to thee, shepherd. Fare you well.

  252 words, about 1 min 48 sec spoken (estimate)

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• SeriocomicMale40s plus1 to 2 minutesGood for teens

  All the world's a stage

  William Shakespeare, As You Like It, Act 2, Scene 7

  In the forest, the gloomy courtier Jaques describes a man's life as a play in seven acts, from baby to old age.

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  All the world's a stage, And all the men and women merely players; They have their exits and their entrances, And one man in his time plays many parts, His acts being seven ages. At first the infant, Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms; Then the whining schoolboy, with his satchel And shining morning face, creeping like snail Unwillingly to school. And then the lover, Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier, Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard, Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel, Seeking the bubble reputation Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice, In fair round belly with good capon lined, With eyes severe and beard of formal cut, Full of wise saws and modern instances; And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts Into the lean and slippered pantaloon, With spectacles on nose and pouch on side, His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide For his shrunk shank, and his big manly voice, Turning again toward childish treble, pipes And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all, That ends this strange eventful history, Is second childishness and mere oblivion, Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.

  211 words, about 1 min 30 sec spoken (estimate)

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• SeriocomicFemale20s to 30s1 to 2 minutesGood for teens

  I left no ring with her

  William Shakespeare, Twelfth Night, Act 2, Scene 2

  Disguised as a young man, Viola realizes the countess Olivia has fallen for her, while she herself loves the duke who sent her.

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  I left no ring with her; what means this lady? Fortune forbid my outside have not charm'd her! She made good view of me, indeed, so much, That methought her eyes had lost her tongue, For she did speak in starts distractedly. She loves me, sure, the cunning of her passion Invites me in this churlish messenger. None of my lord's ring? Why, he sent her none. I am the man; if it be so, as 'tis, Poor lady, she were better love a dream. Disguise, I see thou art a wickedness Wherein the pregnant enemy does much. How easy is it for the proper false In women's waxen hearts to set their forms! Alas, our frailty is the cause, not we, For such as we are made of, such we be. How will this fadge? My master loves her dearly, And I, poor monster, fond as much on him, And she, mistaken, seems to dote on me. What will become of this? As I am man, My state is desperate for my master's love; As I am woman (now alas the day!) What thriftless sighs shall poor Olivia breathe! O time, thou must untangle this, not I, It is too hard a knot for me t'untie!

  207 words, about 1 min 29 sec spoken (estimate)

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• ComedicMale20s to 30s1 to 2 minutesGood for teens

  This can be no trick

  William Shakespeare, Much Ado About Nothing, Act 2, Scene 3

  Having overheard his friends say that Beatrice secretly loves him, Benedick, who swore he would never marry, talks himself into loving her back.

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  This can be no trick: the conference was sadly borne. They have the truth of this from Hero. They seem to pity the lady: it seems her affections have their full bent. Love me? why, it must be requited. I hear how I am censured: they say I will bear myself proudly, if I perceive the love come from her; they say too that she will rather die than give any sign of affection. I did never think to marry: I must not seem proud: happy are they that hear their detractions, and can put them to mending. They say the lady is fair: 'tis a truth, I can bear them witness; and virtuous: 'tis so, I cannot reprove it; and wise, but for loving me: by my troth, it is no addition to her wit, nor no great argument of her folly, for I will be horribly in love with her. I may chance have some odd quirks and remnants of wit broken on me, because I have railed so long against marriage; but doth not the appetite alter? A man loves the meat in his youth that he cannot endure in his age. Shall quips and sentences and these paper bullets of the brain awe a man from the career of his humour? No; the world must be peopled. When I said I would die a bachelor, I did not think I should live till I were married. Here comes Beatrice. By this day! she's a fair lady: I do spy some marks of love in her.

