Monologues for Men | Audition Monologues
Male Monologues

Monologues for Men

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A list of Great Male Monologues

This is a list of the best audition monologues for men. It includes both Dramatic and Comedic monologues. The list currently features a range of classical and contemporary monologues. Note: Classical text is great to develop your skills as an actor and is typically much richer than modern text, offering actors a great challenge. That being said, it is also really important to be able to connect with contemporary monologues, so working with a mix of both is ideal.

The monologues featured on this page are written by some of the best playwrights of all time and are great texts to work on and perform. They are also great for auditions. If you are struggling with how to perform a monologue, we have plenty of information on StageMilk.

Note: some of these monologues are pieced together from longer scenes and may have additional lines added to help them make sense as stand alone monologues. 

Note: choose monologues that resonate with you; something you are excited to perform. 

The Cherry Orchard (Anton Chekhov)
Lopakhin: I bought it…I bought it! One moment…wait…if you would, ladies and gentlemen… My head’s going round and round, I can’t speak… (laughs). So now the cherry orchard is mine! Mine! (he gives a shout of laughter) Great God in heaven – the cherry orchard is mine! Tell me I’m drunk – I’m out of my mind – tell me it’s all an illusion…Don’t laugh at me! If my father and grandfather could rise from their graves and see it all happening –if they could see me, their Yermolay, their beaten, half-literate Yermolay, who ran barefoot in winter – if they could see this same Yermolay buying the estate…The most beautiful thing in the entire world! I have bought the estate where my father and grandfather were slaves, where they weren’t even allowed into the kitchens. I’m asleep – this is all just inside my head – a figment of the imagination. Hey, you in the band! Play away! I want to hear you! Everyone come and watch Yermolay Lopakhin set about the cherry orchard with his axe! Watch these trees come down! Weekend houses, we’ll build weekend houses, and our grandchildren and our great grandchildren will see a new life here…Music! Let’s hear the band play! Let’s have everything the way I want it. Here comes the new landlord, the owner of the cherry orchard!

The Cherry Orchard (Anton Chekhov)
Trofimov: All Russia is our orchard. The earth is broad and beautiful. There are many marvelous places. Think for a moment, Anya: your grandfather, your great-grandfather – all your forebears –they were the masters of serfs. They owned living souls. Can’t you see human faces, looking out at you from behind every tree-trunk in the orchard – from every leaf and every cherry? Can’t you hear their voices? The possession of living souls – it’s changed something deep in all of you, hasn’t it. So that your mother and you and your uncle don’t even notice you’re living on credit, at the expense of others – at the expense of people you don’t allow past the front hall… We’re two hundred years behind the times at least. We still have nothing – no properly defined attitude to the past. We just philosophise away, and complain about our boredom or drink vodka. But it’s only too clear that to start living in the present we have to redeem our past – we have to break with it. And it can be redeemed only by suffering, only by the most unheard-of, unceasing labour. You must understand that, Anya.

Throw the keys down the well, and go. Be free as the wind.

Have faith in me, Anya! Have faith in me! I’m not thirty yet – I’m young – I’m still a student – but I’ve borne so much already! Every winter I’m hungry, sick and fearful, as poor as a beggar. And the places I’ve been to! The places where fate has driven me! And all the time, at every minute of the day and night, my soul has been filled with premonitions I can’t explain or describe. I have a premonition of happiness, Anya. I can just see it now.

The Seagull (Anton Chekhov)
Treplev: She loves me – she loves me not…She loves me – she loves me not… Loves me, loves me not. (laughs) There you are – she doesn’t love me. Well, of course she doesn’t. She wants to live and love and dress in light colours, and there am I, twenty-five years old, perpetually reminding her that she’s stopped being young. When I’m not there she’s thirty-two – when I am she’s forty-three; and that’s why she hates me. Then again I don’t acknowledge the theatre. She loves the theatre – she thinks she’s serving humanity and the sacred cause of art, whereas in my view the modern theatre is an anthology of stereotypes and received ideas. When the curtain goes up, and there, in a room with three walls lit by artificial lighting because it’s always evening, these great artists, these high priests in the temple of art, demonstrate how people eat and drink, how they love and walk about and wear their suits; when out of these banal scenes and trite words they attempt to extract a moral – some small and simple moral with a hundred household uses; when under a thousand different disguises they keep serving me up the same old thing, the same old thing, the same old thing – then I run and don’t stop running, just as Maupassant ran from the sight of the Eiffel Tower, that weighed on his brain with its sheer vulgarity. What we need are new artistic forms. And if we don’t get new forms it would be better if we had nothing at all.

