THEATRETHEATRETHEATRE, continued....

I just updated my Theatre Resume and had to laugh.
It has gotten to the point where I will need to make two separate theatre resumes: one for acting experience, and one for production experience, i.e. directing, set, make-up, etc.
lol
By the end of this year, I will definitely add Kidsummer Night's Dream to the list as my third attempt at directing.
If all goes well, I shall have also added another production in the acting category.
As my heart is set on being in Taming of the Shrew, I have decided to forfeit auditioning for Arsenic and Old Lace.
It was a painful decision since Arsenic is one of my utmost favorite shows.
However, Taming of the Shrew would prove more fun and a far better acting experience, plus it's another chance to work with Danielle and with Rosebriar.
The choice was a no-brainer.
I shall skip the Arsenic auditions on July 26th and 27th, and focus on getting a fabulous monologue or two together for Shrew Audtions on August 22nd and 24th.
Now, if I am not chosen to be one of the few women in Shrew (What a sad thought), I'll lick my wounds and maybe audition for the next RTP production, Quiet On the Set.
But I really hope that doesn't happen.

Luckily, I have found a few more monologues!!
yay!

http://shakespeare-monologues.org/womenindex.shtml

The Merry Wives of Windsor
Act II, sc. 1 (line 1 - prose)
MISTRESS PAGE

What, have I scaped love-letters in the holiday-time of my beauty, and am I now a subject for them? Let me see.
Reads
'Ask me no reason why I love you; for though Love use Reason for his physician, he admits him not for his counsellor. You are not young, no more am I; go to then, there's sympathy: you are merry, so am I; ha, ha! then there's more sympathy: you love sack, and so do I; would you desire better sympathy? Let it suffice thee, Mistress Page,--at the least, if the love of soldier can suffice,--that I love thee. I will not say, pity me; 'tis not a soldier-like phrase: but I say, love me. By me, Thine own true knight, By day or night, Or any kind of light, With all his might For thee to fight, JOHN FALSTAFF'
What a Herod of Jewry is this! O wicked world! One that is well-nigh worn to pieces with age to show himself a young gallant! What an unweighed behavior hath this Flemish drunkard picked--with the devil's name!--out of my conversation, that he dares in this manner assay me? Why, he hath not been thrice in my company! What should I say to him? I was then frugal of my mirth: Heaven forgive me! Why, I'll exhibit a bill in the parliament for the putting down of men. How shall I be revenged on him? for revenged I will be, as sure as his guts are made of puddings.

THE COMEDY OF ERRORS


A monologue from Act II, Scene ii

by: William Shakespeare


ADRIANA: Ay, ay, Antipholus, look strange and frown.
Some other mistress hath thy sweet aspects;
I am not Adriana, nor thy wife.
The time was once when thou unurged wouldst vow
That never words were music to thine ear,
That never object pleasing in thine eye,
That never touch well welcome to thy hand,
That never meat sweet-savored in thy taste,
Unless I spake, or looked, or touched, or carved to thee.
How comes it now, my husband, O, how comes it,
That thou art then estrangèd from thyself?
Thyself I call it, being strange to me!
For know, my love, as easy mayst thou fall
A drop of water in the breaking gulf,
And take unmingled thence that drop again
Without addition or diminishing,
As take from me thyself and not me too.
How dearly would it touch thee to the quick,
Shouldst thou but hear I were licentious,
And that this body, consecrate to thee,
By ruffian lust should be contaminate!
Wouldst thou not spit at me, and spurn at me,
And hurl the name of husband in my face,
And tear the stained skin off my harlot-brow,
And from my false hand cut the wedding-ring,
And break it with a deep-divorcing vow?
I know thou canst, and therefore see thou do it.
I am possessed with an adulterate blot;
My blood is mingled with the crime of lust.
For if we two be one, and thou play false,
I do digest the poison of thy flesh,
Being strumpeted by the contagion.
Keep then fair league and truce with thy true bed;
I live distained, thou undishonerèd.

THE MERCHANT OF VENICE


A monologue from Act III, Scene ii

by: William Shakespeare


PORTIA: You see me, Lord Bassanio, where I stand,
Such as I am. Though for myself alone
I would not be ambitious in my wish
To with myself much better, yet for you
I would be trebled twenty times myself,
A thousand times more fair, ten thousand times more rich,
That only to stand high in your account,
I might in virtues, beauties, livings, friends,
Exceed account. But the full sum of me
Is sum of something -- which, to term in gross,
Is an unlessoned girl, unschooled, unpractised;
Happy in this, she is not yet so old
But she may learn; happier than this,
She is not bred so dull but she can learn;
Happiest of all, is that her gentle spirit
Commits itself to yours to be directed,
As from her lord, her governor, her king.
Myself and what is mine to you and yours
Is now converted. But now I was the lord
Of this fair mansion, master of my servants,
Queen o'er myself; and even now, but now,
This house, these servants, and this same myself
Are yours, my lord's. I give them with this ring,
Which when you part from, lose, or give away,
Let it presage the ruin of your love
And be my vantage to exclaim on you.

A monologue from Act I, Scene iii


by: William Shakespeare


NURSE: Even or odd, of all the days in the year,
Come Lammas Eve at night shall she be fourteen.
Susan and she (God rest all Christian souls!)
Were of an age. Well, Susan is with God;
She was too good for me. But, as I said,
On Lammas Eve at night she shall be fourteen;
That shall she, marry; I remember it well.
'Tis since the earthquake now eleven years;
And she was weaned (I never shall forget it),
Of all the days of the year, upon that day;
For I had then laid wormwood to my dug,
Sitting in the sun under the dovehouse wall.
My lord and you were then at Mantua.
Nay, I do bear a brain. But, as I said,
When it did taste the wormwood on the nipple
Of my dug and felt it bitter, pretty fool,
To see it tetchy [1] and fall out with the dug!
Shake, quoth the dovehouse! [2] 'Twas no need, I trow [3],
To bid me trudge [4].
And since that time it is eleven years,
For then she could stand high-lone [5]; nay, by th' rood [6],
She could have run and waddled all about;
For even the day before, she broke her brow;
And then my husband (God be with his soul!
'A was a merry man) took up the child.
'Yea,' quoth he, 'dost thou fall upon thy face?
Thou wilt fall backward when thou hast more wit;
Wilt thou not, Jule?' and, by my holidam [7],
The pretty wretch left crying and said 'Ay.'
To see now how a jest shall come about!
I warrant, an I should live a thousand years,
I never should forget it. 'Wilt thou not, Jule?' quoth he,
And, pretty fool, it stinted [8] and said 'Ay.'

http://www.theatrehistory.com/plays/monologues.html