# The Hairy Ape: every role by lines, words, and stage time

> Eugene O’Neill. 15 speaking roles, 9,463 words, about 68 minutes of speech.

- URL: https://www.offbook.com/plays/the-hairy-ape
- Last updated: 2026-10-08

**Yank** has the most to say in The Hairy Ape: about 560 lines and 5,129 words, 54.2% of the play. The Hairy Ape follows Yank, a ship’s stoker whose sense of belonging is shattered by one encounter with a rich young woman. Yank carries more than half of all the words and speaks in every scene but Scene 2. Paddy is the next largest part at about an eighth, and Mildred speaks only in Scenes 2 and 3.

- Speaking roles: 15
- Scenes: 8
- Words: 9,463
- Speech time: 68 min

## Every role, largest first

| Role | Lines | Words | Share | Minutes | Scenes |
| --- | --- | --- | --- | --- | --- |
| Yank | 560 | 5,129 | 54.2% | 36.6 | 7 |
| Paddy | 125 | 1,148 | 12.1% | 8.2 | 3 |
| Long | 86 | 756 | 8% | 5.4 | 3 |
| Mildred | 81 | 662 | 7% | 4.7 | 2 |
| Voice | 60 | 521 | 5.5% | 3.7 | 3 |
| Secretary | 66 | 518 | 5.5% | 3.7 | 1 |
| Aunt | 39 | 306 | 3.2% | 2.2 | 1 |
| Second Engineer | 19 | 124 | 1.3% | 0.9 | 1 |
| Voices | 22 | 113 | 1.2% | 0.8 | 5 |
| Policeman | 9 | 68 | 0.7% | 0.5 | 1 |
| Guard | 8 | 65 | 0.7% | 0.5 | 1 |
| Gentleman | 3 | 17 | 0.2% | 0.1 | 1 |
| Man | 2 | 16 | 0.2% | 0.1 | 1 |
| The Woman | 1 | 4 | 0% | 0.0 | 1 |
| Men | 1 | 1 | 0% | 0.0 | 1 |

## Who speaks in which scene

Words each role speaks in each scene (scene: words). Scenes: 1 = Scene 1; 2 = Scene 2; 3 = Scene 3; 4 = Scene 4; 5 = Scene 5; 6 = Scene 6; 7 = Scene 7; 8 = Scene 8.

- **Yank**: 1 (1,152), 3 (323), 4 (722), 5 (849), 6 (544), 7 (716), 8 (823)
- **Paddy**: 1 (740), 3 (26), 4 (382)
- **Long**: 1 (117), 4 (238), 5 (401)
- **Mildred**: 2 (652), 3 (10)
- **Voice**: 1 (29), 4 (11), 6 (481)
- **Secretary**: 7 (518)
- **Aunt**: 2 (306)