  259 words, about 1 min 51 sec spoken (estimate)

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• DramaticFemale20s to 30sAbout 1 minuteGood for teens

  The quality of mercy is not strained

  William Shakespeare, The Merchant of Venice, Act 4, Scene 1

  Disguised as a young lawyer in a Venice court, Portia asks Shylock to show mercy instead of cutting a pound of flesh from Antonio.

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  The quality of mercy is not strain'd, It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven Upon the place beneath. It is twice blest, It blesseth him that gives and him that takes. 'Tis mightiest in the mightiest; it becomes The throned monarch better than his crown. His sceptre shows the force of temporal power, The attribute to awe and majesty, Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings; But mercy is above this sceptred sway, It is enthroned in the hearts of kings, It is an attribute to God himself; And earthly power doth then show likest God's When mercy seasons justice. Therefore, Jew, Though justice be thy plea, consider this, That in the course of justice none of us Should see salvation. We do pray for mercy, And that same prayer doth teach us all to render The deeds of mercy. I have spoke thus much To mitigate the justice of thy plea, Which if thou follow, this strict court of Venice Must needs give sentence 'gainst the merchant there.

  172 words, about 1 min 14 sec spoken (estimate)

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• DramaticMale40s plus1 to 2 minutes

  Hath not a Jew eyes?

  William Shakespeare, The Merchant of Venice, Act 3, Scene 1

  Asked what good a pound of Antonio's flesh will do him, the moneylender Shylock lists the insults he has taken and says Christians taught him revenge.

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  To bait fish withal; if it will feed nothing else, it will feed my revenge. He hath disgrac'd me and hind'red me half a million, laugh'd at my losses, mock'd at my gains, scorned my nation, thwarted my bargains, cooled my friends, heated mine enemies. And what's his reason? I am a Jew. Hath not a Jew eyes? Hath not a Jew hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions? Fed with the same food, hurt with the same weapons, subject to the same diseases, healed by the same means, warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer as a Christian is? If you prick us, do we not bleed? If you tickle us, do we not laugh? If you poison us, do we not die? And if you wrong us, shall we not revenge? If we are like you in the rest, we will resemble you in that. If a Jew wrong a Christian, what is his humility? Revenge. If a Christian wrong a Jew, what should his sufferance be by Christian example? Why, revenge! The villainy you teach me I will execute, and it shall go hard but I will better the instruction.

  194 words, about 1 min 23 sec spoken (estimate)

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• DramaticFemale20s to 30sAbout 1 minute

  But I do think it is their husbands' faults

  William Shakespeare, Othello, Act 4, Scene 3

  Helping Desdemona get ready for bed, Emilia argues that when wives stray, it is their husbands who taught them how.

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  But I do think it is their husbands' faults If wives do fall: say that they slack their duties, And pour our treasures into foreign laps; Or else break out in peevish jealousies, Throwing restraint upon us. Or say they strike us, Or scant our former having in despite. Why, we have galls; and though we have some grace, Yet have we some revenge. Let husbands know Their wives have sense like them: they see, and smell And have their palates both for sweet and sour, As husbands have. What is it that they do When they change us for others? Is it sport? I think it is. And doth affection breed it? I think it doth. Is't frailty that thus errs? It is so too. And have not we affections, Desires for sport, and frailty, as men have? Then let them use us well: else let them know, The ills we do, their ills instruct us so.

  158 words, about 1 min 8 sec spoken (estimate)

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• DramaticMale20s to 30sAbout 1 minuteGood for teens

  O, pardon me, thou bleeding piece of earth

  William Shakespeare, Julius Caesar, Act 3, Scene 1

  Left alone with Caesar's body, Mark Antony apologizes to it for being polite to the killers, then promises a war of revenge.

