Waiting for Godot

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Book: Read Waiting for Godot for Free Online
Authors: Samuel Beckett
concurrently simultaneously what is more for reasons unknown in spite of
the strides of physical culture the practice of sports such as tennis football
running cycling swimming flying floating riding gliding conating camogie skating
tennis of all kinds dying flying sports of all sorts autumn summer winter winter
tennis of all kinds hockey of all sorts penicillin and succedanea in a word I
resume flying gliding golf over nine and eighteen holes tennis of all sorts in a
word for reasons unknown in Feckham Peckham Fulham Clapham namely
concurrently simultaneously what is more for reasons unknown but time will tell
fades away I resume Fulham Clapham in a word the dead loss per head since the
death of Bishop Berkeley being to the tune of one inch four ounce per head
approximately by and large more or less to the nearest decimal good measure
round figures stark naked in the stockinged feet in Connemara in a word for
reasons unknown no matter what matter the facts are there and considering
what is more much more grave that in the light of the labors lost of Steinweg and
Peterman it appears what is more much more grave that in the light the light the
light of the labors lost of Steinweg and Peterman that in the plains in the
mountains by the seas by the rivers running water running fire the air is the
same and then the earth namely the air and then the earth in the great cold the
great dark the air and the earth abode of stones in the great cold alas alas in the
year of their Lord six hundred and something the air the earth the sea the earth
abode of stones in the great deeps the great cold on sea on land and in the air I
resume for reasons unknown in spite of the tennis the facts are there but time
will tell I resume alas alas on on in short in fine on on abode of stones who can
doubt it I resume but not so fast I resume the skull fading fading fading and
concurrently simultaneously what is more for reasons unknown in spite of the
tennis on on the beard the flames the tears the stones so blue so calm alas alas
on on the skull the skull the skull the skull in Connemara in spite of the tennis the
labors abandoned left unfinished graver still abode of stones in a word I resume
alas alas abandoned unfinished the skull the skull in Connemara in spite of the
tennis the skull alas the stones Cunard (m�e, final vociferations) tennis . . . the
stones . . . so calm . . . Cunard . . . unfinished . . .
     
    POZZO:
His hat!
Vladimir seizes Lucky's hat. Silence of Lucky. He falls. Silence. Panting of the
victors.
     
    ESTRAGON:
Avenged!
Vladimir examines the hat, peers inside it.
     
    POZZO:
Give me that! (He snatches the hat from Vladimir, throws it on the ground,
tramples on it.) There's an end to his thinking!
     
    VLADIMIR:
But will he be able to walk?
     
    POZZO:
Walk or crawl! (He kicks Lucky.) Up pig!
     
    ESTRAGON:
Perhaps he's dead.
     
    VLADIMIR:
You'll kill him.
     
    POZZO:
Up scum! (He jerks the rope.) Help me!
     
    VLADIMIR:
How?
     
    POZZO:
Raise him up!
Vladimir and Estragon hoist Lucky to his feet, support him an instant, then let
him go. He falls.
     
    ESTRAGON:
He's doing it on purpose!
     
    POZZO:
You must hold him. (Pause.) Come on, come on, raise him up.
     
    ESTRAGON:
To hell with him!
     
    VLADIMIR:
Come on, once more.
     
    ESTRAGON:
What does he take us for?
They raise Lucky, hold him up.
     
    POZZO:
Don't let him go! (Vladimir and Estragon totter.) Don't move! (Pozzo fetches bag
and basket and brings them towards Lucky.) Hold him tight! (He puts the bag in
Lucky's hand. Lucky drops it immediately.) Don't let him go! (He puts back the
bag in Lucky's hand. Gradually, at the feel of the bag, Lucky recovers his senses
and his fingers finally close round the handle.) Hold him tight! (As before with
basket.)

Now! You can let him go. (Vladimir and Estragon move away from Lucky who
totters, reels, sags, but succeeds in remaining on his feet, bag and basket in his
hands. Pozzo steps back, cracks his whip.)

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