FEMALE MONOLOGUES

MISS PRISM - Cecily, Cecily! Your German grammar is on the table. Pray open it at page fifteen. We will repeat
yesterday’s lesson. Child, you know how anxious your guardian is that you should improve yourself in every way. He laid
particular stress on your German, as he was leaving for town yesterday. Indeed, he always lays stress on your German
when he is leaving town. Your guardian enjoys the best of health, and his gravity of demeanor is especially to be
commended in one so comparatively young as he is. I know no one who has a higher sense of duty and responsibility. Idle
merriment and triviality would be out of place in his conversation. Mr. Worthing has many troubles in his life. You must
remember his constant anxiety about that unfortunate young man, his brother. I do not think that even I could produce any
effect on the character that according to his own brothers admission is irretrievably week and vacillating. Indeed, I am not
sure that I would desire to reclaim him. I am not in favor of this modern mania for turning bad people into good people at
a moment’s notice. As a man sows so let him reap.

GWENDOLEN FAIRFAX - Ernest, we may never be married. From the expression on Mamma’s face I fear we never
shall. Few parents nowadays pay any regard to what their children say to them. The old- fashioned respect for the young is
fast dying out. Whatever influence I ever had over Mamma, I lost at the age of three. But although she may prevent us
from becoming man and wife, and I may marry someone else, and marry often, nothing that she can possibly do can alter
my eternal devotion to you. The story of your romantic origin, as related to me by Mamma, with unpleasing comments,
has naturally stirred the deeper fibers of my nature. Your Christian name has an irresistible fascination. The simplicity of
your character makes you exquisitely incomprehensible to me. It may be necessary to do something desperate. That, of
course, will require serious consideration.

LADY AUGUSTA BRACKNELL - You may take a seat, Mr. Worthing. I feel bound to tell you that you are not down
on my list of eligible young men, although I have the same list as the dear Duchess of Bolton has. We work together, in
fact. However, I am quite ready to enter your name, should your answers be what a really affectionate mother requires. Do
you smoke? You don’t? I am glad to hear it. A man should always have an occupation of some kind. There are far too
many idle men in London as it is. How old are you? Twenty-nine? A very good age to be married at. I have always held
the opinion that a man should know everything or nothing. Which do you know? Nothing? I am pleased to hear it. I do not
approve of anything that tampers with natural ignorance. Ignorance is like a delicate exotic fruit: touch it and the bloom is
gone. The whole theory of modern education is radically unsound. Fortunately, in England, at any rate, education
produces no effect whatsoever. If it did, it would probably lead to acts of violence in Grosvenor Square.

CECILY CARDEW - You silly boy! Of course I’ll marry you. Why, we have been engaged for the last three months.
Ever since dear Uncle Jack first confessed to us that he had a younger brother who was very wicked and bad, you of
course have formed the chief topic of conversation between myself and Miss Prism. And of course a man who is much
talked about is always very attractive. I daresay it was foolish me, but I fell in love with you, Ernest. The engagement was
settled on the 14th of February last. Worn out by your entire ignorance of my existence, I determined to end the matter one
way or the other, after a long struggle with myself I accepted you under this dear tree here. The next day I bought this little
ring in your name, and this little bangle with the true lovers knot I promised you always to wear. You’ve wonderful good
taste, Ernest. It’s the excuse I’ve always given you for leading such a leading such a bad life. And this is the box in which
I keep all your dear letters. I remember only too well that I was forced to write your letters for you. I wrote always three
times a week, and sometimes oftener. The three you wrote me after I had broken off the engagement are so beautiful, and
so badly spelled, that even now I can hardly read them without crying a little.
MALE MONOLOGUES

JACK WORTHING - I beg your pardon for interrupting you, Lady Bracknell, but this engagement is quite out of the
question. I am Ms. Cardew’s Guardian, and she cannot marry without my consent until she comes of age. That consent I
absolutely declined to give. It pains me very much to have to speak frankly to you, Lady Bracknell, about your nephew,
but the fact is that I do not approve at all of his moral character. I suspect him of being untruthful. I fear there can be no
possible doubt about the matter. This afternoon, during my temporary absence in London on important question of
romance, he obtained admission to my house by means of the false pretense of being my brother. Under an assumed name
he drank, I've just been informed by my Butler, an entire pint bottle of my Apple Cider. Continuing his disgraceful
deception, he succeeded in the course of the afternoon in alienating the affections of my only ward. He subsequently
stayed to tea, and devoured every single muffin. And what makes his conduct all the more heartless is, that he was
perfectly well aware from the first that I have no brother, that I have never had a brother, and that I don't intend to have a
brother, not even of any kind. I distinctly told him so myself yesterday afternoon. My decision is unalterable. I declined to
give my consent.

ALGERNON MONCRIEFF - Now, go on! Tell me the whole thing. I may mention that I have always suspected you of
being a confirmed and secret Bunburyist; and I'm quite sure of it now. You have invented a very useful younger brother
called Earnest, in order that you may be able to come up to town as often as you like. I have invented an invaluable
permanent invalid called Bunbury, in order that I may be able to go down into the country if I choose. Bunbury is
invaluable. If it wasn't for Bunbury’s extraordinary bad health, for instance, I wouldn’t be able to dine with you at Willis’s
Tonight, I have been really engaged to Aunt Augusta for more than a week. 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 sit down with
either no woman at all, or two. Besides, now that I know you to be a confirmed bunburyist I naturally want to talk to you
about Bunburying. Nothing will induce me to part with Bunbury, and if you ever get married, which seems to me
extremely problematic, you will be very glad to know Bunbury. A man who marries without knowing Bunbury has a very
tedious time of it.

REV. CHASUBLE - Your brother Ernest dead? Mr. Worthing, I offer you my sincere condolences. You have at least the
consolation of knowing that you were always the most generous and forgiving of brothers. Was the cause of death
mentioned? I myself am peculiarly susceptible to draughts. Will the interment take place here? You would no doubt wish
me to make some slight allusion to tragic domestic affliction next Sunday. My sermon on the meaning of the manna in the
wilderness can be adapted to almost any occasion, joyful, or, as in the present case, distressing. I have preached it at
harvest celebrations, christenings, confirmations, on days of humiliation and festal days. The last time I delivered it was in
the Cathedral, as a charity sermon on behalf of the Society for the Prevention of Discontent among the Upper Orders. The
Bishop, who was present, was much struck by some of the analogs I drew.

(For LANE/MERIMAN – use any of the three male monologues