monologues male (104)

A FEW GOOD MEN by Aaron Sorkin - LT. COL. JESSUP
A LIE OF THE MIND by Sam Shepard - JAKE
A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM (ACT 3, SCENE 2) by William Shakespeare - PUCK
A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM (ACT 4, SCENE 1) by William Shakespeare - BOTTOM
AFTER DINNER by Andrew Bovell - GORDON
ALL MY SONS by Arthur Miller - CHRIS
AMADEUS by Peter Shaffer - AMADEUS
AMADEUS by Peter Shaffer - SALIERI
AWAY by Michael Gow - TOM
BLACKROCK by Nick Enright - RICKO
BURIED CHILD (ACT 3) by Sam Shephard - VINCE
COSI by Louis Nowra - DOUG
CHOPPER by Andrew Dominik - CHOPPER
DEAD HEART by Nick Parsons - RAY
EMERALD CITY by David Williamson - MIKE
EUROPE by Michael Gow - DOUGLAS
FOOL FOR LOVE by Sam Shepard - EDDIE
GOOD WILL HUNTING by Matt Damon & Ben Affleck - CHUCKIE
GOOD WILL HUNTING by Matt Damon & Ben Affleck (ADAPTED) - WILL
GREEK(From Collected Plays Volume 1) by Steven Berkoff - EDDY
HAMLET(ACT 1, SCENE 2) by William Shakespeare - HAMLET
HAMLET(ACT 2, SCENE 2) by William Shakespeare - HAMLET
HAMLET (ACT 2, SCENE 2) by William Shakespeare - HAMLET
HAMLET(ACT 3, SCENE 1) by William Shakespeare - HAMLET
HIGH FIDELITY by D.V. Devincentis - ROB
IN OUR TOWN by Jack Davis - DAVID
JULIUS CAESAR(ACT 2, SCENE 1) by William Shakespeare - BRUTUS
JULIUS CAESAR (ACT 3, SCENE 1) by William Shakespeare - MARK ANTONY
JULIUS CAESAR (ACT 3, SCENE 2) by William Shakespeare - MARK ANTONY
KING HENRY IV PART I (ACT 1, SCENE 3) by William Shakespeare - HOTSPUR
KING HENRY IV PART I (ACT 3,SCENE 2) by William Shakespeare - PRINCE HAL
KING HENRY V (ACT 3, SCENE 2) by William Shakespeare - BOY
KING HENRY V (ACT 4, SCENE 3) by William Shakespeare - HENRY
KING HENRY VI PART III (ACT 5, SCENE 6) by William Shakespeare - RICHARD
KING LEAR (ACT 1, SCENE 2) by William Shakespeare - EDMUND
KING RICHARD III (ACT 1, SCENE 1) by William Shakespeare - GLOUCESTER
LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST (ACT 3, SCENE 1) by William Shakespeare - BEROWNE
LUTHER by John Osborne - MARTIN
MACBETH (ACT 1, SCENE 7) by William Shakespeare - MACBTEH
MACBETH (ACT 4, SCENE 3) by William Shakespeare (ADAPTED) - MALCOLM
MEASURE FOR MEASURE (ACT 2, SCENE 2) by William Shakespeare - ANGELO
MEASURE FOR MEASURE (ACT 3, SCENE 1) by William Shakespeare - CLAUDIO
NIGHT LETTERS by Susan Rogers and Chris Drummond - ROBERT
ONE FOR THE ROAD by Willy Russell - DENNIS
OTHELLO (ACT 1, SCENE 3) by William Shakespeare - IAGO
OTHELLO (ACT 2, SCENE 1) by William Shakespeare - IAGO
REVENGE by Howard Brenton - GEORGE
THE DRESSER by Ronald Harwood - NORMAN
THE GLASS MENAGERIE by Tennessee Williams - TOM
THE LIBERTINE by Stephen Jeffreys - DOWNS
THE MERCHANT OF VENICE (ACT 3, SCENE 1) by William Shakespeare - SHYLOCK
THE SEAGULL by Anton Chekhov - TREPLEV
THE SUM OF US by David Stevens - JEFF
THE TEMPLE (ACT 2, SCENE 4) by Louis Nowra - LAURIE
THE WINTER'S TALE (ACT 1, SCENE 2) by William Shakespeare - LEONTES
TAMBURLAINE by Christopher Marlowe - TAMBURLAINE
TITUS ANDRONICUS (ACT 5, SCENE 1) by William Shakespeare - AARON
TWELTH NIGHT (ACT 4, SCENE 3) by William Shakespeare - SEBASTIAN
UP THE ROAD by John Harding - IAN

That's enough! I said enough! Another word and you'll all be here till five o'clock. Nothing to me, is it? I've got all the time in the world. I didn't even get to the end of the corridor before there was such a din all the other teachers started opening their doors as much as to say what the hell's going on there's SOMEBODY TALKING NOW! Who was it? You? You, Mister Man?...I did not accuse you, I asked you. Someone in the back row? You're the losers, not me. Who's that? Right - hands on heads! Come on, that includes you, put the comb away. Eyes front and sit up. All of you, sit up! Hands on heads and eyes front! YOU I'm talking to! You'll be tired by the time I've finished. Stand on your seat. And keep your hands on your heads. Never mind what's going on outside, that joker at the back. Keep looking out here. Eyes front, hands on heads. Who was that? Whoever did - that - can open the window before we all get gassed...Wait a minute! Three of you? What are you - a group? One go - one nearest the window. All the others, eyes front, hands on heads. Right. (Pause) We could have had this sooner. Then we shouldn't be wasting time sitting here when we might be...well... let's all - think - what we might be doing - 'stead of sitting here when the rest have all gone home - we could be....Yes - eyes front...hands on breasts...STOP the laughter! WHO wants to start another minute? And whatever the great joke is, whatever it is that has tickled your Stone Age sense of humour - when all my efforts have it till your outside. I'm going to get my coat from the staff-room now. And you will be as quiet as mice - no, fish - till I get back. All right? I don't want to hear a sound. Not a bubble.

A FEW GOOD MEN by Aaron Sorkin - LT. COL. JESSUP
Captain, for the past month, this man has attempted to put the Marine Corps on trial. I think somebody sure as hell better address this question or people are liable to start listening to him. Because you can't handle it, son. You can't handle the truth. You can't handle the sad but historical reality... We live in a world that has walls. And those walls have to be guarded by men with guns. Who's gonna do it? You? You. Lt. Weinberg? I have a greater responsibility than you can possibly fathom. You weep for Santiago, and you curse the Marines. You have that luxury. The luxury of the blind. The luxury of not knowing what I know: That Santiago's death, while tragic, probably saved lives. And my existence, while grotesque and incomprehensible to you...saves lives. You can't handle it. Because deep down, in places you don't like to talk about, you want me on that wall. You need me there. We use words like honour, code, loyalty. We use these words as a backbone to a life spent defending something. You use them as a punchline. I have neither the time nor the inclination to explain myself to a man who rises and sleeps under the blanket of the very freedom I provide, then questions the manner in which I provide it. I'd prefer you just said thank you and went your way. Otherwise, I'd suggest you pick up a weapon and stand a post. Either way, I don't give a damn what you think you're entitled to.

Look — I don’t know why it is but nobody around here will make an effort to try and get me outa here. How come that is? My brother — I’ve got a brother with a real short fuse. He gets weird ideas in his head. It doesn’t take much to tip him over the edge. Now I’ve been here way too long. Way, way past the time I was supposed to get back. And he’s gonna start gettin’ the wrong idea about me and your daughter. I mean, your daughter is his wife. You know that, don’t ya? I mean I suppose you know that but it’s hard to tell anymore if anybody knows anything about anybody else around here. Like her, for instance. Your daughter. She is getting very strange with me. Very strange. I mean she started talkin’ to me like I was him. Like I was my brother. To her, I mean. Like she thought I was him and not me. Your daughter. Beth. I mean I don’t even know if she knows who I am anymore but—she thinks—she thinks her brother—your son and you, in fact—even you—she includes you in this too—she thinks you and him, your son and you, are somehow responsible for taking her brain out. For removing her brain and meanwhile—MEANWHILE—I AM STUCK HERE TRYING TO GET BACK HOME! AND NOBODY IS MAKING ANY EFFORT TO HELP ME! If I die on you here—If I die, you’re gonna be in big trouble, mister. You and everybody else in this family.