## The longest speeches

| Speech | Scene | Words | Lines |
| --- | --- | --- | --- |
| Yank: “Welcome to your city, huh? Hail, hail, de gang’s all here! Say, yuh’re some hard-lookin’ guy, ain’t yuh? I seen lots of tough nuts dat de gang called gorillas, but yuh’re de foist real one I ever seen. Some chest yuh got, and shoulders, and dem arms and mits! I bet yuh got a punch in eider fist dat’d knock ’em all silly! Sure, I get yuh. Yuh challenge de whole woild, huh? Yuh got what I was sayin’ even if yuh muffed de woids. And why wouldn’t yuh get me? Ain’t we both members of de same club—de Hairy Apes? So yuh’re what she seen when she looked at me, de white-faced tart! I was you to her, get me? On’y outa de cage—broke out—free to moider her, see? Sure! Dat’s what she tought. She wasn’t wise dat I was in a cage, too—worser’n yours—sure—a damn sight—’cause you got some chanct to bust loose—but me— Aw, hell! It’s all wrong, ain’t it? I s’pose yuh wanter know what I’m doin’ here, huh? I been warmin’ a bench down to de Battery—ever since last night. Sure. I seen de sun come up. Dat was pretty, too—all red and pink and green. I was lookin’ at de skyscrapers—steel—and all de ships comin’ in, sailin’ out, all over de oith—and dey was steel, too. De sun was warm, dey wasn’t no clouds, and dere was a breeze blowin’. Sure, it was great stuff. I got it aw right—what Paddy said about dat bein’ de right dope—on’y I couldn’t get in it, see? I couldn’t belong in dat. It was over my head. And I kept tinkin’—and den I beat it up here to see what youse was like. And I waited till dey was all gone to git yuh alone. Say, how d’yuh feel sittin’ in dat pen all de time, havin’ to stand for ’em comin’ and starin’ at yuh—de white-faced, skinny tarts and de boobs what marry ’em—makin’ fun of yuh, laughin’ at yuh, gittin’ scared of yuh—damn ’em! Sure! Dat’s de way it hits me, too. On’y yuh’re lucky, see? Yuh don’t belong wit ’em and yuh know it. But me, I belong wit ’em—but I don’t, see? Dey don’t belong wit me, dat’s what. Get me? Tinkin’ is hard— It’s dis way, what I’m drivin’ at. Youse can sit and dope dream in de past, green woods, de jungle and de rest of it. Den yuh belong and dey don’t. Den yuh kin laugh at ’em, see? Yuh’re de champ of de woild. But me—I ain’t got no past to tink in, nor nothin’ dat’s comin’, on’y what’s now—and dat don’t belong. Sure, you’re de best off! Yuh can’t tink, can yuh? Yuh can’t talk neider. But I kin make a bluff at talkin’ and tinkin’—a’most git away wit it—a’most!—and dat’s where de joker comes in. I ain’t on oith and I ain’t in heaven, get me? I’m in de middle tryin’ to separate ’em, takin’ all de woist punches from bot’ of ’em. Maybe dat’s what dey call hell, huh? But you, yuh’re at de bottom. You belong! Sure! Yuh’re de on’y one in de woild dat does, yuh lucky stiff! And dat’s why dey gotter put yuh in a cage, see? Sure! Yuh get me. It beats it when you try to tink it or talk it—it’s way down—deep—behind—you ’n’ me we feel it. Sure! Bot’ members of dis club! What de hell! T’ hell wit it! A little action, dat’s our meat! Dat belongs! Knock ’em down and keep bustin’ ’em till dey croaks yuh wit a gat—wit steel! Sure! Are yuh game? Dey’ve looked at youse, ain’t dey—in a cage? Wanter git even? Wanter wind up like a sport ’stead of croakin’ slow in dere? Sure! Yuh’re reg’lar! Yuh’ll stick to de finish! Me ’n’ you, huh?—bot’ members of this club! We’ll put up one last star bout dat’ll knock ’em offen deir seats! Dey’ll have to make de cages stronger after we’re trou! Pardon from de governor! Step out and shake hands! I’ll take yuh for a walk down Fif’ Avenoo. We’ll knock ’em offen de oith and croak wit de band playin’. Come on, Brother. Shake—de secret grip of our order. Hey, I didn’t say, kiss me. Say—dey oughter match him—wit Zybszko. He got me, aw right. I’m trou. Even him didn’t tink I belonged. Christ, where do I get off at? Where do I fit in? Aw, what de hell! No squakin’, see! No quittin’, get me! Croak wit your boots on! In de cage, huh? Ladies and gents, step forward and take a slant at de one and only— —one and original—Hairy Ape from de wilds of—” | Scene 8 | 823 | 83 |
| Paddy: “We belong to this, you’re saying? We make the ship to go, you’re saying? Yerra then, that Almighty God have pity on us! Oh, to be back in the fine days of my youth, ochone! Oh, there was fine beautiful ships them days—clippers wid tall masts touching the sky—fine strong men in them—men that was sons of the sea as if ’twas the mother that bore them. Oh, the clean skins of them, and the clear eyes, the straight backs and full chests of them! Brave men they was, and bold men surely! We’d be sailing out, bound down round the Horn maybe. We’d be making sail in the dawn, with a fair breeze, singing a chanty song wid no care to it. And astern the land would be sinking low and dying out, but we’d give it no heed but a laugh, and never a look behind. For the day that was, was enough, for we was free men—and I’m thinking ’tis only slaves do be giving heed to the day that’s gone or the day to come—until they’re old like me. Oh, to be scudding south again wid the power of the Trade Wind driving her on steady through the nights and the days! Full sail on her! Nights and days! Nights when the foam of the wake would be flaming wid fire, when the sky’d be blazing and winking wid stars. Or the full of the moon maybe. Then you’d see her driving through the gray night, her sails stretching aloft all silver and white, not a sound on the deck, the lot of us dreaming dreams, till you’d believe ’twas no real ship at all you was on but a ghost ship like the Flying Dutchman they say does be roaming the seas forevermore widout touching a port. And there was the days, too. A warm sun on the clean decks. Sun