The Way of The World (William Congreve)
Mr Betterton: Of those few fools, who with ill stars are curst,
Sure scribbling fools, called poets, fare the worst:
For they’re a sort of fools which fortune makes,
And after she has made ’em fools, forsakes.
With Nature’s oafs ’tis quite a diff’rent case,
For Fortune favours all her Idiot-race:
In her own nest the cuckoo eggs we find,
O’er which she broods to hatch the Changeling-kind.
No portion for her own she has to spare,
So much she dotes on her adopted care.
Poets are bubbles, by the town drawn in,
Suffered at first some trifling stakes to win:
But what unequal hazards do they run!
Each time they write they venture all they’ve won:
The squire that’s buttered still, is sure to be undone.
This author, heretofore, has found your favour,
But pleads no merit from his past behaviour.
To build on that might prove a vain presumption,
Should grants to poets made, admit resumption;
And in Parnassus he must lose his seat,
If that be found a forfeited estate.
He owns, with toil, he wrought the following scenes,
But if they’re naught ne’er spare him for his pains:
Damn him the more; have no commiseration
For dulness on mature deliberation.
He swears he’ll not resent one hissed-off scene,
Nor, like those peevish wits, his play maintain,
Who, to assert their sense, your taste arraign.
Some plot we think he has, and some new thought;
Some humour too, no farce; but that’s a fault.
Satire, he thinks, you ought not to expect;
For so reformed a town who dares correct?
To please, this time, has been his sole pretence,
He’ll not instruct, lest it should give offence.
Should he by chance a knave or fool expose,
That hurts none here, sure here are none of those.
In short, our play shall (with your leave to shew it)
Give you one instance of a passive poet.
Who to your judgments yields all resignation;
So save or damn, after your own discretion.

Ruben Guthrie (Brendan Cowell)
Ruben:

School school school school school. Fuck, um – well my parents sent me to a boarding school. I mean how hard is it to have one kid asleep at night in your house how hard is it but no . . . boarding school! Look, I gotta say I wasn’t like ‘this’ at boarding school, I didn’t like getting smashed on rocket fuel and talking about vaginas, honestly I had no interest in Alcohol at all. I spent my money on magazines and electronics – fashion mostly. By the time I reached Year Eight I had fifteen pairs of jeans. So of course the rugby guys and the rowing guys and the wrestling guys would come in at night and they’d pin me down and get it out of their system – the rage. ‘Nice shoes faggot – you got mousse in your hair let’s put mousse in his anus!’ I’d be flipping through MAD magazine and just put the thing down and take it. Fine. But then this guy called Corey joined our school, and suddenly all that stopped. Corey was older than me, bigger than me and a whole lot cooler than me. He drove a black Suzuki Vitara had five earrings and the word ‘Fuck’ tattooed inside his lip. My mum was always saying ‘bring Corey with you on the weekend’ and she’d go all flushed and wear low-cut tops in the kitchen. To this day I don’t know why he chose me but he did.

Agamemnon (Euripides)
Agamemnon: And what and I supposed to tell them?
It’s too late for turning back. Too late.
You Gods,
How cleartell this heartache?
How begin to break the binds
Of these threads in which I’m now entwined?
Some Gods plays with me and my plans,
His cunning far outwits my petty wiles.
The rabble live with lighter load,
Unencumbered, they can cry
When the fates fuck them around.
Not so us people of position,
We must appearances preserve.
We are the slaves of our supporters.
Trapped helpless in their gaze.
What can I do?
I am ashamed to show my grief,
Yet it is shameful not to shed a tear,
Such misfortune now enmesh me.
You Gods, were things not bad enough
Without Klytaimnestra coming too?
With what words will I greet my wife?
With what face can I look at her?
A mother must tend to her daughter, I suppose,
On her daughter’s wedding day.
Though this father grieves at how
He must give his child away.
My child,
My ill-starred child,
Who will now honeymoon with Hades
On her knees she’ll beg me;
Father, do not marry me to martyrdom, Papa-