LIE OF THE MIND by Sam Shepard - JAKE
She was goin' to these goddamn rehearsals every day. Every day. Every single day. Hardly ever see her. I saw enough though. Believe you me. Saw enough to know somethin' was goin' on ... (Builds) I'm no dummy. Doesn't take much to put it together. Woman starts dressin' more and more skimpy every time she goes out. Starts puttin' on more and more smells. Oils. She was always oiling herself before she went out. Every morning. Smell would wake me up. Coconut or Butterscotch or some goddamn thing. Sweet stuff. Youda thought she an ice-cream sundae. I'd watch her oiling herself while I pretended to be asleep. She was in a dream, the way she did it. Like she was imagining someone else touching her. Not me. Never me. Someone else. (Stands, moves around, gains momentum) Some guy. I don't know. Some actor-jerk. I knew she was getting' herself ready for him. I could tell. Got worse and worse. When I finally called her on it she denied it flat. I knew she was lying too. Could tell it right away. The way she took it so light. Tried to cast it off like it was nothin'. Then she starts tellin' me it's all in my head. Some imaginary deal I'd cooked up in my head. Had nothin' to do with her, she said. Made me try to believe I was crazy. She's all innocent and I'm crazy. So I told her - I told her - I laid it on the line to her. Square business. I says - no more high heels! No more wearing those high spiky high heels to rehearsals. No more a' that shit. And she laughs. Right to my face. She laughs. Kept puttin' 'em on. Every mornin'. Puttin' 'em back on. She says it's right for the part. Made her feel like the character she says. Then I told her she had to wear a bra and she paid no attention to that either. You could see right through her damn blouse. Right clean through it. And she never wore underpants either. That's what really got me. No underpants. You could see everything ... Okay. Then she starts readin' the lines with me, at night. In bed. Readin' the lines. I'm helpin' her out, right? Helpin' her memorise the damn lines so she can run off every morning and say 'em to some other guy. Day after day. Same lines. And these lines are all about how she's bound and determined to get this guy back in the sack with her after all these years he's been ignoring her. How she still loves him even though he hates her. How she's saving her body up for him and him only ... and you know what she tells me? She tells me this is the real world. This acting shit is more real than the real world for her. Can you believe that? And she was tryin' to convince me that I was crazy?

To avoid this I have taken every path my winding wits could find. Now that the court has determined to condemn me, God knoweth how, I will discharge my mind - concerning my indictment and the King's title. The indictment is grounded in an Act of Parliament which is directly repugnant to the Law of God. The King in Parliament cannot bestow the Supremacy of the Church because it is a Spiritual Supremacy. And more to this, the immunity of the Church is promised both in Magna Carta and the King's own Coronation Oath. (He pauses then launches, very quietly and ruminatively into his final stocktaking) I am the King's true subject and pray for him and all the realm. I do none harm, I say none harm, I think none harm. And if this be not enough to keep a man alive, in good faith I long not to live. I have, since I came into prison, been several times in such a case that I thought to die within the hour, and I thank Our Lord I was never sorry for it, but rather sorry when it passed. And therefore, my poor body is at the King's pleasure. Would God my death might do him some good. (With a great flash of scorn and anger) Nevertheless, it is not for the Supremacy that you have sought my blood - but because I would not bend to the marriage.

A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM (ACT 3, SCENE 2) by William Shakespeare - PUCK
My mistress with a monster is in love.
Near to her close and consecrated bower,
While she was in her dull and sleeping hour,
A crew of patches, rude mechanicals,
That work for bread upon Athenian stalls,
Were met together to rehearse a play
Intended for great Theseus' nuptial-day.
The shallowest thick-skin of that barren sort,
Who Pyramus presented, in their sport
Forsook his scene and enter'd in a brake
When I did him at this advantage take,
An ass's nole I fixed on his head:
Anon his Thisbe must be answered,
And forth my mimic comes. When they him spy,
As wild geese that the creeping fowler eye,
Or russet-pated choughs, many in sort,
Rising and cawing at the gun's report,
Sever themselves and madly sweep the sky,
So, at his sight, away his fellows fly;
And, at our stamp, here o'er and o'er one falls;
He murder cries and help from Athens calls.
Their sense thus weak, lost with their fears
thus strong,
Made senseless things begin to do them wrong;
For briers and thorns at their apparel snatch;
Some sleeves, some hats, from yielders all
things catch.
I led them on in this distracted fear,
And left sweet Pyramus translated there:
When in that moment, so it came to pass,
Titania waked and straightway loved an ass.

MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM (ACT 4, SCENE 1) by William Shakespeare - BOTTOM
When my cue comes, call me, and I will answer. My next is "Most fair Pyramus". Heigh-ho! Peter Quince? Flute the bellows-mender? Snout, the tinker? Starveling? God's my life! Stolen hence, and left me asleep! I have had a most rare vision. I have had a dream, past the wit of man to say what dream it was. Man is but an ass if he go about to expound this dream. Methought I was - there is no man can tell what. Methought I was, and methought I had - but man is but a patched fool if he will offer to say what methought I had. The eye of man hath not heard, the ear of man hath not seen, man's hand is not able to taste, his tongue to conceive, nor his heart to report, what my dream was. I will get Peter Quince to write a ballad of this dream.
It shall be called 'Bottom's Dream', because it hath no bottom; and I will sing it in the latter end of a play, before the Duke. Peradventure, to make it the more gracious, I shall sing it at her death.

AFTER DINNER by Andrew Bovell - GORDON
I had just hoped that we might talk. Yes, over dinner. You see, I haven't had the chance to talk about it with anyone yet. When Brendon was kind enough to ask me to join you for dinner, I became quite excited. The thought of spending an evening with two of my fellow men excited me. Yes, you see I don't think I've been out with just men since I was a teenager. I've been looking forward to it all week. I thought that if anyone could possibly understand how I felt then it would be another man. I have to admit, the divorce hasn't been easy. I've been a little battered by the whole thing. We had to sell the house, of course. I've been living in a small flat ever since. I've isolated myself from the world, but then again I had to. After all the bitterness, the disappointments and rejection, there's only one thing left. There's only one thing left to come back to, Stephen - yourself. You can only come back to yourself. Only the very sad thing, the pitiful thing is, that there's no guarantee that you'll like what you find. Can you understand that, Stephen? I don't like myself very much. I don't like myself very much at all. When your wife leaves you and makes you feel as though you're not worth the ground she walks on, then you're not left with a very high opinion of yourself. And you need to talk to someone, you need to tell someone that you've been crushed. You need to shout before you go mad, before you hurt someone or shoot yourself - or her and your children, if you've got any. That's why I've come here tonight, Stephen. I need to shout. I need to tell someone...but not just anyone, certainly not a woman. I need to tell a man. I need the support of my fellow man. Because men do have emotions, Stephen, and they can express them if only they are allowed to. Believe me, a day has not passed since she left me that I haven't wept like a lost child. Collapsed on the floor in a heap of uncontrollable tears....I'm sorry.

ALL MY SONS by Arthur Miller - CHRIS
Yes. I suppose I have been ashamed. But it's going from me ... I want to tell you but I don't know how to start ... It's all mixed up with so many other things ... You remember, overseas, I was in command of a company? ... Well, I lost them ... Just about all ... It takes a little time to toss that off. Because they weren't just men. For instance, one time it'd been raining for several days and this kid came to me, and gave me his last pair of dry socks. Put them in my pocket. That's only a little thing - but ... that's the kind of guys I had. They didn't die; they killed themselves for each other. I mean that exactly; a little more selfish and they'd've been here today. And I got an idea - watching them go down. Everything was being destroyed, ses, but it seemed to me that one new thing was being made. A kind of-responsibility man for man. You understand me? - To show that, to bring that onto the earth again like some kind of monument and everyone would feel it standing there, behind him, and it would make a difference to him. (Pause) And then I came home and it was incredible. I - there was no meaning in it here; the whole thing to them was a kind a - bus accident. I went to work with Dad, and that rat-race again. I felt - what you said - ashamed somehow. Because nobody was changed at all. It seemed to make suckers out of a lot of guys. I felt wrong to be alive, to open the bank-book, to drive the new car, to see the new refrigerator. I mean you can take those things out of a war, but when you drive that car you've got to know that it came out of the love a man can have for a man, you've got to be a little better because of that. Otherwise what you have is really loot, and there's blood on it. I didn't want to take any of it. And I guess that includes you.

When I was a very young boy, I used to race ponies at county fairs. Every Friday night we'd roll into a different fairground, get our ponies situated in the stables, pitch our tents and just, well, prepare for a weekend of competition. I can't say I recall a single race, but what I do remember, vividly, is how at the end of a day we'd all get together, all these racers and farmhands, and we'd talk, we'd laugh, we'd tell the most forgettable stories and we'd just...we'd laugh. My uncle used to say laughing and riding a bicycle: two things you never forget how to do. And yet lately, as I, as I've taken measure of my life, and as I look at you, I mainly see people who still know how to ride a bicycle, but whose next smile is best achieved by getting the leather interior of choice in a new car. What's happened here? You might get a spare minute at the end of a day and ponder the fixed rate verses the variable. Close our eyes and dream of owning ocean front property. What's happened? Three weeks ago I, I left this world of things, and I went back to some of those fairgrounds just trying to remember the people, trying to revive in myself the ability to rejoice in the simple company of others. That's why I left. But as to why I came back, I think perhaps I realised that what I was looking for...this is the place for me to find it. Right here in these walls of people I love. I wish I could offer something more complicated. I can't. I think sometimes, things are simple. Carry on then.

