Our website is made possible by displaying online advertisements to our visitors.
Please consider supporting us by disabling your ad blocker.

Download links will be available after you disable the ad blocker and reload the page.
Showing: 21-30 results of 348

INTRODUCTION I Lady Wilde once told me that when she was a young girl she was stopped in some Dublin street by a great crowd and turned into a shop to escape from it. She stayed there some time and the crowd still passed. She asked the shopman what it was, and he said, 'the funeral of Thomas Davis, a poet.' She had never heard of Davis; but because she thought a country that so honoured a poet must be worth something, she became interested in... more...

PREFACE Believing plays to be solely for the stage, I have never before allowed any of mine to be printed until they had first faced from a stage the judgment of an audience, to see if they were entitled to be called plays at all. A successful production also has been sometimes a moral support to me when some critic has said, as for instance of "A Night at an Inn," that though it reads passably it could never act. But in this book I have made... more...

This is one of the three plays which Strindberg placed at the head of his dramatic production during the middle ultra-naturalistic period, the other two being "The Father" and "Miss Julia." It is, in many ways, one of the strongest he ever produced. Its rarely excelled unity of construction, its tremendous dramatic tension, and its wonderful psychological analysis combine to make it a masterpiece. In Swedish its name is "Fordringsagare." This... more...

BOOK I PHŒBE BARRASFORD Krindlesyke is a remote shepherd’s cottage on the Northumbrian fells, at least three miles from any other habitation. It consists of two rooms, a but and a ben. Ezra Barrasford, an old herd, blind and decrepit, sits in an armchair in the but, or living-room, near the open door, on a mild afternoon in April. Eliza Barrasford, his wife, is busy, making griddle-cakes over the peat fire. Eliza (glancing at the... more...

ACT I SCENE 1 A small railway station near London. Time: Ten years ago. BERT 'Ow goes it, Bill? BILL Goes it? 'Ow d'yer think it goes? BERT I don't know, Bill. 'Ow is it? BILL Bloody. BERT Why? What's wrong? BILL Wrong? Nothing ain't wrong. BERT What's up then? BILL Nothing ain't right. BERT Why, wot's the worry? BILL Wot's the worry? They don't give you better wages nor a dog, and then they thinks they... more...


THOMAS GODFREY, Jr. (1736-1763) Thomas Godfrey, Jr., was born in Philadelphia, on December 4, 1736, the son of a man who himself won fame as an inventor of the Quadrant. Godfrey, Senior, was a friend of Benjamin Franklin, the two probably having been drawn together by their common interest in science. When Godfrey, Senior, died, December, 1749, it was Franklin who wrote his obituary notice. Young Godfrey was a student at the College or Academy... more...

THE NOBLE LORD A secluded spot in the Maine woods in the neighborhood of a summer hotel. It is the middle of July. The trees are covered with foliage, a hot sun casts dancing shadows upon the mossy ground, and the air is full of the twittering of birds and the rustle of leaves. A winding path crosses from one side to the other, and near the center is a little clearing: the stump of a felled tree, with the lichen-covered trunk itself near it, and... more...

Act I The scene is laid in the living-room of the small home of the Quixanos in the Richmond or non-Jewish borough of New York, about five o'clock of a February afternoon. At centre back is a double street-door giving on a columned veranda in the Colonial style. Nailed on the right-hand door-post gleams a Mezuzah, a tiny metal case, containing a Biblical passage. On the right of the door is a small hat-stand holding Mendel's overcoat, umbrella,... more...

THE JEW OF MALTA. Enter MACHIAVEL.MACHIAVEL. Albeit the world think Machiavel is dead,Yet was his soul but flown beyond the Alps;And, now the Guise is dead, is come from France,To view this land, and frolic with his friends.To some perhaps my name is odious;But such as love me, guard me from their tongues,And let them know that I am Machiavel,And weigh not men, and therefore not men's words.Admir'd I am of those that hate me most:Though some... more...

MRS. MERCY WARREN (1728-1814) Most of the literature—orations as well as broadsides—created in America under the heat of the Revolution, was of a strictly satirical character. Most of the Revolutionary ballads sung at the time were bitter with hatred against the Loyalist. When the conflict actually was in progress, the theatres that regaled the Colonists were closed, and an order from the Continental Congress declared that... more...