Europe (Michael Gow)
Douglas:

What a great place. This area’s like something out of Thomas Mann or Kafka. God it’s exciting being in Europe. So alive, isn’t it? So… pulsating. I’ve had a great morning. I saw your Roman mosaic. Went on a tour of that poet’s house. Had a look at the inn where what’s-his-name wrote his opera. And I went to this great exhibition at the big gallery. There’s some amazing things in there. Stuff I knew quite well. And that altar they’ve got! But there was this performance art thing. Incredible! There was this big pool full of fish, carp, I don’t know, and this guy, nothing on, you were right, with all these crucifixes and beads in his hair, wading through the water, dragging this little raft behind him; he had the rope in his teeth. On the raft was this pile of animal innards with candles sticking out of it. Then these other people dressed as astronauts and red Indians ran round and round the pond screaming and then they lit this fire and threw copies of the Mona Lisa into it. And then, I don’t know how they did it but the water turned bright red. Just incredible. You must see it. It’s great being here. Everything’s so exciting. I’ve been keeping everything I get. Every little item, every bus ticket, gallery ticket, the train tickets. Every postcard. Every coaster from every bar, every café.

Fat Pig (Neil LaBute)
Tom:

I’m weak. That’s what I basically learned from our time together. I am a weak person,
and I don’t know if I can overcome that. No, maybe I do know. Yeah. I do know that I
am, and I can’t… overcome it, I mean. I think you are an amazing woman, I honestly do.
And I really love what we’ve had here. Our time together… But I think that we’re very
different people. Not just who we are- jobs or that kind of thing- but it does play into it
as well. Factors in. We probably should’ve realized this earlier, but I’ve been so happy
being near you that I just sorta overlooked it and went on. I did. But I feel it coming up
now, more and more, and I just think- No, that’s bullshit, actually, the whole work thing.
Forget it. (Beat.) I’m just, I feel that we should maybe stop before we get too far. It’s
weird to say this, because in many ways I’m already in so deep. Care about you a lot,
and that makes it superhard. But- I guess I do care what my peers think about me. Or
how they view my choices and, yes, maybe that makes me not very deep, or petty, or
some other word, hell, I don’t know! It’s my Achilles flaw or something. It doesn’t
matter. What I’m sure of is this- we need to stop. Stop seeing each other or going out or
anything like that. Because I know now how weak I am and that I’m not really deserving
of you, of all you have to offer me. I can see that now. Helen… things are so tricky, life is.
I want to be better… to do good and better things and to make a proper sort of decision
here, but I… I can’t.

Doctor Faustus (Christopher Marlowe)
Faustus: Ah, Faustus,
Now has thou but one bare hour to live,
And then thou must be damn’d perpetually.
Stand still, you ever-moving spheres of heaven,
That time may cease and midnight never come;
Fair nature’s eye, rise, rise again, and make
Perpetual day; or let this hour be but
A year, a month, a week, a natural day,
That Faustus may repent and save his soul.
O lente lente currite noctis equi!
The stars move still, time runs, the clock will strike,
The devil will come, and Faustus must be damn’d.
O, I’ll leap up to my God! Who pulls me down?
See, see where Christ’s blood streams in the firmament!
One drop would save my soul, half a drop. Ah, my Christ! –
Rend not my heart for naming of my Christ;
Yet will I call on him. O, spare me, Lucifer! –
Let Faustus live in hell a thousand years,
A hundred thousand, and at last be sav’d.
O, no end is limited to damned souls.
Curs’d be the parents that engender’d me!
No, Faustus, curse thyself, curse Lucifer
That hath depriv’d thee of the joys of heaven.

O, it strikes, it strikes! Now, body, turn to air,
Or Lucifer will bear thee quick to hell!

O soul, be changed into little water drops,
And fall into the ocean, ne’er be found.

My God, my God! Look not so fierce on me!
Adders and serpents let me breathe awhile!
Ugly hell, gape not! Come not, Lucifer;
I’ll burn my books! – Ah, Mephostophilis!