AMADEUS by Peter Shaffer - AMADEUS
I don't understand you!  You're all up on perches but it doesn't hide your arseholes!  You don't give a shit about gods and heroes!  If you're honest - each one of you - which of you isn't more at home with his hairdress than Hercules?  Or Horatius? Or your stupid Danaius come to that!  Or mine - mine!  Idomeneo, King of Crete!  All those anguished antiques are all bores!  Bores, bores, bores!
All serious operas written this century are boring! (laughs vigorously) Look at us!  Four gaping mouths.  What a perfect quartet!  I'd love to write it - just this second in time, this now, as you are!  Herr Chamberlin thinking 'Impertinent Mozart: I must speak to the emperor at once!' Herr Prefect thinking 'Ignorant Mozart: debasing opera with his vulgarity!'  Herr Court Composer thinking 'German Mozart: what can he finally know about music?'  And Herr Mozart himself, in the middle, thinking I'm just a good fellow.  Why do they all disapprove of me?'
That's why opera is important, Baron.  Because it's realer than a play!  A dramatic poet would have to put all those thoughts down one after another just to represent this second of time.  The composer can put them all down at once - and still make us hear each one of them.  Astonishing device: a Vocal Quartet! ....I tell you I want to write a finale lasting half an hour!  A quartet becoming a quintet becoming sextet.  On and on, wider and wider - all sounds multiplying and rising together - and all together creating a sound entirely new!
.... I bet you that's how God hears the world: millions of sounds ascending at once and mixing in His ear to become an unending music, unimaginable to us!  That's our job!  That's our job, we composers: to combine the inner minds of him and him and him and her and her - the thoughts of chambermaids and Court Composers - and turn the audience into God.  (blows a raspberry and giggles) I'm sorry.  I talk nonsense all day: it's incurable - ask Stanzerl.  My tongue is stupid Baron.  My heart isn't.

AMADEUS by Peter Shaffer - SALIERI
Capisco! I know my fate. Now for the first time I feel my emptiness as Adam felt his nakedness... Tonight at an inn somewhere in this city stands a giggling child who can put on paper, without actually setting down his billiard cue, casual notes which turn my most considered ones into lifeless scratches. Grazie, Signore! You gave me the desire to serve you - which most men do not have - then saw to it the service was shameful in the ears of the server. Grazie! You gave me the desire to praise you - which most do not feel - then made me mute. Grazie tante! You put into me perception of the Incomparable - which most men never know! - then ensured that I would know myself forever mediocre. (His voice gains power) Why? ... What is my fault? ... Until this day I have pursued virtue with rigour. I have laboured long hours to relieve my fellow men. I have worked and worked the talent you allowed me. (Calling up)You know how hard I've worked ! - solely that in the end, in the practice of the art which alone makes the worl d comprehensible to me, I might hear Your Voice! And now I do hear it - and it says only one name: MOZART! ... Spiteful, sniggering, conceited, infantine Mozart! - who has never worked one minute to help another man! - shit-talking Mozart with his botty-smacking wife! - him you have chosen to be your sole conduct! And my only reward - my sublime privilege - is to be the sole man alive in this time who shall clearly recognize your Incarnation! (Savagely)Grazie e grazie ancora! (Pause) So be it! From this time we are enemies, You and I! I'll not accept it from You - Do you hear? ... They say God is not mocked. I tell you, Man is not mocked! I am not mocked! ... They say the spirit bloweth where it listeth: I tell you NO! It must list to virtue or not blow at all! (Yelling) Dio Ingiusto! - You are the Enemy! I name Thee now - Nemico Eterno! And this I swear. To my last breath I shall block you on earth, as far as I am able! (He glares up at God. To audience) What use, after all, is Man, if not to teach God His lessons?

What did you drag me out here for, Louis, I don't have time for you. You walk out on your lover. Days don't pass before you are out on the town with somebody new. But this...this is a record low: sharing your dank and dirty bed with Roy Cohn's buttboy. Doesn't that bother you at all? Your little friend didn't tell you, huh? You and Hoss Cartwright, it's not a verbal kind of thing, you just kick off your boots and hit the hay. I don't know whether Mr Cohn has penetrated more than his spiritual sphincter. All I'm saying is you better hope there's no GOP germ, Louis, 'cause if there is, you got it ... And he's a clerk for a Republican federal judge ... You know what your problem is, Louis? Your problem is that you are so full of piping hot crap that the mention of your name draws flies. Just to set the record straight: I love Prior but was never in love with him. I have a man, uptown, and have since long before I first laid my eyes on the sorry-ass sight of you. But you didn't know 'cause you never bothered to ask. Up in the air, just like that angel, too far off the earth to pick out the details. Louis and his Big Ideas. Big ideas are all you love. "America" is what Louis loves. Well I hate America, Louis. I hate this country. It's just big ideas, and stories, and people dying, and people like you. The white cracker who wrote the National Anthem knew what he was doing. He set the word "free" to a note so high nobody can reach it. That was deliberate. Nothing on earth sounds less like freedom to me. You come to room 1013 over at the hospital, I'll show you America. Terminal, crazy and mean. (Pause) I live in America, Louis, that's hard enough, I don't have to love it. You do that. Everybody's got to love something.

AWAY by Michael Gow - TOM
Yeah, that's what I had. An infection. Everyone knew I had some infection. I was sick. I was told the infection was running its course. That I had to fight. I did. One day a doctor came and sat on my bed and had a long talk with me. He told me that before I got completely well again I would get a lot worse, get really, really sick. And no matter how sick I got not to worry because it meant that soon I'd start to get well again. He was full of shit. He couldn't look me in the face to say it. He stared at the cabinet next to the bed the whole time. And the nurses were really happy whenever they were near me, but when I stared them in the face, in the end they'd look away and bite their lips. When I was able to go home the doctor took me into his office and we had another talk. I had to look after myself. No strain, no dangerous activity. Keep my spirits up. Then he went very quiet, leant over the desk, practically whispering how if I knew a girl it'd be good for me to do it, to try it. 'It', he kept calling it. It, it. I put him on the spot. What? Name it. Give it a name. He cleared his throat. 'Sexual intercourse'. But if I was worried about going all the way I could experiment with mutual masturbation. Know what that is?

BLACKROCK by Nick Enright - RICKO
You back me up, I'll back you up. Then whatever happened we're not in it. I know you didn't kill her! I did. I fucken killed her. (A beat) Shana come on to me, then she backed off. Spider says it's a full moon, heaps of other chicks down the beach, take anyone on. I knew which ones were up for it, mate. We both did. We checked them out together. And they were checking us out, weren't they? You and me and every other prick. The whole fucken netball squad. So, I get out there. Wazza's getting head from some bush-pig up against the dunny wall. One of them young babes, Leanne? I don't know, comes running up to me, calls my name, Ricko, hey, Ricko! She grabs me, pashes me off. She's on, no, she's fucken not, she's with some fucken grommet, he takes her off down the south end. I head towards the rock. I hear my name again. Ricko. Ricko. It's Tracy. Tracy Warner. I go, right, Jared was here. It's cool. I'll take his seconds. She's on her hands and knees. Says will I help her. She's lost an earring, belongs to Cherie, she has to give it back. There's something shiny hanging off the back of her T-shirt. I grab it, I say, here it is. She can't see it. I give it to her. I say what are you going to give me? She says she's going home, she's hurting. I say hurting from what? Guys, she says, those guys. Take me home, Ricko. Tells me I'm a legend, says she feels okay with me. Look after me, Ricko. Take me home. Puts her arms round me. I put mine round her. I feel okay now, Ricko. She feels more than okay. I say I'll take you home, babe, but first things first. I lay her down on the sand, but she pushes me off. Oh, she likes it rough. I give it to her rough. Then she fucken bites me, kicks me in the nuts. My hand comes down on a rock...A rock in one hand and her earring in the other. (Silence) It was like it just happened. The cops wouldn't buy that, but. Would they? Now if I was with you...Will you back me up, mate? You got to. You got to. Please. Please, Jazza.

BURIED CHILD(ACT 3) by Sam Shephard - VINCE
I was gonna run last night. I was gonna run and keep right on running. Clear to the Iowa border. I drove all night with the windows open. The old man’s two bucks flapping right on the seat beside me. It never stopped raining the whole time. Never stopped once. I could see myself in the windshield. My face. My eyes. I studied my face. Studied everything about it as though I was looking at another man. As though I could see his whole race behind him. Like a mummy’s face. I saw him dead and alive at the same time. In the same breath. In the windshield I watched him breathe as though he was frozen in time and every breath marked him. Marked him forever without him knowing. And then his face changed. His face became his father’s face. Same bones. Same eyes. Same nose. Same breath. And this father’s face changed to his grandfather’s face. And it went on like that. Changing. Clear on back to faces I’d never seen before but still recognized. Still recognized the bones underneath. Same eyes. Same mouth. Same breath. I followed my family clear into Iowa. Every last one. Straight into the corn belt and further. Straight back as far as they’d take me. Then it all dissolved. Everything dissolved. Just like that. And that two bucks kept right on flapping on the seat beside me.

