Last minute change

I have come to realize when looking at my requirements for the drama school's I have chosen I needed to change my chosen classical monologue. The key points I have broke down from the four school's are that:

• I need two classical monologues, one Shakespeare and one Jacobean
• The Jacobean monologue needs to be from either; Marlowe, Webster or Jonson
• They cannot last any longer than 2 minutes
• One needs to be Pre-1800's (I will use the Shakespeare monologue for this)

I have timed myself reading out the two monologues to make sure that they are both under 2 minutes and they both are. My two chosen monologues now are:

1.) Dido, Queen of Carthage by Christopher Marlowe (written in 1825)

DIDO: Speaks not Æneas like a conqueror?

O blessed tempests that did drive him in!

O happy sand that made him run aground!

Henceforth you shall be our Carthage gods.

Ay, but it may be, he will leave my love,

And seek a foreign land call'd Italy:

O that I had a charm to keep the winds

Within the closure of a golden ball;

Or that the Tyrrhene sea were in mine arms,

That he might suffer shipwreck on my breast,

As oft as he attempts to hoist up sail!

I must prevent him; wishing will not serve.--

Go bid my nurse take young Ascanius,

And bear him in the country to her house;

Æneas will not go without his son;

Yet, lest he should, for I am full of fear,

Bring me his oars, his tackling, and his sails.

What if I sink his ships? O, he will frown!

Better he frown than I should die of grief.

I cannot see him frown; it may not be:

Armies of foes resolv'd to win this town,

Or impious traitors vow'd to have my life,

Affright me not; only Æneas frown

Is that which terrifies poor Dido's heart:

Not bloody spears, appearing in the air,

Presage the downfall of my empery,

Nor blazing comets threaten Dido's death;

It is Æneas' frown that ends my days.

If he forsake me not, I never die;

For in his looks I see eternity,

And he'll make me immortal with a kiss.

2.) As You Like It by William Shakespeare (written in 1599)

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 offense, his eye did heal it up.

He is not very tall; yet for his year's 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 mixed in his cheek; 'twas just the difference

Betwixt the constant red and mingled damask.

There be some women, Silvius, had they marked 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

I 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 rememb'red, scorned at me.

I marvel why I answered 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?

My next plan of action is to learn the monologues and get more familiar with the two plays for my next few auditions too.