Edward the Second (Christopher Marlowe)
Edward: Leicester, if gentle words might comfort me,
Thy speeches long ago had eased my sorrows,
For kind and loving hast thou always been.
The griefs of private men are soon allayed,
But not of kings. The forest deer, being struck,
Runs to an herb that closeth up the wounds;
But when the imperial lion’s flesh is gored,
He rends and tears it with his wrathful paw,
And highly scorning that the lowly earth
Should drink his blood, mounts up to the air.
And so it fares with me, whose dauntless mind
The ambitious Mortimer would seek to curb,
And that unnatural queen, false Isabel,
That thus hath pent and mewed me in a prison;
For such outrageous passions cloy my soul,
As with the wings of rancour and disdain
Full often am I soaring up to heaven
To plain me to the gods against them both.
But when I call to mind I am a king,
Methinks I should revenge me of my wrongs
That Mortimer and Isabel have done.
But what are kings, when regiment is gone,
But perfect shadows in a sunshine day?
My nobles rule, I bear the name of king;
I wear the crown; but am controlled by them,
By Mortimer, and my unconstant queen,
Who spots my nuptial bed with infamy
Whilst I am lodged within this cave of care,
Where sorrow at my elbow still attends
To company my heart with sad laments,
That bleeds within me for this strange exchange.
But tell me, must I now resign my crown
To make usurping Mortimer a king?

Tamburlaine Part 2 (Christopher Marlowe)
Tamburlaine: Well, bark, ye dogs! I’ll bridle all your tongues,
And bind them close with bits of burnish’d steel,
Down to the channels of your hateful throats,
And with the pains my rigour shall inflict,
I’ll make ye roar, that earth may echo forth
The far-resounding torments ye sustain:
As when an herd of lusty Cimbrian bulls
Run mourning round about the females’ miss,
And stung with fury of their following,
Fill all the air with troublous bellowing.
I will, with engines never exercis’d,
Conquer, sack, and utterly consume
Your cities and your golden palaces,
And with the flames that beat against the clouds
Incense the heavens, and make the stars to melt,
As if they were the tears of Mahomet
For hot consumption of his country’s pride.
And till by vision or by speech I hear
Immortal Jove say “cease, my Tamburlaine”,
I will persist a terror to the world,
Making the meteors (that, like armed men,
Are seen to march upon the towers of heaven)
Run tilting round about the firmament,
And break their burning lances in the air,
For honour of my wondrous victories.
Come, bring them in to our pavilion.

The Fawn (John Marston)
Hercules: Why should any woman only love any one man, since it is reasonable women should affect all perfection, but all perfection never rests in one man; many men have many virtues, but ladies should love many virtues; therefore ladies should love many men. For as in women, so in men, some woman hath only a good eye, one can discourse beautifully (if she do not laugh), one’s well favoured to her nose, another hath only a good brow, t’other a plump lip, a third only holds beauty to the teeth, and there the soil alters; some peradventure, hold good to the breast, and then downward turn like the dreamt of image, whose head was gold, breast silver, thighs iron, and all beneath clay and earth; one only winks eloquently, another only kisses well, t’other only talks well, a fourth only lies well. So in men: one gallant has only a good face, another has only a grave methodical beard and is a notable wise fellow (until he speaks), a third only makes water well (and that’s a good provoking quality), one only swears well, another only speaks well, a third only does well – all in their kind good; goodness is to be affected; therefore, they. It is a base thing, and indeed an impossible, for a worthy mind to be contented with the whole world, but most vile and abject to be satisfied with one point or prick of the world.

Death of a Salesman (Arthur Miller)
Biff:
Now hear this, Willy, this is me. You know why I had no address for three months? I
stole a suit in Kansas City and I was jailed. I stole myself out of every good job since high
school. And I never got anywhere because you blew me so full of hot air I could never
stand taking orders from anybody! That’s whose fault it is! It’s goddamn time you heard
that! I had to be boss big shot in two weeks, and I’m through with it! Willy! I ran down
eleven flights with a pen in my hand today. And suddenly I stopped, you hear me? And
in the middle of that office building, do you hear this? I stopped in the middle of that
building and I saw- the sky. I saw the things that I love in the world. The work and the
food and the time to sit and smoke. And I looked at the pen and said to myself, what the
hell am I grabbing this for? Why am I trying to become what I don’t want to be? What
am I doing in an office, making a contemptuous, begging fool of myself, when all I want
is out there, waiting for me the minute I say I know who I am! Why can’t I say that,
Willy? Pop! I’m a dime a dozen, and so are you! I am not a leader of me, Willy, and
neither are you. You were never anything but a hard-working drummer who landed in
the ash-can like all the rest of them! I’m a dollar an hour, Willy! I tried seven states and
couldn’t raise it! A buck an hour! Do you gather my meaning? I’m not bringing home any
prizes any more, and you’re going to stop waiting for me to bring them home! Pop, I’m
nothing! I’m nothing, Pop. Can’t you understand that? There’s no spite in it any more.
I’m just what I am, that’s all. Will you let me go, for Christ’s sake? Will you take that
phoney dream and burn it before something happens?