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  O, pardon me, thou bleeding piece of earth, That I am meek and gentle with these butchers. Thou art the ruins of the noblest man That ever lived in the tide of times. Woe to the hand that shed this costly blood! Over thy wounds now do I prophesy, Which, like dumb mouths do ope their ruby lips To beg the voice and utterance of my tongue, A curse shall light upon the limbs of men; Domestic fury and fierce civil strife Shall cumber all the parts of Italy; Blood and destruction shall be so in use, And dreadful objects so familiar, That mothers shall but smile when they behold Their infants quartered with the hands of war; All pity chok'd with custom of fell deeds: And Caesar's spirit, ranging for revenge, With Ate by his side come hot from Hell, Shall in these confines with a monarch's voice Cry havoc and let slip the dogs of war, That this foul deed shall smell above the earth With carrion men, groaning for burial.

  173 words, about 1 min 14 sec spoken (estimate)

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• DramaticMale20s to 30sAbout 1 minute

  Thou, Nature, art my goddess

  William Shakespeare, King Lear, Act 1, Scene 2

  Edmund, the Earl of Gloucester's son born outside marriage, rejects the label he was born with and plots to take his brother's inheritance.

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  Thou, Nature, art my goddess; to thy law My services are bound. Wherefore should I Stand in the plague of custom, and permit The curiosity of nations to deprive me? For that I am some twelve or fourteen moonshines Lag of a brother? Why bastard? Wherefore base? When my dimensions are as well compact, My mind as generous, and my shape as true As honest madam's issue? Why brand they us With base? With baseness? bastardy? Base, base? Who, in the lusty stealth of nature, take More composition and fierce quality Than doth within a dull stale tired bed Go to the creating a whole tribe of fops Got 'tween asleep and wake? Well then, Legitimate Edgar, I must have your land: Our father's love is to the bastard Edmund As to the legitimate: fine word: legitimate! Well, my legitimate, if this letter speed, And my invention thrive, Edmund the base Shall top the legitimate. I grow, I prosper. Now, gods, stand up for bastards!

  165 words, about 1 min 11 sec spoken (estimate)

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• DramaticFemale20s to 30s1 to 2 minutes

  Sir, spare your threats

  William Shakespeare, The Winter's Tale, Act 3, Scene 2

  Put on trial by her husband the king on a false charge of adultery, days after giving birth, Queen Hermione tells him she no longer fears death, only dishonor.

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  Sir, spare your threats: The bug which you would fright me with, I seek. To me can life be no commodity. The crown and comfort of my life, your favour, I do give lost, for I do feel it gone, But know not how it went. My second joy, And first-fruits of my body, from his presence I am barr'd, like one infectious. My third comfort, Starr'd most unluckily, is from my breast, (The innocent milk in its most innocent mouth) Hal'd out to murder; myself on every post Proclaim'd a strumpet; with immodest hatred The child-bed privilege denied, which 'longs To women of all fashion; lastly, hurried Here to this place, i' th' open air, before I have got strength of limit. Now, my liege, Tell me what blessings I have here alive, That I should fear to die. Therefore proceed. But yet hear this: mistake me not: no life, I prize it not a straw, but for mine honour, Which I would free, if I shall be condemn'd Upon surmises, all proofs sleeping else But what your jealousies awake, I tell you 'Tis rigour, and not law. Your honours all, I do refer me to the oracle: Apollo be my judge!

  203 words, about 1 min 27 sec spoken (estimate)

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• DramaticFemale40s plusAbout 1 minute

  Grief fills the room up of my absent child

  William Shakespeare, King John, Act 3, Scene 4

  Her young son Arthur captured by his uncle, Constance answers the men who tell her she loves her grief too much.

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  Grief fills the room up of my absent child, Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me, Puts on his pretty looks, repeats his words, Remembers me of all his gracious parts, Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form; Then have I reason to be fond of grief? Fare you well. Had you such a loss as I, I could give better comfort than you do. I will not keep this form upon my head, When there is such disorder in my wit. O Lord! My boy, my Arthur, my fair son! My life, my joy, my food, my all the world! My widow-comfort, and my sorrows' cure!

  111 words, about 48 sec spoken (estimate)

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