COSI by Louis Nowra - DOUG
It's what I did. Burned a cat. Quite recently. It was the fault of the psychiatrist. I'd been seeing him because of my pyromania - that's a person who likes lighting fires - but you probably know that being university educated - but you know the problem with pyromania? It's the only crime where you have to be at the scene of it to make it a perfect crime, to give yourself full satisfaction. 'Course, that means the chances of you getting caught are greater, especially if you're standing in front of the fire, face full of ecstasy and with a gigantic hard on. So, the cops got me and I'm sent to a shrink. He tells me that I've got an unresolved problem with my mother. I think, hello, he's not going to tell me to do something Oedipal, like fuck her or something...but that wasn't the problem. My ego had taken a severe battering from her. He said I had better resolve it, stop her treating me like I was still a child. It made some sort of cosmic sense. I had to stand up to her. So I thought about it and realised I had to treat it like a boxing match, get the first punch in, so to speak, to give me the upper hand in our relationship. She had five cats. One night I rounded them up, put them in a cage, doused them with petrol and put a match to them. Then I opened up the cage door and let them loose. Well, boy, oh, boy, what a racket! They were running around the backyard burning and howling - there's no such thing as grace under pressure for a burning cat, let me tell you. I hid in the shrubs when mum came outside to see what was happening. Totally freaked out, she did. Five of them, running around the backyard like mobile bonfires. I figured I'd wait a couple of hours 'til the cats were dead and mum was feeling a bit sorry for herself and I'd knock on the front door and say to her "Hi, mum, I've come to talk about our unresolved conflicts" but, oh, no, one of those cats ran into the house. In a couple of minutes the whole bloody house was alight and within a half an hour there was no bloody front door to knock on. (A beat) If it wasn't for that damn cat, I wouldn't be in here.

CHOPPER by Andrew Dominik - CHOPPER
So, am I? Am I charged with this? Oooh, shit. So that's it? I mean, like, what? Am I, how do you call, flavour of the month or something? What's going on here? Are you just gonna bloody get me on popular opinion or something? I don't know this bloke, Mr Downie. I've never, never seen his face. I wouldn't know that bloke right? Was he young the bloke who got shot? What? He was young. Young then, was he? What? What are you writing everything down for? (Indicating the photo) That's not me, mate; I got no interest in that sort of thing. You know that. Mr Downie, you know - you know how I work. Right? We go back - I know you got nothing personal against me and, and...I mean perish the thought I should do soemthing like that. I mean, look. (Indicating the photo) Fuck! Do you reckon I shot this bloke? Seriously? Like, in your heart? I mean, in your heart? Oh mate....if you think that, right? Well, I'm buggered then aren't I? Oh, fuck. I can you think that? (Beat) Well, of course I shot the prick. If you knew the cunt you'd shoot him too. I did the prick a favour. Hey? Dontcha think so? Last week it was 'Neville who?'. This week he's a criminal superstar. The bloke what Chopper shot, number whatever. (Laughs) Yes, well, he's still got one perfectly good leg and that's more than enough for him. (Beat) Well, it's a disgrace what's going on out there, all these bloody wogsand dagos and assorted Third World fuckin' yellow people and they're getting around in Mercedes Benz. (Beat) If you walked into (Indicating photo) Neville Bartos, biggest heroine dealer in the western suburbs, you could walk into his house - If you saw....a turd sitting on his lounge room wouldn't be the first dirty thing you noticed. I mean these blokes:they live like animals. Like pigs. These aren't people - You don't fuckin' care about...(Lifting up photo of Bartos) Would you invite that bloke into your home? I mean, perish the thought you'd have him in your home. They've got no right to their money and I've got no money, so bugger them.

DEAD HEART by Nick Parsons - RAY
(interrupting) No! No! No! Don’t give me that bullshit. That spooky Aboriginal bullshit. I don’t want to hear it; I don’t want to know. Christ. Time was the man was dead and that was it. A man was just a man. Now they follow you round. If he’s dead he should be in the ground: in the cold fucking ground; he should be … growing into something else, not … crawling out and trailing you with his long rope hangin’ off him. That’s not … the way it’s done. I won’t stand for it.

I’ve worked for people. I’ve tried to make … They gotta learn to be whitefellas! (Tapping his head) Up here. That’s what the world is. You know that Dave; You – you seen it. Tribal way is finished; it doesn’t have a chance, and Poppy is not gunna drag this on and on and on till every last young fella’s drunk himself to death or … strung himself up because he doesn’t know what he is any more. And some poor fuckwit walks out the station and sees that … see that … that thing … hangin’ there and …and carries it round for the rest of his life. I’m telling you: Poppy is going down for what he’s done. I’ve got something on him and he’s going down.


I try and think of him … like he was, you know? Like on the footy field or something. But I can’t see his face any more; it’s all got … sucked out somehow. All I can see is a … black tongue hangin’ out. Swollen up. Nothing else will come, you know? That’s all that’s left. Of him. In my head. A black … tongue.

Now hear this, Willy, this is me ... You know why I had no address for three months? I stole a suit in Kansas City and was in jail ... I stole myself out of every good job since high school! And I never got anywhere because you blew me so full of hot air I could never stand taking orders from anybody! That's whose fault it is! I had to be boss big shot in two weeks, and I'm through with it! I ran down eleven flights with a pen in my hand today. And suddenly I stopped, you hear me? And in the middle of that office building, do you hear this? I stopped in the middle of that office building and I saw - the sky. I saw the things that I love in this world. The work and the food and the time to sit and smoke. And I looked at the pen and said to myself, what the hell am I grabbing this for? Why am I trying to become what I don't want to be? What am I doing in an office, making a contemptuous, begging fool of myself, when all I want is out there, waiting for the minute I say I know who I am! Why can't I say that, Willy? ... Pop! I'm a dime a dozen, and so are you! I am not a leader of men, Willy, neither are you. You were never anything but a hardworking drummer who landed in the ash-can like all the rest of them! I'm one dollar an hour! Do you gather my meaning? I'm not bringing home any prizes anymore, and you're going to stop waiting for me to bring them home! ... Pop, I'm nothing! I'm nothing, Pop. Can't you understand that? There's no spite in it anymore. I'm just saying what I am, that's all. (Crying, broken) Will you let me go for Christ's sake? Will you take that phony dream and burn it before something happens?


They bought it. Incredible. One of the worst performances of my career and they never doubted it for a second. How could I possibly be expected to handle school on a day like today? This is my ninth sick day this semester. It's getting pretty tough coming up with new illnesses. If I go for ten I'm probably going to have to barf up a lung. So I better make this one count. The key to faking-out the parents is clammy hands. It's a good non-specific symptom. I'm a big believer in it. A lot of people will tell you that a phoney fever is a dead lock, but you get a nervous mother and you wind up in a doctor's office. That's worse than school. You fake a stomach cramp, and when you're bent over, moaning and wailing, you lick your palms. It's a little childish and stupid, but then so is high school. Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in a while you could miss it. I do have a test today. It's on European Socialism. I mean, really, what's the point? I'm not European. I don't plan on being European. So who gives a crap if they're socialists? They could be fascists, it still wouldn't change the fact that I don't own a car. It's not that I condone fascism, or any "ism" for that matter. "Ism's" in my opinion are not good. A person should not believe in an "ism" - he should believe in himself. I quote John Lennon: "I don't believe in Beatles, I just believe in me." A good point there. After all he was the walrus. I could be the walrus, I'd still have to bum rides off people.

You buy furniture. You tell yourself this is the last sofa you'll ever need in your life; no matter what else goes wrong, you've got the sofa issue handled. Then the right set of dishes. Then the right bed. The drapes. The rug. This is how you're good to yourself. This is how you fill up your life. And now your condo blows up and you have nothing. You now find yourself, sitting here, feeling like it's the best thing that's ever happened to you. I don't know you, so maybe I'm wrong. Maybe it's a terrible fucking tragedy. I mean you lost a lot of nice, perfect, neat little shit. Wow. (Beat) Do you have family you can call? (Tyler smiles, snorts, shakes his head) A generation of men raised by women. Look what it's done to you. We're on our third pitcher of beer and you still can't ask me. Why don't you cut to the shit and ask me if you can stay at my place? Why don't you cut to the shit and ask me if you can stay at my place? Is it a problem for you to ask me? (Beat) If you do me one favour. (Beat) I want you to hit me as hard as you can.

FOOL FOR LOVE by Sam Shepard - EDDIE
And we walked right though town. Past the donut shop, past the miniature golf course, past the Chevron station. And he opened the bottle up and offered it to me. Before he even took a drink, he offered it to me first. And I took it and drank it and handed it back to him. And we just kept handing it back and forth like that as we walked until we drank the whole thing dry. And we never said a word the whole time. Then, finally, we reached this little white house with a red awning, on the far side of town. I'll never forget the red awning because it flapped in the night breeze and the porch light made it glow. It was a hot, desert breeze and the air smelt like new-cut alfalfa. We walked right up to the front porch and he rang the bell and I remember getting real nervous because I wasn't expecting to visit anybody. I thought we were just out for a walk. And then this woman comes to the door. This real pretty woman with red hair. And she throws herself into his arms . And he starts crying. He just breaks down right there in front of me. And she kisses him all over the face and holding him real tight and he's just crying like a baby. And then through the doorway, behind them both, I see this girl. (The bathroom door very slowly and silently swing open revealing MayStanding in the doorframe back-lit with yellow light in her red dress. She just watches Eddie as he keeps telling the story. He and Martin are unaware of her presence) She just appears. She's just standing there, staring at me and I'm staring back at her and we can't take our eyes off each other. It was like we knew each other from somewhere but we couldn't place where. But the second we saw each other, that very second, we knew we'd never stop being in love.