Don Juan (Moliere)
Don Juan: What! Would you have a man tie himself up to the first woman that captures his fancy, renounce the world for her, and never again look at anyone else? That is a fine idea, I must say, to make a virtue of faithfulness, to bury oneself for good and all in one single passion and remain blind ever after to all other beauties that might catch one’s eye! No! Let fools make a virtue of constancy! All beautiful women have a right to our love, and the accident of being the first comer shouldn’t rob others of a fair share in our hearts. As for me, beauty delights me wherever I find it and I freely surrender myself to its charms. No matter how far I’m committed – the fact that I am in love with one person shall never make me unjust to the others. I keep an eye for the merits of all of them and render each one the homage, pay each one the tribute that nature enjoins. Come what may, I cannot refuse love to what I find lovable, and so, when a beautiful face is asking for love, if I had ten thousand hearts I would freely bestow every one of them. After all, there is something inexpressibly charming in falling in love and, surely, the whole pleasure lies in the fact that love isn’t lasting. How delightful, how entrancing it is to lay liege with a hundred attentions to a young woman’s heart; to see, day by day, how one makes slight advances; to pit one’s exaltation, one’s sighs and one’s tears, against the modest reluctance of a heart unwilling to yield; to surmount, step by step, all the little barriers by which she resists; to overcome her proud scruples and bring her at last to consent. But once one succeeds, what else remains? What more can one wish for? All that delights one in passion is over and one can only sink into a tame and slumbrous affection – until a new love comes along to awaken desire and offer the charm of new conquests. There is no pleasure to compare with the conquest of beauty, and my ambition is that of all the great conquerors who could never find it in them to set bounds to their ambitions, but must go on for ever from conquest to conquest. Nothing can restrain my impetuous desires. I feel it is in me to love the whole world, and like Alexander still wish for new worlds to conquer.

The Miser (Moliere)
Tartuffe: A young girl who’s just moved into this part of town, and seems created expressedly to inspire love in all who see her. Nature never framed a lovelier being, and I’ve been in absolute raptures since first clapping eyes on her. She’s called Mariane, and lives with her mother, who’s almost always ill. You’ve no idea the way she looks after her. She fetches and carries, talks and jokes; I mean it’s so, so… divine it makes you want to cry. Everything she does is charming. A thousand graces shine in all her actions. She’s gentle, kind, modest… Elise, I wish you’d seen her.

I’ve found out, without them knowing, that they aren’t very well off, and that even their modest mode of life is stretching their resources to breaking point. Imagine, Elise, what a joy it would be to restore the fortune of the girl one loves, you know, give help, tactfully, with minor household expenses and all that sort of thing; and then imagine how I feel that because of father’s meanness there’s absolutely no way I can do it. I am thwarted from trumpeting to my beloved any evidence of my love.

Ah, my dear, it’s worse than you could ever imagine. Could anything be more cruel and unnatural than the way he keeps us starved of money? What good is it to us that we’ll get it when he’s gone, if by the time we’ve got it we’re too old to enjoy it? I have to borrow money simply to keep going from day to day. The only way we can both dress at all decently is on tick. I’ve had enough I tell you. I was going to ask you to help me sound father out about Mariane. If he refuses consent, we’re going to elope and we’ll just have to live on what Heavens chose to provide. I’ve been scratching around for money for this for some time. Now, if you’re in love Elise, and he opposes both of us; we’ll both leave him and free ourselves from the yoke of his tyranny for ever.