warming the blood of you, and wind over the miles of shiny green ocean like strong drink to your lungs. Work—aye, hard work—but who’d mind that at all? Sure, you worked under the sky and ’twas work wid skill and daring to it. And wid the day done, in the dog watch, smoking me pipe at ease, the lookout would be raising land maybe, and we’d see the mountains of South Americy wid the red fire of the setting sun painting their white tops and the clouds floating by them! Yerra, what’s the use of talking? ’Tis a dead man’s whisper. ’Twas them days men belonged to ships, not now. ’Twas them days a ship was part of the sea, and a man was part of a ship, and the sea joined all together and made it one. Is it one wid this you’d be, Yank—black smoke from the funnels smudging the sea, smudging the decks—the bloody engines pounding and throbbing and shaking—wid divil a sight of sun or a breath of clean air—choking our lungs wid coal dust—breaking our backs and hearts in the hell of the stokehole—feeding the bloody furnace—feeding our lives along wid the coal, I’m thinking—caged in by steel from a sight of the sky like bloody apes in the Zoo! Ho-ho, divil mend you! Is it to belong to that you’re wishing? Is it a flesh and blood wheel of the engines you’d be?” | Scene 1 | 570 | 57 |
| Yank: “Aw, yuh crazy Mick! Aw, take it easy. Yuh’re aw right, at dat. Yuh’re bugs, dat’s all—nutty as a cuckoo. All dat tripe yuh been pullin’—Aw, dat’s all right. On’y it’s dead, get me? Yuh don’t belong no more, see. Yuh don’t get de stuff. Yuh’re too old. But aw say, come up for air onct in a while, can’t yuh? See what’s happened since yuh croaked. Say! Sure! Sure I meant it! What de hell—Say, lemme talk! Hey! Hey, you old Harp! Hey, youse guys! Say, listen to me—wait a moment—I gotter talk, see. I belong and he don’t. He’s dead but I’m livin’. Listen to me! Sure I’m part of de engines! Why de hell not! Dey move, don’t dey? Dey’re speed, ain’t dey? Dey smash trou, don’t dey? Twenty-five knots a hour! Dat’s goin’ some! Dat’s new stuff! Dat belongs! But him, he’s too old. He gets dizzy. Say, listen. All dat crazy tripe about nights and days; all dat crazy tripe about stars and moons; all dat crazy tripe about suns and winds, fresh air and de rest of it—Aw hell, dat’s all a dope dream! Hittin’ de pipe of de past, dat’s what he’s doin’. He’s old and don’t belong no more. But me, I’m young! I’m in de pink! I move wit it! It, get me! I mean de ting dat’s de guts of all dis. It ploughs trou all de tripe he’s been sayin’. It blows dat up! It knocks dat dead! It slams dat off en de face of de oith! It, get me! De engines and de coal and de smoke and all de rest of it! He can’t breathe and swallow coal dust, but I kin, see? Dat’s fresh air for me! Dat’s food for me! I’m new, get me? Hell in de stokehole? Sure! It takes a man to work in hell. Hell, sure, dat’s my fav’rite climate. I eat it up! I git fat on it! It’s me makes it hot! It’s me makes it roar! It’s me makes it move! Sure, on’y for me everyting stops. It all goes dead, get me? De noise and smoke and all de engines movin’ de woild, dey stop. Dere ain’t nothin’ no more! Dat’s what I’m sayin’. Everyting else dat makes de woild move, somep’n makes it move. It can’t move witout somep’n else, see? Den yuh get down to me. I’m at de bottom, get me! Dere ain’t nothin’ foither. I’m de end! I’m de start! I start somep’n and de woild moves! It—dat’s me!—de new dat’s moiderin’ de old! I’m de ting in coal dat makes it boin; I’m steam and oil for de engines; I’m de ting in noise dat makes yuh hear it; I’m smoke and express trains and steamers and factory whistles; I’m de ting in gold dat makes it money! And I’m what makes iron into steel! Steel, dat stands for de whole ting! And I’m steel—steel—steel! I’m de muscles in steel, de punch behind it! Slaves, hell! We run de whole woiks. All de rich guys dat tink dey’re somep’n, dey ain’t nothin’! Dey don’t belong. But us guys, we’re in de move, we’re at de bottom, de whole ting is us! Hey, youse guys, take it easy! Wait a moment! De nutty Harp is sayin’ someth’n.” | Scene 1 | 564 | 57 |
| Yank: “I scared her? Why de hell should I scare her? Who de hell is she? Ain’t she de same as me? Hairy ape, huh? I’ll show her I’m better’n her, if she on’y knew it. I belong and she don’t, see! I move and she’s dead! Twenty-five knots a hour, dats me! Dat carries her but I make dat. She’s on’y baggage. Sure! But, Christ, she was funny lookin’! Did yuh pipe her hands? White and skinny. Yuh could see de bones trough ’em. And her mush, dat was dead white, too. And her eyes, dey was like dey’d seen a ghost. Me, dat was! Sure! Hairy ape! Ghost, huh? Look at dat arm! I coulda took her wit dat, wit’ just my little finger even, and broke her in two. Say, who is dat skoit, huh? What is she? What’s she come from? Who made her? Who give her de noive to look at me like dat? Dis ting’s got my goat right. I don’t get her. She’s new to me. What does a skoit like her mean, huh? She don’t belong, get me! I can’t see her. But one ting I’m wise to, aw right, aw right! Youse all kin bet your shoits I’ll git even wit her. I’ll show her if she tinks she—She grinds de organ and I’m on de string, huh? I’ll fix her! Let her come down again and I’ll fling her in de furnace! She’ll move den! She won’t shiver at nothin’, den! Speed, dat’ll be her! She’ll belong den!” | Scene 4 | 258 | 26 |