Let me have your attention for a moment! So you're talking about what? You're talking about, bitching about that sale you shot, some son of a bitch that doesn't want what your selling, some broad you're trying to screw and so forth. Let's talk about something important. Put that coffee down! Coffee's for closers only. Do you think I'm fucking with you? I'm here from downtown. I'm here from Mitch and Murray. And I'm here on a mission of mercy. Your name's Levene? You call yourself a salesman, you son of a bitch? You don't want to listen to this? You certainly don't pal. 'Cause the good news is - you're fired. The bad news is you've got, all you got, just one week to regain your jobs, starting tonight. Starting with tonight's sit. Oh, have I got your attention now? Good. 'Cause we're adding a little something to this months sales contest. As you all know, first prize is a Cadillac Eldorado. Anyone want to see second prize? Second prize is a set of steak knives. Third prize is you're fired. You get the picture? You're laughing now? You got leads. Mitch and Murray pay good money. Get their names to sell them! You can't close the leads you're given, you can't close shit, you are shit, hit the bricks pal and beat it 'cause you are going out! * 'The leads are weak.' Fucking leads are weak? You're weak. I've been in this business fifteen years. * What's my name? Fuck you, that's my name! You know why, Mister? 'Cause you drove a Hyundai to get here tonight, I drove an eighty thousand dollar BMW. That's my name! And your name is "you're waiting." And you can't play a man's game. You can't close them. And you go home and tell your wife your troubles. Because only one thing counts in this life! Get them to sign on the line which is dotted! You hear me, you fucking faggots?

GOOD WILL HUNTING by Matt Damon & Ben Affleck - CHUCKIE
Look,, you're my best fiend, so don't take this the wrong way, but in twenty years, if you're livin' next door to me, comin' over, watchin' the fucking Patriot's game and still working construction, I'll fucking kill you. And that's not a threat; that's a fact. I'll fucking kill you....Listen you got somethin' that none of us have. Fuck you. You owe it to me. Tomorrow I'll be fifty and I'll still be doin' this. And that's all right 'cause I'm gonna make a run at it. (A beat) But you, you're sitting on a winning lottery ticket and you're too much of a pussy to cash it in. And that's bullshit 'cause I'd do anything to have what you got! And so would these guys. It'd be a fucking insult to us if you're still here in twenty years....Let me tell you what I know. Every day I come by to pick you up, and we go out drinkin' or whatever and we have a few laughs. But you know what the best part of my day is? The ten seconds before I knock on the door, 'cause I let myself think I might get there, and you'd be gone. I'd knock on the door and you wouldn't be there. You just left. (A beat) Now, I don't know much. But I do know that.

GOOD WILL HUNTING by Matt Damon & Ben Affleck (ADAPTED) - WILL
Say I'm working for Uncle Sam - at N.S.A. Somebody puts a code on my desk, something nobody else can break. So I take a shot at it and maybe I break it. And I'm real happy with myself, 'cause I did my job well. But maybe that code was the location of some rebel army in North Africa or the Middle East. Once they have that location, they bomb the village where the rebels were hiding and fifteen hundred people I never had a problem with get killed. (A beat) Now the politicians are sayin', "Send in the marines to secure the area" 'cause they don't give a shit. It won't be their kid over there, getting' shot. Just like it wasn't them when their number got called, 'cause they were pullin' a tour in the National Guard. It'll be some guy from Southie takin' shrapnel in the ass. And he comes home to find that the plant he used to work at got exported to the country he just got back from. And the guy who put the shrapnel in his ass got his old job, 'cause he'll work for fifteen cents a day and no bathroom breaks. Meanwhile my buddy from Southie realizes the only reason he was over there was so we could install a government that would sell us oil at a good price. And of course the oil companies used the skirmish to scare up oil prices so they could turn a quick buck. So my buddy's out of work and he can't afford to drive, so he's got to walk to the job interviews, which sucks 'cause the shrapnel in his ass is givin' him chronic hemorrhoids. And meanwhile he's starvin' 'cause every time he tries to get a bite to eat the only blue plate special they're servin' is North Atlantic scrod with Quaker State. (A beat) So what'd I think? I'm holdin' out for somethin' better. I figure I'll eliminate the middleman. Why not just shoot my buddy, take his job and give it to his sworn enemy, hike up gas prices, bomb a village, club a baby seal, hit the hash pipe and join the National Guard? Christ, I could be elected president.

GREEK(From Collected Plays Volume 1) by Steven Berkoff - EDDY
My dearest wife and now my mum, it seems, this lady was the very one whose baby you snatched / she told me the selfsame and bitter tale of how she lost her Tony and if you found him then I am he, he whom you found that belonged to her was me. The he you stole and gave to her did once belong to she...nice to see ya, have a nice day, so I am the squelchy mass of flesh that issued from out the loins of my dear wife / oh rats of shit / you opened a right box there didn’t you, you picked up a stone that was best left with all those runny black and horrid things intact and not nibbling in my brain. So the man I verballed to death was my real pop / the man to whom my words like hard-edged shrapnel razed his brain / was the source of me, oh stink/ warlock and eyes break shatter, cracker and splatter ...! / Who laughs? Me who wants to clean up the city / stop the plague destroy the sphinx / me was the source of all the stink / the man of principle is a mother fucker / oh no more will I taste the sweetness of my dear wife’s pillow more more.... so I left my cosy and love-filled niche now so full of horror / foul incest and babies on the way which if they come will no doubt turn into six-fingered horrors with two heads /poor Eddy.

HAMLET(ACT 1, SCENE 2) by William Shakespeare - HAMLET
O, that this too too solid flesh would melt
Thaw and resolve itself into a dew!
Or that the Everlasting had not fix'd
His canon 'gainst self-slaughter! O God! God!
How weary, stale, flat and unprofitable,
Seem to me all the uses of this world!
Fie on't! ah fie! 'tis an unweeded garden,
That grows to seed; things rank and gross in nature
Possess it merely. That it should come to this!
But two months dead: nay, not so much, not two:
So excellent a king; that was, to this,
Hyperion to a satyr; so loving to my mother
That he might not beteem the winds of heaven
Visit her face too roughly. Heaven and earth!
Must I remember? why, she would hang on him,
As if increase of appetite had grown
By what it fed on: and yet, within a month--
Let me not think on't--Frailty, thy name is woman!--
A little month, or ere those shoes were old
With which she follow'd my poor father's body,
Like Niobe, all tears:--why she, even she--
O, God! a beast, that wants discourse of reason,
Would have mourn'd longer--married with my uncle,
My father's brother, but no more like my father
Than I to Hercules: within a month:
Ere yet the salt of most unrighteous tears
Had left the flushing in her galled eyes,
She married. O, most wicked speed, to post
With such dexterity to incestuous sheets!
It is not nor it cannot come to good:
But break, my heart; for I must hold my tongue.

HAMLET(ACT 2, SCENE 2) by William Shakespeare - HAMLET
I will tell you why; so shall my anticipation prevent your discovery, and your secrecy to the king and queen moult no feather. I have of late--but wherefore I know not--lost all my mirth, forgone all custom of exercises; and indeed it goes so heavily with my disposition that this goodly frame, the earth, seems to me a sterile promontory, this most excellent canopy, the air, look you, this brave o'erhanging firmament, this majestical roof fretted with golden fire, why, it appears no other thing to me than a foul and pestilent congregation of vapours. What a piece of work is a man! How noble in reason! How infinite in faculty! In form and moving how express and admirable! in action how like an angel! In apprehension how like a god! the beauty of the world! the paragon of animals! And yet, to me, what is this quintessence of dust? man delights not me: no, nor woman neither, though by your smiling you seem to say so.

