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  1. Home
  2. Monologue for Men
  3. Dramatic Monologue for Men
  4. The Merry Wives of Windsor
  • A Monologue from the play "The Merry Wives of Windsor" by William Shakespeare
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CharacterFalstaff
GenderMale
Age Range(s)Adult (36-50), Senior (>50)
Type of monologue / Character isAngry, Scolding, Complaining
TypeDramatic
PeriodRenaissance
GenreComedy
DescriptionFalstaff scolds Pistol
LocationACT II, Scene 2

Summary

In the first scene of the play we are introduced to Justice Shallow, Master Slender and Sir Hugh Evans. First they talk about Sir John Falstaff, a scoundrel and a thief, who has wronged them, then about Slender's hopes to marry Anne Page.

They confront Falstaff at Master Page's house and he admits his wrongdoings. Falstaff later tells his men that he plans to seduce Mistress Page and Mistress Ford so that he can have access to their husband's money. He asks his men, Nim and Pistol, to deliver his love letters to Mistress Ford and Mistress Page but they refuse since they consider themselves honest men. Falstaff finds somebody else to deliver the letters.

In this monologue Falstaff tells his man Pistol that he won't lend him any more money. He even refused to deliver his letters. The reason Pistol doesn't have any money, Falstaff argues, is that he insists in being honest.

Written by Administrator

Excerpt
FALSTAFF
Not a penny. I have been content, sir, you should
lay my countenance to pawn; I have grated upon my
good friends for three reprieves for you and your
coach-fellow Nym; or else you had looked through
the grate, like a geminy of baboons. I am damned in
hell for swearing to gentlemen my friends, you were
good soldiers and tall fellows; and when Mistress
Bridget lost the handle of her fan, I took't upon
mine honour thou hadst it not.

[PISTOL
Didst not thou share? hadst thou not fifteen pence?]

FALSTAFF
Reason, you rogue, reason: thinkest thou I'll
endanger my soul gratis? At a word, hang no more
about me, I am no gibbet for you. Go. A short knife
and a throng! To your manor of Pickt-hatch! Go.
You'll not bear a letter for me, you rogue! you
stand upon your honour! Why, thou unconfinable
baseness, it is as much as I can do to keep the
terms of my honour precise: I, I, I myself
sometimes, leaving the fear of God on the left hand
and hiding mine honour in my necessity, am fain to
shuffle, to hedge and to lurch; and yet you, rogue,
will ensconce your rags, your cat-a-mountain
looks, your red-lattice phrases, and your
bold-beating oaths, under the shelter of your
honour! You will not do it, you!

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