| Yank: “T’ hell wit youse! Hello, Kiddo. How’s every little ting? Got anyting on for tonight? I know an old boiler down to de docks we kin crawl into. Holy smokes, what a mug! Go hide yuhself before de horses shy at yuh. Gee, pipe de heinie on dat one! Say, youse, yuh look like de stoin of a ferryboat. Paint and powder! All dolled up to kill! Yuh look like stiffs laid out for de boneyard! Aw, g’wan, de lot of youse! Yuh give me de eye-ache. Yuh don’t belong, get me! Look at me, why don’t youse dare? I belong, dat’s me! See dat building goin’ up dere? See de steel work? Steel, dat’s me! Youse guys live on it and tink yuh’re somep’n. But I’m in it, see! I’m de hoistin’ engine dat makes it go up! I’m it—de inside and bottom of it! Sure! I’m steel and steam and smoke and de rest of it! It moves—speed—twenty-five stories up—and me at de top and bottom—movin’! Youse simps don’t move. Yuh’re on’y dolls I winds up to see ’m spin. Yuh’re de garbage, get me—de leavins—de ashes we dump over de side! Now, whata yuh gotto say? Bums! Pigs! Tarts! Bitches! Git off de oith! G’wan, yuh bum! Look where yuh’re goin,’ can’t yuh? Git outa here! Fight, why don’t yuh? Put up yer mits! Don’t be a dog! Fight or I’ll knock yuh dead! I beg your pardon.” | Scene 5 | 248 | 25 |
| Yank: “So dem boids don’t tink I belong, neider. Aw, to hell wit ’em! Dey’re in de wrong pew—de same old bull—soapboxes and Salvation Army—no guts! Cut out an hour offen de job a day and make me happy! Gimme a dollar more a day and make me happy! Tree square a day, and cauliflowers in de front yard—ekal rights—a woman and kids—a lousey vote—and I’m all fixed for Jesus, huh? Aw, hell! What does dat get yuh? Dis ting’s in your inside, but it ain’t your belly. Feedin’ your face—sinkers and coffee—dat don’t touch it. It’s way down—at de bottom. Yuh can’t grab it, and yuh can’t stop it. It moves, and everyting moves. It stops and de whole woild stops. Dat’s me now—I don’t tick, see?—I’m a busted Ingersoll, dat’s what. Steel was me, and I owned de woild. Now I ain’t steel, and de woild owns me. Aw, hell! I can’t see—it’s all dark, get me? It’s all wrong! Say, youse up dere, Man in de Moon, yuh look so wise, gimme de answer, huh? Slip me de inside dope, de information right from de stable—where do I get off at, huh?” | Scene 7 | 208 | 21 |
| Yank: “Sit down before I knock yuh down! De Bible, huh? De Cap’tlist class, huh? Aw nix on dat Salvation Army-Socialist bull. Git a soapbox! Hire a hall! Come and be saved, huh? Jerk us to Jesus, huh? Aw g’wan! I’ve listened to lots of guys like you, see, Yuh’re all wrong. Wanter know what I t’ink? Yuh ain’t no good for noone. Yuh’re de bunk. Yuh ain’t got no noive, get me? Yuh’re yellow, dat’s what. Yellow, dat’s you. Say! What’s dem slobs in de foist cabin got to do wit us? We’re better men dan dey are, ain’t we? Sure! One of us guys could clean up de whole mob wit one mit. Put one of ’em down here for one watch in de stokehole, what’d happen? Dey’d carry him off on a stretcher. Dem boids don’t amount to nothin’. Dey’re just baggage. Who makes dis old tub run? Ain’t it us guys? Well den, we belong, don’t we? We belong and dey don’t. Dat’s all. As for dis bein’ hell—aw, nuts! Yuh lost your noive, dat’s what. Dis is a man’s job, get me? It belongs. It runs dis tub. No stiffs need apply. But yuh’re a stiff, see? Yuh’re yellow, dat’s you.” | Scene 1 | 206 | 21 |
| Yank: “Hairy ape, huh? Sure! Dat’s de way she looked at me, aw right. Hairy ape! So dat’s me, huh? Yuh skinny tart! Yuh white-faced bum, yuh! I’ll show yuh who’s a ape! Say, youse guys. I was bawlin’ him out for pullin’ de whistle on us. You heard me. And den I seen youse lookin’ at somep’n and I tought he’d sneaked down to come up in back of me, and I hopped round to knock him dead wit de shovel. And dere she was wit de light on her! Christ, yuh coulda pushed me over with a finger! I was scared, get me? Sure! I tought she was a ghost, see? She was all in white like dey wrap around stiffs. You seen her. Kin yuh blame me? She didn’t belong, dat’s what. And den when I come to and seen it was a real skoit and seen de way she was lookin’ at me—like Paddy said—Christ, I was sore, get me? I don’t stand for dat stuff from nobody. And I flung de shovel—on’y she’d beat it. I wished it’d banged her! I wished it’d knocked her block off!” | Scene 4 | 194 | 20 |
| Mildred: “Please do not mock at my attempts to discover how the other half lives. Give me credit for some sort of groping sincerity in that at least. I would like to help them. I would like to be some use in the world. Is it my fault I don’t know how? I would like to be sincere, to touch life somewhere. But I’m afraid I have neither the vitality nor integrity. All that was burnt out in our stock before I was born. Grandfather’s blast furnaces, flaming to the sky, melting steel, making millions—then father keeping those home fires burning, making more millions—and little me at the tail-end of it all. I’m a waste product in the Bessemer process—like the millions. Or rather, I inherit the acquired trait of the byproduct, wealth, but none of the energy, none of the strength of the steel that made it. I am sired by gold and darned by it, as they say at the race track—damned in more ways than one.” | Scene 2 | 172 | 18 |
| Long: “Hinsultin’ us! Hinsultin’ us, the bloody cow! And them bloody engineers! What right ’as they got to be exhibitin’ us ’s if we was bleedin’ monkeys in a menagerie? Did we sign for hinsults to our dignity as ’onest workers? Is that in the ship’s articles? You kin bloody well bet it ain’t! But I knows why they done it. I arsked a deck steward ’o she was and ’e told me. ’Er old man’s a bleedin’ millionaire, a bloody Capitalist! ’E’s got enuf bloody gold to sink this bleedin’ ship! ’E makes arf the bloody steel in the world! ’E owns this bloody boat! And you and me, comrades, we’re ’is slaves! And the skipper and mates and engineers, they’re ’is slaves! And she’s ’is bloody daughter and we’re all ’er slaves, too! And she gives ’er orders as ’ow she wants to see the bloody animals below decks and down they takes ’er!” | Scene 4 | 155 | 16 |