HAMLET (ACT 2, SCENE 2) by William Shakespeare - HAMLET
Now I am alone.
O, what a rogue and peasant slave am I!
Is it not monstrous that this player here,
But in a fiction, in a dream of passion,
Could force his soul so to his own conceit
That from her working all his visage wann'd,
Tears in his eyes, distraction in's aspect,
A broken voice, and his whole function suiting
With forms to his conceit? and all for nothing!
For Hecuba!
What's Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba,
That he should weep for her? What would he do,
Had he the motive and the cue for passion
That I have? He would drown the stage with tears
And cleave the general ear with horrid speech,
Make mad the guilty and appal the free,
Confound the ignorant, and amaze indeed
The very faculties of eyes and ears. Yet I,
A dull and muddy-mettled rascal, peak,
Like John-a-dreams, unpregnant of my cause,
And can say nothing; no, not for a king,
Upon whose property and most dear life
A damn'd defeat was made. Am I a coward?
Who calls me villain? breaks my pate across?
Plucks off my beard, and blows it in my face?
Tweaks me by the nose? gives me the lie i' the throat,
As deep as to the lungs? who does me this?
'Swounds, I should take it: for it cannot be
But I am pigeon-liver'd and lack gall
To make oppression bitter, or ere this
I should have fatted all the region kites
With this slave's offal: bloody, bawdy villain!
Remorseless, treacherous, lecherous, kindless villain!
O, vengeance!
Why, what an ass am I! This is most brave,
That I, the son of a dear father murder'd,
Prompted to my revenge by heaven and hell,
Must, like a whore, unpack my heart with words,
And fall a-cursing, like a very drab,
A scullion!
Fie upon't! foh! About, my brain! I have heard
That guilty creatures sitting at a play
Have by the very cunning of the scene
Been struck so to the soul that presently
They have proclaim'd their malefactions;
For murder, though it have no tongue, will speak
With most miraculous organ. I'll have these players
Play something like the murder of my father
Before mine uncle: I'll observe his looks;
I'll tent him to the quick: if he but blench,
I know my course. The spirit that I have seen
May be the devil: and the devil hath power
To assume a pleasing shape; yea, and perhaps
Out of my weakness and my melancholy,
As he is very potent with such spirits,
Abuses me to damn me: I'll have grounds
More relative than this: the play 's the thing
Wherein I'll catch the conscience of the king.

HAMLET (ACT 3, SCENE 1) by William Shakespeare - HAMLET
To be, or not to be: that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them? To die: to sleep;
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep;
To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub;
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause: there's the respect
That makes calamity of so long life;
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,
The pangs of despised love, the law's delay,
The insolence of office and the spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin? who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscover'd country from whose bourn
No traveller returns, puzzles the will
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprises of great pith and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action.--Soft you now!
The fair Ophelia! Nymph, in thy orisons
Be all my sins remember'd.

HIGH FIDELITY by D.V. Devincentis - ROB
Over nine million men in this country have slept with ten or more women. And do they all look like Richard Gere? Are they all as rich as Bill gates? Charming as Oscar Wilde? Hell no. Nothing to do with any of that. Maybe fifty or so have one or more of these attributes, but that still leaves...well, about nine million, give or take fifty. And they're just men. Regular guys. We're just guys, because I, even I, am a member of this exclusive, nine million memeber club. In fact, Marie is my seventeenth lover. "How does he do it?" you ask. "He wears bad sweaters, he's grumpy, he's broke, he hangs out with the Musical Moron Twins, and he gets to bed with a recording artist who looks like Susan Dey-slash Meg Ryan. What's going on? Listen up because I think I can explain, with all modesty aside: I ask questions. That's it. That's my secret. It works precisely because that isn't how you're supposed to do it, if you listen to the collective male wisdom. There are still enough old style, big-mouthed, egomaniacs running around to make someonelike me appear to be refreshingly different. If you can't hack this simple strategy, there are some women out there, of course, who want to get pushed around, ignored and mowed over, but do you really want to be with them anyway?

IN OUR TOWN by Jack Davis - DAVID
He was seventeen when he joined up. Put his age up, his name was Tim. A sort of cousin. He was just a stray who came to live with us when he was about thirteen or fourteen. We joined up together, [He laughs] and when we got our orders to go overseas they had a send-off, sort of farewell party for all the enlisted men from Northam. Anyway, Tim and I went along. There was a big crowd, two hundred or more. The only bloke who came along and spoke to us to wish us luck was the local pound keeper. Anyway we left, got a couple of bottles and went home to the reserve and sort of had our own party. You know the brass had some notion just because we were black we would make good forward scouts. Anyway, like me, that’s what they made him. A dangerous job. He wasn’t cut out for the army. As a kid he was always scared...afraid of the dark...his own shadow...physical violence...a real dreamer. It was at Wewak. They sent him up ahead of the patrol. He came back and reported a large concentration of Japs on the side of a hill, but the Lieutenant wasn’t satisfied. So he sent him back again. He came back and reported the Jap’s position again, even the number of Japs, and this bastard of an officer sent him back for the third time. I offered to go, but they wouldn’t let me. I found him the next day in the valley on the bank of a creek. He had managed to stuff his field dressing into the wound in his chest, but it wasn’t enough.
The Japs. They were starving. (Silence) They stripped all the flesh off his legs, his thighs. They cannibalised him. And I can’t help thinking if he had been white it wouldn’t have happened.

God! - you little swine. You know what that means - don't you? Striking a superior officer! (Takes a gun) Never mind, though. I won't have you shot for that -...If you went, I'd have you shot for deserting. It's a hell of a disgrace - to die like that. I'd rather spare you the disgrace. I give you half a minute to think. You either stay here and try and be a man - or you try to get out that door - to desert. If you do that, there's going to be an accident. D'you understand? I'm fiddling with my revolver, d'you see? - Cleaning it - and it goes off by accident. It often happens out here. It's going off, and it's going to shoot you betweem the eyes. (Pause).....You don't deserve to be shot by accident - but I'd save you the disgrace of the other way - I give you half a minute to decide. (Silence - softening, gently) I know what you feel, Hibbert. I've known all along. Because I feel the same - exactly the same. Every little noise up there makes me feel - just as you feel. Why didn't you tell me instead of talking about meuralgia? We all feel like you do sometimes, if you only knew. I hate and loath it all. Sometimes I feel I could just lie down on this bed and pretend I was paralysed or something - and couldn't move - and just lie there till I die - or was dragged away. (Pause) Shall we both go on together? We know how we both feel now. Shall we see if we can't stick it together? (Pause) Supposing I said I can't - supposing we all say we can't - what would happen then? (Pause) Supposing the worst happened - supposing we were knocked right out. Think of all the chaps who've gone already. It can't be very lonely there - with all those fellows. SometimesI think it's lonelier here. (Pause) If you went and left Osborne and Trotter and Raleigh and all those men up there to do your work - could you ever look a man straight in the face again - in all your life? (Silence) You may be wounded. Then you can go home and feel proud - and if you're killed - you won't have to stand this hell anymore. I might have fired just now. If I had you would be dead now. But you're still alive - with a straight fighting chance of coming through. Take the chance, old chap, and stand in with Osborne and Trotter and Raleigh. Don't think it worth standing in with men like that?- when you know they all feel like you do - in their hearts - and just go on sticking it out because they know it's - it's the onlt thing a decent man can do. (Silence) What about it?

JULIUS CAESAR (ACT 2, SCENE 1) by William Shakespeare - BRUTUS
It must be by his death: and for my part,
I know no personal cause to spurn at him,
But for the general. He would be crown'd:
How that might change his nature, there's the question.
It is the bright day that brings forth the adder;
And that craves wary walking. Crown him?--that;--
And then, I grant, we put a sting in him,
That at his will he may do danger with.
The abuse of greatness is, when it disjoins
Remorse from power: and, to speak truth of Caesar,
I have not known when his affections sway'd
More than his reason. But 'tis a common proof,
That lowliness is young ambition's ladder,
Whereto the climber-upward turns his face;
But when he once attains the upmost round.
He then unto the ladder turns his back,
Looks in the clouds, scorning the base degrees
By which he did ascend. So Caesar may.
Then, lest he may, prevent. And, since the quarrel
Will bear no colour for the thing he is,
Fashion it thus; that what he is, augmented,
Would run to these and these extremities:
And therefore think him as a serpent's egg
Which, hatch'd, would, as his kind, grow mischievous,
And kill him in the shell.

JULIUS CAESAR (ACT 3, SCENE 1) by William Shakespeare - MARK ANTONY
O, pardon me, thou bleeding piece of earth,
That I am meek and gentle with these butchers.
Thou art the ruins of the noblest man
That ever lived in the tide of times.
Woe to the hand that shed this costly blood!
Over thy wounds now do I prophesy
(Which, like dumb mouths, do ope their ruby lips
To beg the voice and utterance of my tongue),
A curse shall light upon the limbs of men;
Domestic fury and fierce civil strife
Shall cumber all the parts of Italy;
Blood and destruction shall be so in use,
And dreadful objects so familiar,
That mothers shall but smile when they behold
Their infants quartered with the hands of war,
All pity chok'd with custom of fell deeds;
And Caesar's spirit, ranging for revenge,
With Até by his side come hot from hell,
Shall in these confines with a monarch's voice
Cry 'Havoc!' and let slip the dogs of war,
That this foul deed shall smell above the earth
With carrion men, groaning for burial.

