8 Shakespeare Monologues for Older Actors

Perhaps Shakespeare’s greatest and most challenging role for an older actor is King Lear. Laurence Olivier, John Gielgud, and even Glenda Jackson have all taken on this pinnacle of classical acting. Emotions are extreme, and we see the rage, vulnerability, and wisdom of old age portrayed. There are plenty of speeches to choose from, but in this monologue, Lear is raging against betrayal and nature, calling himself a “poor, infirm, weak, and despised old man.” He is a giant of a man brought low, and this is a perfect monologue to show off your range, depth, and physicality. You could also think about trying Act 2, Scene 4, where you get a glimpse into his eventual loss of sanity.

Blow winds, and crack your cheeks! Rage, blow!
You cataracts and hurricanoes, spout
Till you have drenched our steeples, ⟨drowned⟩ the cocks.
You sulph’rous and thought-executing fires,
Vaunt-couriers of oak-cleaving thunderbolts,
Singe my white head. And thou, all-shaking thunder,
Strike flat the thick rotundity o’ th’ world.
Crack nature’s molds, all germens spill at once
That makes ingrateful man.
Rumble thy bellyful! Spit, fire! Spout, rain!
Nor rain, wind, thunder, fire are my daughters.
I tax not you, you elements, with unkindness.
I never gave you kingdom, called you children;
You owe me no subscription. Then let fall
Your horrible pleasure. Here I stand your slave,
A poor, infirm, weak, and despised old man.
But yet I call you servile ministers,
That will with two pernicious daughters join
Your high-engendered battles ’gainst a head
So old and white as this. O, ho, ’tis foul!

Titania is the Queen of the Fairies, so she is in fact thousands of years old. She’s recently been played onstage by Game of Thrones star Gwendoline Christie, while other famous interpretations include Dench, who played the role in productions nearly 50 years apart (1962 and 2010). In this scene, Titania is in the midst of a quarrel with her husband, Oberon, over a “changeling boy” she is raising. She thinks she’s in the right and uses poetic imagery to prove her very personal point. Thematically, it’s all about jealousy, disaster, and winning an argument with your irritating King of the Fairies hubby.

These are the forgeries of jealousy;
And never, since the middle summer’s spring,
Met we on hill, in dale, forest, or mead,
By pavèd fountain or by rushy brook,
Or in the beachèd margent of the sea,
To dance our ringlets to the whistling wind,
But with thy brawls thou hast disturbed our sport.
Therefore the winds, piping to us in vain,
As in revenge have sucked up from the sea
Contagious fogs, which, falling in the land,
Hath every pelting river made so proud
That they have overborne their continents.
The ox hath therefore stretched his yoke in vain,
The plowman lost his sweat, and the green corn
Hath rotted ere his youth attained a beard.
The fold stands empty in the drownèd field,
And crows are fatted with the murrain flock.
The nine-men’s-morris is filled up with mud,
And the quaint mazes in the wanton green,
For lack of tread, are undistinguishable.
The human mortals want their winter here.
No night is now with hymn or carol blessed.
Therefore the moon, the governess of floods,
Pale in her anger, washes all the air,
That rheumatic diseases do abound.
And thorough this distemperature we see
The seasons alter: hoary-headed frosts
Fall in the fresh lap of the crimson rose,
And on old Hiems’ ⌜thin⌝ and icy crown
An odorous chaplet of sweet summer buds
Is, as in mockery, set. The spring, the summer,
The childing autumn, angry winter, change
Their wonted liveries, and the mazèd world
By their increase now knows not which is which.
And this same progeny of evils comes
From our debate, from our dissension;
We are their parents and original.

If you’re looking to show off your comedy chops in an audition, why not try this monologue from Much Ado About Nothing? Bumbling, self-important, and not very good at his job, the character of Dogberry is one of Shakespeare’s most beloved clowns. Here, he has just been called an ass by the prisoners he is guarding and is not happy about it. He is a frustrated incompetent, and this monologue is a great way to show that you, too, can play the fool.

Dost thou not suspect my place? Dost thou
not suspect my years? O, that he were here to write me
down an ass! But masters, remember that I am an ass;
though it be not written down, yet forget not that I am
an ass. No, thou villain, thou art full of piety, as shall be
proved upon thee by good witness. I am a wise fellow,
and which is more, an officer, and which is more, a
householder, and which is more, as pretty a piece of
flesh as any is in Messina, and one that knows the law
– go to! – and a rich fellow enough – go to! – and a
fellow that hath had losses, and one that hath two
gowns, and everything handsome about him. – Bring
him away. – O, that I had been writ down an ass!

Another of Shakespeare’s scene stealers is the witty, shameless, and corpulent Falstaff, who features in both parts of Henry IV as well as The Merry Wives of Windsor. Falstaff is a boozy, old knight of doubtful morals who has fallen from grace. He’s Prince Hal’s best friend and worst influence, and here he delivers his speech about honour and its meaning. His cynical worldview contrasts with other more heroic but perhaps unrealistic takes in the play. As a character, Falstaff is a rogue who manages to win over the audience despite his bad behaviour. His monologues offer drama, irony, and depth – what more could you want?