Tartuffe (Moliere)
Tartuffe: A love of heavenly beauty does not preclude
A proper love for earthly pulchritude;
Our senses are quite rightly captivated
By perfect works our Maker has created.
Some glory clings to all that Heaven has made;
In you, all Heaven’s marvels are displayed.
On that fair face, such beauties have been lavished,
The eyes are dazzled and the heart is ravished;
How could I look on you, O flawless creature,
And not adore the Author of all Nature,
Feeling a love both passionate and pure
For you, his triumph of self-portraiture?
At first, I trembled lest that love should be
A subtle snare that Hell had laid for me;
I vowed to flee the sight of you, eschewing
A rapture that might prove my soul’s undoing;
But soon, fair being, I became aware
That my deep passion could be made to square
With rectitude, and with my bounden duty.
I thereupon surrendered to your beauty.
It is, I know, presumptuous on my part
To bring you this poor offering of my heart,
And it is not my merit, Heaven knows,
But your compassion on which my hopes repose.
You are my peace, my solace, my salvation;
On you depends my bliss – or desolation;
I bide your judgment and, as you think best,
I shall be either miserable or blest.

Look Back in Anger (John Osborne)
Jimmy: Peace! God! She wants peace! (Hardly able to get his words out.) My heart is so full, I feel ill — and she wants peace!
She crosses to the bed to put on her shoes. Cliff gets up from the table and sits in the armchair. He picks up a paper and looks at that. Jimmy has recovered slightly, and manages to sound almost detached.
I rage, and shout my head off, and everyone thinks, “poor chap!” or “what an objectionable young man!” But that girl there can twist your arm off with her silence. I’ve sat in this chair in the dark for hours. And, although she knows I’m feeling as I feel now, she’s turned over and gone to sleep. One of us is crazy. One of us is mean and stupid and crazy. Which is it? Is it me? Is it me, standing here like an hysterical girl, hardly able to get my words out? Or is it her? Sitting there, putting on her shoes to go out with that — (But inspiration has deserted him by now) Which is it?
Cliff is still looking down at his paper.
I wish to heaven you’d try loving her, that’s all.
He moves up to centre, watching her look for her gloves.
Perhaps, one day, you may want to come back. I shall wait for that day. I want to stand up in your tears, and splash about in them, and sing. I want to be there when you grovel. I want to be there, I want to watch it, I want the front seat.
Helena enters, carrying two prayer books.
I want to see your face rubbed in the mud — that’s all I can hope for. There’s nothing else I want any longer.

Look Back in Anger (John Osborne)
Jimmy: Anyone who’s never watched somebody die is suffering from a pretty bad case of virginity.
[His good humour of a moment ago deserts him, as he begins to remember] For twelve months, I watched my father dying — when I was ten years old. He’d come back from the war in Spain, you see. And certain god-fearing gentlemen there had made such a mess of him, he didn’t have long left to live. Everyone knew it — even I knew it. But, you see, I was the only one who cared… His family were embarrassed by the whole business. Embarrassed and irritated… As for my mother, all she could think about was the fact that she had allied herself to a man who seemed to be on the wrong side in all things. My mother was all for being associated with minorities, provided they were the smart, fashionable ones.
We all of us waited for him to die. The family sent him a cheque every month, and hoped he’d get on with it quietly, without too much vulgar fuss. My mother looked after him without complaining, and that was about all. Perhaps she pitied him. I suppose she was capable of that. [With a kind of appeal in his voice.] But I was the only one who cared! Every time I sat on the edge of his bed, to listen to him talking or reading to me, I had to fight back my tears. At the end of twelve months, I was a veteran. All that that feverish failure of a man had to listen to him was a small, frightened boy. I spent hour upon hour in that tiny bedroom. He would talk to me for hours, pouring out all that was left of his life to one, lonely, bewildered little boy, who could barely understand half of what he said. All he could feel was the despair and the bitterness, the sweet, sickly smell of a dying man.
You see, I learnt at an early age what it was to be angry — angry and helpless. And I can never forget it. I knew more about — love … betrayal … and death, when I was ten years old than you will probably every know all your life.

