Auditions-Casting

Show Dates: July 12, 13, 14 at Bob Noble Park. Performance times TBA

Auditions for As You Like It are open to high school and college students (Max age 22)

Auditions will take place in the MHT Studio Theatre - 120 Market House Square. Ashlee Soldo will direct.

Please choose ONE of the following monologues to prepare. This does not need to be memorized for auditions, but you should be familiar with it. Please take time to clarify for yourself what it your character is actually saying! 

ROSALIND:

And why, I pray you? Who might be your mother,
That you insult, exult, and all at once, 
Over the wretched? What though you have no beauty,-- 
As by my faith, I see no more in you 
Than without candle may go dark to bed,--
Must you be therefore proud and pitiless?  
Why, what means this? Why do you look on me? 
I see no more in you than in the ordinary 
Of nature's sale-work. Od's my little life!
I think she means to tangle my eyes too. 
No, faith, proud mistress, hope not after it: 
'Tis not your inky brows, your black silk hair, 
Your bugle eyeballs, nor your cheek of cream,
That can entame my spirits to your worship. 
You foolish shepherd, wherefore do you follow her,
Like foggy south puffing with wind and rain? 
You are a thousand times a properer man 
Than she a woman: 'tis such fools as you  
That make the world full of ill-favour'd children:
'Tis not her glass, but you, that flatters her; 
And out of you she sees herself more proper
Than any of her lineaments can show her. 
But, mistress, know yourself: down on your knees,
And thank heaven, fasting, for a good man's love:  
For I must tell you friendly in your ear, 
Sell when you can; you are not for all markets.
Cry the man mercy; love him; take his offer: 
Foul is most foul, being foul to be a scoffer. 
So take her to thee, shepherd. Fare you well.

PHEBE:

Think not I love him, though I ask for him.
'Tis but a peevish boy; yet he talks well; 
But what care I for words? yet words do well, 
When he that speaks them pleases those that hear. 
It is a pretty youth: not very pretty: 
But, sure, he's proud; and yet his pride becomes him:
He'll make a proper man: the best thing in him 
Is his complexion; and faster than his tongue 
Did make offence his eye did heal it up.
He is not very tall; yet for his years he's tall:
His leg is but so so; and yet 'tis well: 
There was a pretty redness in his lip, 
A little riper and more lusty red 
Than that mix'd in his cheek; 'twas just the difference
Betwixt the constant red and mingled damask.  
There be some women, Silvius, had they mark'd him 
In parcels as I did, would have gone near
To fall in love with him; but, for my part, 
I love him not nor hate him not; and yet 
Have more cause to hate him than to love him: 
For what had he to do to chide at me?
He said mine eyes were black and my hair black;
And, now I am remember'd, scorn'd at me.  
I marvel why I answer'd not again: 
But that's all one; omittance is no quittance.
I'll write to him a very taunting letter, 
And thou shalt bear it: wilt thou, Silvius?

JACQUES:

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.
And then the whining school-boy, with his satchel,
And shining morning face, creeping like snail 
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover, 
Sighing like furnace, with a woful ballad
Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard, 
Jealous in honour, 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 lin'd, 
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 slipper'd pantaloon, 
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side, 
His youthful hose well sav'd, 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.

ORLANDO:

Charles, I thank thee for thy love to me, which thou shalt find I will most kindly requite. I had myself notice of my brother's purpose herein, and have by underhand means laboured to dissuade him from it, but he is resolute. I'll tell thee, Charles, it is the stubbornest young fellow of France; full of ambition, an envious emulator of every man's good parts, a secret and villanous contriver against me his natural brother: therefore use thy discretion. I had as lief thou didst break his neck as his finger. And thou wert best look to't; for if thou dost him any slight disgrace, or if he do not mightily grace himself on thee, he will practise against thee by poison, entrap thee by some treacherous device, and never leave thee till he hath ta'en thy life by some indirect means or other; for, I assure thee,'and almost with tears I speak it,'there is not one so young and so villanous this day living' I speak but brotherly of him; but should I anatomize him to thee as he is, I must blush and weep, and thou must look pale and wonder.