’Tis not due yet. I would be loath to pay Him
before His day. What need I be so forward with
Him that calls not on me? Well, ’tis no matter.
Honor pricks me on. Yea, but how if honor prick me
off when I come on? How then? Can honor set to a
leg? No. Or an arm? No. Or take away the grief of a
wound? No. Honor hath no skill in surgery, then? 
No. What is honor? A word. What is in that word
“honor”? What is that “honor”? Air. A trim reckoning.
Who hath it? He that died o’ Wednesday. Doth
he feel it? No. Doth he hear it? No. ’Tis insensible,
then? Yea, to the dead. But will it not live with the
living? No. Why? Detraction will not suffer it. Therefore,
I’ll none of it. Honor is a mere scutcheon. And
so ends my catechism.

As an actor, you probably already know “All the world’s a stage and all the men and women merely players,” which comes from this Act 2 monologue in As You Like It. The melancholy philosopher Jaques outlines the seven ages of man, from birth to old age. So clearly having some life experience can only benefit the delivery and honesty of this speech. Elegant and contemplative, with layers of irony and emotion, it’s definitely one to consider.

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 honor, 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.

Looking for regal ferocity powered by grief and rage? Shakespeare’s got a monologue for you. In Richard III, Queen Margaret commands the stage with this blisteringly bitter speech in which she rails against those who have wronged her. It’s explosive but also full of prophesies that foretell what will happen later on in the play. This monologue requires poise, pace, and the ability to hold an audience – all reasons why it makes this list.

What, were you snarling all before I came,
Ready to catch each other by the throat,
And turn you all your hatred now on me?
Did York’s dread curse prevail so much with
heaven
That Henry’s death, my lovely Edward’s death,
Their kingdom’s loss, my woeful banishment,
Should all but answer for that peevish brat?
Can curses pierce the clouds and enter heaven?
Why then, give way, dull clouds, to my quick
curses!
Though not by war, by surfeit die your king,
As ours by murder to make him a king.
[To Queen Elizabeth] Edward thy son, that now is
Prince of Wales,
For Edward our son, that was Prince of Wales,
Die in his youth by like untimely violence.
Thyself a queen, for me that was a queen,
Outlive thy glory, like my wretched self.
Long mayst thou live to wail thy children’s death
And see another, as I see thee now,
Decked in thy rights, as thou art stalled in mine.
Long die thy happy days before thy death,
And, after many lengthened hours of grief,
Die neither mother, wife, nor England’s queen.—
Rivers and Dorset, you were standers-by,
And so wast thou, Lord Hastings, when my son
Was stabbed with bloody daggers. God I pray Him
That none of you may live his natural age,
But by some unlooked accident cut off.

If it’s gravity and elegiac power you’re after, then Prospero’s poignant farewell to his own magical powers in The Tempest might just fit the bill. In it he recounts his own past majesty and wonders at what he has done with his magical abilities. There is also a sense of sadness and resignation, so it’s perfect for an older actor who can tap into their life experience and show the emotion behind the text. This monologue allows an actor to command the stage with quiet power and represents the climax of the play.

Now my charms are all o’erthrown,
And what strength I have’s mine own,
Which is most faint. Now, ’tis true
I must be here confined by you,
Or sent to Naples. Let me not,
Since I have my dukedom got
And pardoned the deceiver, dwell
In this bare island by your spell;
But release me from my bands
With the help of your good hands.
Gentle breath of yours my sails
Must fill, or else my project fails,
Which was to please. Now I want
Spirits to enforce, art to enchant;
And my ending is despair,
Unless I be relieved by prayer,
Which pierces so that it assaults
Mercy itself, and frees all faults.
As you from crimes would pardoned be,
Let your indulgence set me free.

Shakespearean monologues are considered classic for a reason, and Lady Macbeth’s “out, damned spot” soliloquy is no exception. Psychologically intense and thrilling, in this scene Lady M’s involvement in the King’s murder seems finally to be affecting her. She is sleepwalking, trying in vain to get the King’s blood off her hands. The role can be played by a broad range of ages, but there’s no denying that Lady Macbeth is a powerhouse, and her ambition, manipulation, and eventual guilty unravelling suit an older actor well.

Out, damned spot: out, I say. One; two. Why
then ’tis time to do’t. Hell is murky. Fie, my lord,
fie, a soldier and afeared? What need we fear? Who
knows it when none can call our power to account?
Yet who would have thought the old man to have
had so much blood in him?
The Thane of Fife had a wife. Where is she now?
What, will these hands ne’er be clean? No more
o’that, my lord, no more o’that. You mar all with
this starting.
Here’s the smell of the blood still. All the
perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand.
Oh, oh, oh.
Wash your hands, put on your nightgown, look
not so pale. I tell you yet again, Banquo’s buried; he
cannot come out on’s grave.
To bed, to bed: there’s knocking at the gate. Come,
come, come, come, give me your hand. What’s done,
cannot be undone. To bed, to bed, to bed.

These are just a few of the many monologues available to older actors – but why not go bold and try forgetting about the age of the character altogether? After all, an actor’s ability to transform is why you’re hired in the first place. For inspiration, remember that Dame Siân Phillips played teenage lover Juliet at the ripe old age of 76, while McKellen played Hamlet at 81.