JULIUS CAESAR (ACT 3, SCENE 2) by William Shakespeare - MARK ANTONY
Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears.
I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him.
The evil that men do lives after them;
The good is oft interred with their bones.
So let it be with Caesar. The noble Brutus
Hath told you Caesar was ambitious.
If it were so, it was a grievous fault,
And grievously hath Caesar answered for it.
Here, under leave of Brutus and the rest –
For Brutus is an honourable man,
So they are all, all honourable men –
Come I to speak in Caesar’s funeral.
He was my friend, faithful and just to me.
But Brutus says he was ambitious,
And Brutus is an honourable man.
He hath brought many captives home to Rome,
Whose ransoms did the general coffers fill.
Did this in Caesar seem ambitious?
When that the poor have cried, Caesar hath wept.
Ambition should be made of sterner stuff.
Yes Brutus says he was ambitious,
And Brutus is an honourable man.
You all did see that on the Lupercal
I thrice presented him a kingly crown,
Which he did thrice refuse. Was this ambition?
Yet Brutus says he was ambitious,
And sure he is an honourable man.
I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke,
But here I am to speak what I do know.
You all did love him once, not without cause.
What cause withholds you then to mourn for him?
O judgement, thou art fled to brutish beasts,
And men have lost their reason! – Bear with me;
My heart is in the coffin there with Caesar,
And I must pause till it come back to me.

KING HENRY IV PART I (ACT 1, SCENE 3) by William Shakespeare - HOTSPUR
My liege, I did deny no prisoners;
But I remember, when the fight was done,
When I was dry with rage and extreme toil,
Breathless and faint, leaning upon my sword,
Came there a certain lord, neat and trimly dressed,
Fresh as a bridegroom, and his chin, new-reaped,
Showed like a stubble-land at harvest home.
He was perfumed like a milliner,
And ‘twixt his finger and his thumb he held
A pouncet-box which ever and anon
He gave his nose and took’t away again –
Who therewith angry, when it next came ther
Took it in snuff – and still he smiled and talked;
And as the soldiers bore dead bodies by,
He called them untaught knaves, unmannerly
To bring a slovenly unhandsome corpse
Betwixt the wind and his nobility.
With many holiday and lady terms
He questioned me; amongst the rest demanded
My prisoners in your majesty’s behalf.
I then, all smarting with my wounds being cold –
To be so pestered with a popinjay! –
Out of my grief and my impatience
Answered neglectingly, I know not what –
He should or should not – for he made me mad
To see him shrine so brisk, and smell so sweet,
And talk so like a waiting gentlewoman
Of guns, and drums, and wounds, God save the mark!
And telling me the sovereign’st thing on earth
Was parmacity for an inward bruise,
And that it was great pity, so it was,
This villainous saltpetre should be digged
Out of the bowels of the harmless earth,
Which many a good tall fellow had destroyed
So cowardly, and but for these vile guns
He would himself have been a soldier.
This bald unjointed chat of his, my lord,
Made me to answer indirectly, as I said,
And I beseech you, let not his report
Come current for an accusation
Betwixt my love and your high majesty.

KING HENRY IV PART I (ACT 3, SCENE 2) by William Shakespeare - PRINCE HAL
Do not think so, you shall not find it so;
And God forgive them that so much have sway’d
Your Majesty’s good thoughts away from me!
I will redeem all this on Percy’s head,
And in the closing of some glorious day
Be bold to tell you that I am your son,
When I will wear a garment all of blood,
And stain my favours in a bloddy mask,
Which, wash’d away, shall scour my shame with it;
And that shall be the day, whene’er it lights,
That this same child of honour and renown,
This gallant Hotspur, this all-praised knight,
And your unthought-of Harry chance to meet.
For every honour sitting on his helm,
Would they were multitudes, and on my head
My shames redoubled! For the time will come
That I shall make this northern youth exchange
His glorious deeds for my indignities.
Percy is but my factor, good my lord,
To engross up glorious deeds on my behalf,
And I will call him to so strict account
That he shall render every glory up,
Yea, even the slightest worship of his time,
Or I will tear the reckoning from his heart.
This in the name of God I promise here,
The which if he be pleas’d I shall perform,
I do beseech your Majesty may slave
The long-grown wounds of my intemperance;
If not, the end of life cancels all bands,
And I will die a hundred thousand deaths
Ere break the smallest parcel of this vow.

KING HENRY V (ACT 3, SCENE 2) by William Shakespeare - BOY
As young as I am, I have observed these three swashers. I am boy to them all three, but all they three, though they would serve me, could not be man to me; for indeed three such antics do not amount to a man. For Bardolph, he is white-livered and red-faced; by the means whereof a' faces it out, but fights not. For Pistol, he hath a killing tongue and a quiet sword; by the means whereof a' breaks words, and keeps whole weapons. For Nym, he hath heard that men of few words are the best men, and therefore he scorns to say his prayers, lest 'a should be thought a coward; but his few bad words are matched with as few good deeds - for 'a never broke any man's head but his own, and that was against a post when he was drunk. They will steal anything, and call it purchase. Bardolph stole a lute-case, bore it twelve leagues, and sold it for three halfpence. Nym and Bardolph are sworn brothers in filching, and in Calais they stole a fire-shovel; I knew by that piece of service the men would carry coals. They would have me as familiar with men's pockets as their gloves or their handkerchiefs: which makes much against my manhood if I should take from another's pocket to put into mine; for it is plain pocketing up of wrongs. I must leave them, and seek some better service. Their villainy goes against my weak stomach, and therefore I must cast it up.

KING HENRY V (ACT 4, SCENE 3) by William Shakespeare - HENRY
This day is call'd the feast of Crispian:
He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,
Will stand a tip-toe when this day is nam'd,
And rouse him at the name of Crispian.
He that shall see this day, and live old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,
And say "To-morrow is Saint Crispian".
Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars,
And say "These wounds I had on Crispin's day".
Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot,
But he'll remember with advantages
What feats he did that day. Then shall our names,
Familiar in his mouth as household words,
Harry the king, Bedford and Exeter,
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester,
Be in their flowing cups freshly remember'd;
This story shall the good man teach his son;
And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remembered;
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition:
And gentlemen in England now a-bed
Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day.

KING HENRY VI PART III (ACT 5, SCENE 6) by William Shakespeare - RICHARD
What, will the aspiring blood of Lancaster
Sink in the ground? I thought it would have mounted.
See how my sword weeps for the poor King's death.
O, may such purple tears be always shed
From those that wish the downfall of our house!
If any spark of life be yet remaining,
Down, down to hell; and say I sent thee thither -
(Stabs him again.)
I that have neither pity, love, nor fear.
Indeed 'tis true that Henry told me of:
For I have often heard my mother say
I came into the world with my legs forward.
Had I not reason, think ye, to make haste
And seek their ruin that usurp'd our right?
The midwife wonder'd, and the women cried
'O Jesu bless us, he is born with teeth!'
And so I was, which plainly signified
That I should snarl, and bite, and play the dog.
Then, since the heavens have shap'd my body so,
Let hell make crook'd my mind to answer it.
I have no brother, I am like no brother;
And this word 'love', which greybeards call divine,
Be resident in men like one another,
And not in me: I am myself alone.
Clarence, beware; thou keep'st me from the light,
But I will sort a pitchy day for thee;
For I will buzz abroad such prophecies
As Edward shall be fearful of his life;
And then, to purge his fear, I'll be thy death
King Henry and the Prince his son are gone;
Clarence, thy turn is next, and then the rest,
Counting myself but bad till I be best.
I'll throw thy body in another room,
And triumph, Henry, in thy day of doom.

KING LEAR (ACT 1, SCENE 2) by William Shakespeare - EDMUND
Thou, Nature, art my goddess; to thy law
My services are bound. Wherefore should I
Stand in the plague of custom, and permit
The curiosity of nations to deprive me,
For that I am some twelve or fourteen moonshines
Lag of a brother? Why bastard? Wherefore base?
When my dimensions are as well compact,
My mind as generous, and my shape as true,
As honest madam's issue? Why brand they us
With base? with baseness? bastardy? base, base?
Who in the lusty stealth of nature take
More composition and fierce quality
Than doth, within a dull, stale, tired bed,
Go to th' creating of a whole tribe of fops,
Got 'tween asleep and wake? Well then,
Legitimate Edgar, I must have your land:
Our father's love is to the bastard Edmund
As to th' legitimate. Fine word "legitimate"!
Well, my legitimate, if this letter speed,
And my invention thrive, Edmund the base
Shall top th' legitimate -: I grow, I prosper;
Now, gods, stand up for bastards!

KING RICHARD III (ACT 1, SCENE 1) by William Shakespeare - GLOUCESTER
Now is the winter of our discontent
Made glorious summer by this sun of York;
And all the clouds that lour'd upon our house
In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.
Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths;
Our bruised arms hung up for monuments;
Our stern alarums changed to merry meetings,
Our dreadful marches to delightful measures.
Grim-visaged war hath smooth'd his wrinkled front;
And now, instead of mounting barded steeds
To fright the souls of fearful adversaries,
He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber
To the lascivious pleasing of a lute.
But I, that am not shaped for sportive tricks,
Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass;
I, that am rudely stamp'd, and want love's majesty
To strut before a wanton ambling nymph;
I, that am curtail'd of this fair proportion,
Cheated of feature by dissembling nature,
Deformed, unfinish'd, sent before my time
Into this breathing world, scarce half made up,
And that so lamely and unfashionable
That dogs bark at me as I halt by them;
Why, I, in this weak piping time of peace,
Have no delight to pass away the time,
Unless to spy my shadow in the sun
And descant on mine own deformity:
And therefore, since I cannot prove a lover,
To entertain these fair well-spoken days,
I am determined to prove a villain
And hate the idle pleasures of these days.
Plots have I laid, inductions dangerous,
By drunken prophecies, libels and dreams,
To set my brother Clarence and the king
In deadly hate the one against the other:
And if King Edward be as true and just
As I am subtle, false and treacherous,
This day should Clarence closely be mew'd up,
About a prophecy, which says that 'G'
Of Edward's heirs the murderer shall be.
Dive, thoughts, down to my soul: here
Clarence comes.