The Good Father (Christian O'Reilly)

Tim: So I decided to go to the doctor. And I don’t know about you, but I hate doctors. Terrify me. ‘Course it was a woman doctor. Jesus, I nearly ran out of the place. But then I was thinkin’, well what would I like better – have a woman or a man feeling me…? So that made it easier. Even so, it was, you know, embarrassin’ – and the mad thing is the room was upstairs with the curtains open and didn’t the 19A fly past – and the whole top deck nearly broke their necks for a gander. She closed the curtains after that. So I start tellin’ her about my mole and cancer and all this and she starts feelin’ me – like she had plastic gloves on and I was lyin’ on this bed, like a baby almost –

That’s the thing. She looks at me and says, ‘Are you aware that you only have one testicle?’ Well, I nearly dropped, or I would have only she was holding me by the – and obviously one of them hadn’t dropped, or somethin’. ‘You’re jokin’?’ I says. She says, ‘Surely you must have noticed?’ But that was the thing. I always just assumed I had two. Like I never bothered countin’ them. I thought, I dunno, I thought maybe they were so close together they felt like one, or maybe when one was down there, the other was off doing somethin’ else – like I dunno, I just never thought about it. So she tells me then that I might have what they call an ‘undescended testes’, meanin’ that one dropped, but the other didn’t…she said I’d have to get it checked out, cos if there was one still up there it would have to be removed because, guess what – it could become cancerous. So she gives me this letter to bring to a urologist at the hospital. I make an appointment, six weeks later in I go.

He tells me there’s a one in four chance I’m not fertile, that I can’t be a father, like. I says. ‘Like is there a way of findin’ out whether I’m fertile or not?’ So he tells me there’s a sperm analysis test that I can do if I really want to. Anyway, I go off and a couple of weeks later I go back for the ultrasound. An’ I’m delighted, like, that I don’t have cancer – cancer of the missin’ ball, an’ I’m thinkin’ I’ve a great story for the lads if ever I had the nerve to tell them, but all I’m thinkin’ is, Am I fertile or not’? Can I be a dad or not?

Like I didn’t know until that moment just how much I wanted to be a father. It’s stupid, but like I’d started imaginin’ it, what I’d be like, walkin’ around with a little fella holdin’ me hand, teachin’ him how to cross the road, or a little girl and holdin’ her up in the air – the way they look down at you, they’re so amazed to be up high. And bein’ a good father like – encouragin’ your kids, givin’ them a tenner if they’re stuck, askin’ them how they are, always knowin’ if somethin’ was up, bein’ there for them, bein’ there for them always, always… givin’ your life for them, givin’ your life to them – fuckin’ hell, that’s the kind of person you want to be somebody, more of those kind of people, the kind of person I want to be. Father I wanted to be.

The Homecoming (Harold Pinter)
Lenny: I mean, I am very sensitive to atmosphere, but I tend to get desensitized, if
you know what I mean, when people make unreasonable demands on me.
For instance, last Christmas I decided to do a bit of snow-clearing for the
Borough Council, because we had a heavy snow over here that year in
Europe. Well, that morning, while I was having my mid-morning cup of tea
in a neighbouring cafe, the shovel standing by my chair, an old lady
approached me and asked me if I would give her a hand with her iron
mangle. Her brother-in-law, she said, had left it for her, but he’d left it in
the wrong room, he’d left it in the front room. Well, naturally, she wanted it
in the back room. It was a present he’d given her, you see, a mangle, to iron
out the washing. But he’d left it in the wrong room, he’d left it in the front
room, well that was a silly place to leave it, it couldn’t stay there. So I took
time off to give her a hand. She only lived up the road. Well, the only trouble
was when I got there I couldn’t move this mangle. It must have weighed
about half a ton. How this brother-in-law got it up there in the first place I
can’t even begin to envisage. So there I was, doing a bit of shoulders on
with the mangle, risking a rupture, and this old lady just standing there,
waving me on, not even lifting a little finger to give me a helping hand. So
after a few minutes I said to her, now look here, why don’t you stuff this iron
mangle up your arse? Anyway, I said, they’re out of date, you want to get a
spin drier. I had a good mind to give her a workover there and then, but as I
was feeling jubilant with the snow-clearing I just gave her a short-arm jab
to the belly and jumped on a bus outside. Excuse me, shall I take this
ashtray out of your way?

