Short Plays by Representative Authors

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Alice Mary Smith
Macmillan, 1920 - 318 стор.

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Сторінка 245 - Rumble thy bellyful! Spit, fire! spout, rain! Nor rain, wind, thunder, fire, are my daughters: I tax not you, you elements, with unkindness; I never gave you kingdom, call'd you children, You owe me no subscription: then, let fall Your horrible pleasure; here I stand, your slave, A poor, infirm, weak, and despis'd old man.
Сторінка 245 - Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks ! rage ! blow ! You cataracts and hurricanoes, spout Till you have drench'd our steeples, drown'd the cocks ! You sulphurous and thought-executing fires, Vaunt-couriers of oak-cleaving thunderbolts, Singe my white head ! And thou, all-shaking thunder, Strike flat the thick rotundity o' the world ! Crack nature's moulds, all germens spill at once That make ingrateful man ! 9 Fool.
Сторінка 246 - Why, look you now, how unworthy a thing you make of me. You would play upon me; you would seem to know my stops; you would pluck out the heart of my mystery; you would...
Сторінка 247 - O now, for ever, Farewell the tranquil mind ! farewell content ! Farewell the plumed troop, and the big wars, That make ambition virtue ! O, farewell ! Farewell the neighing steed, and the shrill trump, The spirit-stirring drum, th' ear-piercing fife, The royal banner; and all quality, Pride, pomp, and circumstance of glorious war!
Сторінка 222 - ... on us! Jack Smith dead, and his wife laying out a sheet for his burying! (Calls out.) Why didn't you tell me that before, Shawn Early? Isn't the deafness the great hardship? Half the world might be dead without me knowing of it or getting word of it at all! (She sits down and rocks herself.} O my poor Jack Smith!
Сторінка 248 - AWAY! the moor is dark beneath the moon, Rapid clouds have drank the last pale beam of even : Away! the gathering winds will call the darkness soon, And profoundest midnight shroud the serene lights of heaven. Pause not! The time is past! Every voice cries, Away! Tempt not with one last tear thy friend's ungentle mood : Thy lover's eye, so glazed and cold, dares not entreat thy stay : Duty and dereliction guide thee back to solitude. Away, away! to thy sad and silent home ; Pour bitter tears on its...
Сторінка 233 - He has been arrested for the murder of John Smith, on his own confession. Mrs. Fallon: The saints of heaven protect us! And what did he want killing Jack Smith? Magistrate: It is best you should know all. He did it on account of a love affair with the murdered man's wife. Mrs. Fallon: (Sitting down.) With Jack Smith's wife ! With Kitty Keary ! — Ochone, the traitor ! The Crowd: A great shame, indeed. He is a traitor, indeed. Mrs. Tully: To America he was bringing her, Mrs. Fallon.
Сторінка 229 - ... confronted with a murder at the first fair I came to. Policeman: I am sure you did not, indeed. Magistrate: It was well I had not gone home. I caught a few words here and there that roused my suspicions. Policeman: So they would, too. Magistrate: You heard the same story from everyone you asked? Policeman: The same story - or if it was not altogether the same, anyway it was no less than the first story. Magistrate: What is that man doing ? He is sitting alone with a hayfork. He has a guilty look....
Сторінка 220 - God help us, Mrs. Fallon, what happened your basket? MRS. FALLON. It's himself that knocked it down, bad manners to him. [Putting things up.] My grand sugar that's destroyed, and he'll not drink his tea without it. I had best go back to the shop for more, much good may it do him ! [Enter TIM CASEY.] TIM CASEY. Where is Bartley Fallon, Mrs. Fallon? I want a word with him before he'll leave the fair. I was afraid he might have gone home by this, for he's a temperate man. MRS. FALLON. I wish he did...
Сторінка 232 - FALLON. What did he do at all, or is it bewitched I am ? MAGISTRATE. This man has been arrested on a charge of murder. MRS. FALLON. Whose charge is that ? Don't believe them ! They are all liars in this place ! Give me back my man ! MAGISTRATE.

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