You may memorize one of these as your monologue, and you may be asked to read one or more during your tryouts:

 

RICHARD. “The Devil’s Disciple.” A flamboyantly sarcastic, happy and self-assured man; he is a dedicated rebel against the British but also against the Puritanical people who surround him. 20s or 30s. 

If I said--to please you--that I did what I did ever so little for your sake, I lied as men always lie to women. You know how much I lived with worthless men--aye, and worthless women too. Well, they could all rise to some sort of goodness and kindness when they’re in love.

(he says the word with Puritan scorn)

That has taught me to set very little store by the goodness that only comes out red hot. What I did last night, I did in cold blood, caring not half so much for your husband, or for you, as I do for myself. 

I had no motive and no interest: all I can tell you is that when it came to the point whether I would take my neck out of the noose and put another man’s into it, I could not do it. I don’t know why not: I see myself as a fool for my pains; but I could not and I cannot. I have been brought up standing by the law of my own nature; and I may not go against it, gallows or no gallows.

I should have done the same for any other man in the town, or any other man’s life. Do you understand that?

 

 

ANDERSON: An untypical Presbyterian minister, somewhat older than his wife. He is a philosophical man and a closet patriot. 40s and up.

Come, dear, you’re not so wicked as you think. The worst sin towards our fellow creatures is not to hate them, but to be indifferent to them: that’s the essence of inhumanity. After all, my dear, if you watch people carefully, you’ll be surprised to find how like hate is to love.

Yes: I’m quite in earnest. Think of how some of our married friends worry one another, tax one another, are jealous of one another, can’t bear to let one another out of sight for a day, are more like jailers and slave-owners than lovers. Think of those very same people with their enemies, scrupulous, lofty, self-respecting, determined to be independent of one another--pooh! haven’t you often thought that if they only knew it, they were better friends to their enemies than to their own husbands and wives? Come: depend on it, my dear, you are really fonder of Richard than you are of me, if only you knew it. Eh?

 

 

MRS DUDGEON, An elderly woman, a bit dogmatic in her faith and highly intolerant of others who don’t share her over-the-top faith.

Don’t lie, Mr. Anderson. We are told that the heart of man is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked. My heart belonged, not to Timothy, but to that poor wretched brother of his that has just ended his days with a rope around his neck--aye, to Peter Dudgeon. You know it: old Eli Hawkins, the man to whose pulpit you succeeded, though you are not worthy to loose his shoe latchet, told you told you when he gave over our souls into your charge. He warned me and strengthened me against my heart, and made me marry a God-fearing man--as he thought. What else but that discipline has made me the woman I am? And you, you who followed your heart in our marriage, you talk to me of what I find in my heart. Go home to your pretty wife, man; and leave me to my prayers.

 

 

General BURGOYNE, 40s and up, a dry-witted, sophisticated general with the British army

And therefore, I suppose, sir, the British officer need not know his business: the British soldier will get him out of all his blunders with the bayonet. In future, sir, I must ask you to be a little less generous with the blood of your men, and a little more generous with your own brains.

May I ask are you writing a melodrama, Major Swindon?

What a pity! What a pity! Do you all realize, sir, that we have nothing standing between us and destruction but our own bluff and the sheepishness of these colonists? They are men of the same English stock as ourselves: six to one of us, six to one, sir; and nearly half our troops are Hessians, Brunswickers, German dragoons, and Indians with scalping knives. These are the countrymen on whose devotion you rely! Suppose the colonists find a leader! Suppose the news from Springtown should turn out to mean that they have already found a leader! What shall we do then? Eh?

 

JUDITH: a passionate, young wife to the local minister who is caught between her love of her husband and her growing admiration for the man she’d previously hated, but who now has stepped forward to take his place as a condemned prisoner of the British.  20s – 40s

(fiercely)

What do I care about my duty?

I am doing my duty. I am clinging to my duty. My duty is to get you away, to save you, to leave him to his fate.

(Essie utters a cry of distress and sinks on the chair at the fire, sobbing silently)

My instinct is the same as hers--to save him above all things, though it would be so much better for him to die! so much greater! But I know you will take your own way as he took it. I have no power. I’m only a woman: I can do nothing but sit here and suffer. Only, tell him I tried to save you--that I did my best to save you.

 

The SERGEANT. A semi-illiterate, but cheerful British sergeant. 18 and up.

You can have a quiet word with him here, mum. We kep’ him in Bridewell for the night; and he’s just been brought over here for the court martial. Don’t fret, mum: he slep’ like a child, and has made a rare good breakfast.

He’s in tip top spirits, mum. The chaplain looked in to see him last night; and he won seventeen shillings off him at spoil five. He spent it among us like the gentleman he is. Duty’s duty, mum, of course; but you’re among friends here. There: I think he’s coming.

Your good lady, sir.

 

ESSIE. The shy, put-upon teenage, illegitimate daughter of Mrs. Dudgeon’s brother, whom Mrs. Dudgeon bitterly has raised.

 

JUDITH: What do you want?

ESSIE: I was to come to you.

ANDERSON: Who told you to?

ESSIE (staring at him in surprise): Are you here?

ANDERSON: Come here, Essie. Who sent you?

ESSIE: Dick. He sent me word by a soldier. I was to come here at once and do whatever Mrs. Anderson told me.

ANDERSON: A soldier! Ah, I see it all now! They have arrested Richard.

ESSIE: No. I asked the soldier. Dick’s safe. But the soldier said you had been taken--

ANDERSON: I!

JUDITH: Thank you, Essie, for coming; but I don’t need you now. You may go home.

ESSIE (suspicious): But what will they do to him? Oh, what will they do to him Will they hang him?

ANDERSON: I hope not. I hope not. Perhaps if you’re very quiet and patient, we may be able to help him in some way.

ESSIE: Yes--help him--yes, yes, yes. I’ll be good.

 

CHRISTY: early 20s, not terribly bright but very easy going. The son of Mrs. Dudgeon.

CHRISTY

(Speaking to his mother:) The minister is to break the news to you. He’ll be here presently.

(with callous placidity)

Father’s dead too. (Beat)

Why do you look at me like that? It’s not my fault. When we got to Nevinstown we found him ill in bed. He didn’t know us at first. The minister sat up with him and sent me away. He died in the night.

(Beat. Then, with bovine cheerfulness:

I think it’s going to be a fine morning, after all. What? I didn’t mean any harm. I suppose a man may make a remark about the weather even if his father’s dead.