Fool for Love (Sam Shepard)
Eddie:

And we walked right through town. Past the donut shop, past the miniature golf course, past the Chevron station. And he opened the bottle up and offered it to me. Before he even took a drink, he offered it to me first. And I took it and drank it and handed it back to him. And we just kept passing it back and forth like that as we walked until we drank the whole thing dry. And we never said a word the whole time. Then, finally, we reached this little white house with a red awning, on the far side of town. I’ll never forget the red awning because it flapped in the night breeze and the porch light made it glow. It was a hot, desert breeze and the air smelled like new cut alfalfa. We walked right up to the front porch and he rang the bell and I remember getting real nervous because I wasn’t out for a expecting to visit anybody. I thought we were just out for a walk. And then this woman comes to the door. This real pretty woman with red hair. And she throws herself into his arms. And he starts crying. He just breaks down right there in front of me. And she’s kissing him all over the face and holding him real tight and he’s just crying like a baby. And then through the doorway, behind them both. I see this girl. She just appears. She’s just standing there, staring at me and I’m staring back at her and we can’t take our eyes off each other. It was like we knew each other from somewhere but we couldn’t place where. But the second we saw each other, that very second, we knew we’d never stop being in love.

The Importance of Being Earnest (Oscar Wilde)
Algernon: I haven’t the smallest intention of doing anything of the kind. To begin with, I dined there on Monday, and once a week is quite enough to dine with one’s own relations. In the second place, whenever I do dine there I am always treated as a member of the family, and sent down with either no woman at all, or two. In the third place, I know perfectly well whom she will place me next to, tonight. She will place me next Mary Farquhar, who always flirts with her own husband across the dinner-table. That is not very pleasant. Indeed, it is not even decent . . . and that sort of thing is enormously on the increase. The amount of women in London who flirt with their own husbands is perfectly scandalous. It looks so bad. It is simply washing one’s clean linen in public. Besides, now that I know you to be a confirmed Bunburyist I naturally want to talk to you about Bunburying. I want to tell you the rules.

The Glass Menagerie (Tennessee Williams)
Tom: I didn’t go to the moon. I went much further–for time is the longest distance between two places. Not long after that I was fired for writing a poem on the lid of a shoebox. I left St. Louis. I descended the steps of the fire escape for a last time and followed, from then on, in my father’s footsteps, attempting to find in motion what was lost in space. I traveled around a great deal. The cities swept about me like dead leaves, leaves that were brightly coloured but torn away from their branches. I would have stopped, but I was pursued by something. It always came upon me unawares, taking me altogether by surprise. Perhaps it was a familiar bit of music. Perhaps it was only a piece of transparent glass. Perhaps I am walking along a street at night, in some strange city, before I have found companions. I pass the lighted window of a shop where perfume is sold. The window is filled with pieces of coloured glass, tiny transparent bottles in delicate colours, like bits of a shattered rainbow. Then all at once my sister touches my shoulder. I turn around and look into her eyes. Oh Laura, Laura, I tried to leave you behind me, but I am more faithful than I intended to be! I reach for a cigarette, I cross the street, I run into the movies or a bar, I buy a drink, I speak to the nearest stranger–anything that can blow your candles out! For nowadays the world is lit by lightning! Blow out your candles, Laura – and so goodbye…


Monologues for Men

So you can’t decide?

Don’t over think it. Choose a monologue that is your age and not too far from yourself. If you like playing high stakes (emotional) scenes choose something that is like this. Otherwise, keep it light.

What next

We have a great article on how to rehearse a monologue if you are getting ready for an upcoming audition. Make sure you read the play and have a good understanding of the text.

Help us expand our male monologue list

If you have any suggestions of other great monologues for men let us know in a comment below. We are always trying to improve our resources for our visitors so please get involved.

About the Author

StageMilk Team

is made up of young professional actors and writers from around the world. This team includes Andrew Hearle, Luke McMahon, Kyle Billings, Jim Harwood and many more. We all work together to contribute useful articles and resources for actors at all stages in their careers.

3 responses to “Monologues for Men”

  1. Yee says:

    Yeeeeeeeyeyeyeyeyyeeeyeeee

  2. Ben says:

    Please note – the monologue from Neil LaBute’s Fat Pig is inaccurate. In the actual play, the individual lines are spread sporadically across an entire scene, and some of the above parts of the monologue do not even appear in the play at all!

    • Samuel Samuel says:

      Hi thanks for the comment Ben. This monologue was pieced together like that for audition purposes, and some lines added to help it make sense. I will add a note above to let people know that this is the case with some of our monologues.

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