## Small roles that can be doubled

These pairs of small roles never speak in the same scene, so one actor could play both. Check entrances and silent appearances in your script before you cast it this way.

- Aunt and Voices
- Aunt and Policeman
- Aunt and Guard
- Aunt and Gentleman
- Aunt and Man
- Aunt and The Woman
- Aunt and Men
- Second Engineer and Voices
- Second Engineer and Policeman
- Second Engineer and Guard
- Second Engineer and Gentleman
- Second Engineer and Man

## Questions actors ask

### Who has the most lines in The Hairy Ape?

Yank, with about 560 lines and 5,129 words, 54.2% of everything spoken in the play. Paddy is next, with about 125 lines (12.1%).

### How long is The Hairy Ape?

The full text has 9,463 spoken words, about 68 minutes at 140 words a minute before pauses, scene changes, and cuts. Most productions cut the text, so running times vary.

### How many speaking roles are in The Hairy Ape?

15 named roles speak in this edition, across 8 scenes. 8 of them have less than 2% of the words, which is why small parts are often doubled.

## How we count

Counts are computed from the full text of the [Standard Ebooks edition](https://standardebooks.org/ebooks/eugene-oneill/the-hairy-ape) (public domain; retrieved 2026-10-08). Words are every spoken word, with stage directions removed. Lines are verse lines as printed, plus prose at 10 words a line, because prose has no fixed line breaks; editions differ, so other sources give slightly different line counts. Time is words at 140 words a minute, before pauses and stage business. A role is counted in a scene when it speaks there. To count a script that is not in the library, paste it into the [script line counter](https://www.offbook.com/tools/script-line-counter).