Waiting for Godot tragicomedy in 2 acts By Samuel Beckett Estragon Vladimir Lucky Pozzo a boy ACT I A country road. A tree. Evening. Estragon, sitting on a low mound, is trying to take off his boot. He pulls at it with both hands, panting. He gives up, exhausted, rests, tries again. As before. Enter Vladimir. ESTRAGON: (giving up again). Nothing to be done. VLADIMIR: (advancing with short, stiff strides, legs wide apart). I'm beginning to come round to that opinion. All my life I've tried to put it from me, saying Vladimir, be reasonable, you haven't yet tried everything. And I resumed the struggle. (He broods, musing on the struggle. Turning to Estragon.) So there you are again. ESTRAGON: Am I? VLADIMIR: I'm glad to see you back. I thought you were gone forever. ESTRAGON: Me too. VLADIMIR: Together again at last! We'll have to celebrate this. But how? (He reflects.) Get up till I embrace you. ESTRAGON: (irritably). Not now, not now. VLADIMIR: (hurt, coldly). May one inquire where His Highness spent the night? ESTRAGON: In a ditch. VLADIMIR: (admiringly). A ditch! Where? ESTRAGON: (without gesture). Over there. VLADIMIR: And they didn't beat you? ESTRAGON: Beat me? Certainly they beat me. VLADIMIR: The same lot as usual? ESTRAGON: The same? I don't know. VLADIMIR: When I think of it . . . all these years . . . but for me . . . where would you be . . . (Decisively.) You'd be nothing more than a little heap of bones at the present minute, no doubt about it. ESTRAGON: And what of it? VLADIMIR: (gloomily). It's too much for one man. (Pause. Cheerfully.) On the other hand what's the good of losing heart now, that's what I say. We should have thought of it a million years a...