Women respond t' me, they sense - something in me. Ai 'ave this certain inner magnet which pulls 'em towards me. They sense the pristine animal in me, hee hee. Their reason tries t' struggle but it's futile, they finally abandon themselves an' lose themselves - Sometimes Ai try t' restrain meself, knowin' the 'avoc Ai'll wreak in these women's lives. But it's no use, Ai 'ave t' give in t' the ineluctable - suckin' force within me. Ai just can't 'elp meself - There was this woman at this party. She was the wife of some jazz musician 'oo'd come over from Leeds. She 'ad Negro blood in 'er, y' know, y' could tell. She 'ad this dark pigmented skin and these untamed eyes, these sensual thick fleshy lips. She moved with this rhythm like a black she-panther. Then she saw me! An' there was this immediate recognition, this sexual spark flashed between us! Our eyes mated. We didn't speak. There was no need for mundane words. Before we knew it we were clasped together pulsatin'. Pulsatin' t' the music in a crazy primordeal frenzy. 'Er thick fleshy 'ot lips engulfed me. Our tongues conversed with a wet wanton wildness, writhin' an' twistin' like angry snakes. She suddenly bit into me tongue, sinlin' 'er teeth in, the spasm of pain shot through me. But it wasn't a pain like an ordinary pain. It was an ecstatic flame 'at lept through mai innards makin' 'em throb an' glow. Before Ai knew it we were upstairs in a bedroom. An' she - she'd unzipped me! An' she 'ad mai - she 'ad it in 'er 'and! An' she was squeezin'. An' she said: "Do anything to me. 'Urt me. Tear me. Tear me. Make me feel." An' I sez, Ai sez, Ai sez: "What d' y' want me t' do?" An' she starts rippin' at me, tearing me clo'es off, clawin' off me shirt, wrenchin' off me pants. An' Ai'm tearing off 'er frock, an' we fall, tearin' on the bed. An' we fuse together in t' one white 'ot furnace of fusion - An' Ai c'n 'ear the toms toms of 'er ancestors drummin' in me ears, in me blood, in me thighs - An' ev'rything's obliterated. 'Uddersfield dissolves, Yorkshire disappears. The twentieth century - there's only this moment, this act of pure savage elemental being. Just this furnace. Just this energy. Just this - (Pause)... I never saw her again.

Yes, maybe life overdid the lesson for me, and made a dollar worth too much, and the time came when that mistake ruined my career as a fine actor.  (Sadly) I've never admitted this to anyone before, lad, but tonight I'm so heartsick I feel at the end of everything, and what's the use of fake pride and pretence.  That God-damned play I bought for a song and made such a great success - it ruined me with its promise of an easy fortune.  I didn't want to do anything else, and by the time I woke up to the fact I'd become a slave to the damn thing and did try other plays, it was too late.  They had identified me with that one part, and didn't want me in anything else.  They were right, too.  I'd lost the great talent I once had through years of easy repetition, never learning a new part, never really working hard.  Thirty-five to forty thousand dollars net profit a season like snapping your fingers!  It was too great a temptation.  Yet before I bought the damn thing I was considered one of the three or four young actors with the greatest artistic promise in America.  I'd worked like hell.  I'd left a good job as a machinist to take supers' parts because I loved the theatre.  I was wild with ambition.  I read all the plays ever written.  I studied Shakespeare as you'd study the bible.  I educated myself.  I got rid of an Irish brogue you could cut with a knife.  I loved Shakespeare.  I would have acted in any of his plays for nothing, for the joy of being alive in his great poetry.  And I acted well in him.  I felt inspired by him.  I could have been a great Shakespearean actor, if I'd kept on.  I know that!  In 1874 when Edwin Booth came to the theatre in Chicago where I was leading man, I played Cassius to his Brutus one night, Brutus to his Cassius the next, Othello to his Iago, and so on.  The first night I played Othello, he said to our manager, "That young man is playing Othello better than I ever did!"  (Proudly.)  That from Booth, the greatest actor of his day or any other!  And it was true!  And I was only twenty-seven years old!  As I look back on it now, that night was the high spot in my career.  I had life where I wanted it!  And for a time after that I kept on upward with ambition high.  Married your mother.  Ask her what I was like in those days.  Her love was an added incentive to ambition.  But a few years later my good bad luck made me find the money-maker.  It wasn't that in my eyes at first.  It was a great romantic part I knew I could play better than anyone.  But it was a great box-office success from the start - and then life had me where it wanted me - at from thirty-five to forty thousand net profit a season!  A fortune in those days - or even these.  (Bitterly.)  What the hell was it I wanted to buy, I wonder, that was worth - Well, no matter.  It's a late day for regrets.

Maybe I shouldn't have told you.  Maybe you'll only feel more contempts for me.  And it's a poor way to convince you of the value of a dollar.  (Then as if this phrase automatically aroused an habitual association in his mind, he glances up at the chandelier disappointingly.) The glare from those extra lights hurts my eyes.  You don't mind if I turn them out, do you?  We don't need them, and there's no use making the Electric Company rich.

No, I don't know what it was I wanted to buy.  (He clicks out one bulb.)  On my solemn oath, Edmund, I'd gladly face not having an acre of land to call my own, nor a penny in the bank - (He clicks out another bulb.)  I'd be willing to have no home but the poorhouse in my old age if I could look back now on having been the fine artist I might have been.

What the devil are you laughing at?

Anyone who's never watched somebody die is suffering from a pretty bad case of virginity. (His good humour of a moment ago deserts him, as he begins to remember) For twelve months, I watched my father dying - when I was ten years old. He'd come back from the war in Spain, you see. And certain god-fearing gentlemen there had made such a mess of him, he didn't have long left to live. Everyone knew it - even I knew it. But, you see, I was the only one who cared. His family were embarrassed by the whole business. Embarrassed and irritated. As for my mother, all she could think about was the fact that she had allied herself to a man who seemed to be on the wrong side in all things. My mother was all for being associated with minorities, provided they were the smart, fashionable ones. We all of us waited for him to die. The family sent him a cheque every month, and hoped he'd get on with it quietly, without too much vulgar fuss. My mother looked after him without complaining, and that was about all. Perhaps she pitied him. I suppose she was capable of that. (With a kind of appeal in his voice). But I was the only one who cared! Every time I sat on the edge of his bed, to listen to him talking or reading to me, I had to fight back my tears. At the end of twelve months, I was a veteran. All that that feverish failure of a man had to listen to him was a small, frightened boy. I spent hour upon hour in that tiny bedroom. He would talk to me for hours, pouring out all that was left of his life to one, lonely, bewildered little boy, who could barely understand half of what he said. All he could feel was the despair and bitterness, the sweet, sickly smell of a dying man. You see, I learnt at an early age what it is to be angry - angry and helpless. And I can never forget it. I knew more about - love...betrayal...and death, when I was ten years old then you will probably ever know all your life.

LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST (ACT 3, SCENE 1) by William Shakespeare - BEROWNE
And I, forsooth, in love! I, that have been love's whip;
A very beadle to a humorous sigh;
A critic, nay, a night-watch constable;
A domineering pedant o'er the boy;
Than whom no mortal so magnificent!
This whimpled, whining, purblind, wayward boy;
This senior-junior, giant-dwarf, Dan Cupid;
Regent of love-rhymes, lord of folded arms,
The anointed sovereign of sighs and groans,
Liege of all loiterers and malcontents,
Dread prince of plackets, king of codpieces,
Sole imperator and great general
Of trotting 'paritors:--O my little heart:--
And I to be a corporal of his field,
And wear his colours like a tumbler's hoop!
What, I! I love! I sue! I seek a wife!
A woman, that is like a German clock,
Still a-repairing, ever out of frame,
And never going aright, being a watch,
But being watch'd that it may still go right!
Nay, to be perjured, which is worst of all;
And, among three, to love the worst of all;
A wightly wanton with a velvet brow,
With two pitch-balls stuck in her face for eyes;
Ay, and by heaven, one that will do the deed
Though Argus were her eunuch and her guard:
And I to sigh for her! to watch for her!
To pray for her! Go to; it is a plague
That Cupid will impose for my neglect
Of his almighty dreadful little might.
Well, I will love, write, sigh, pray, sue and groan:
Some men must love my lady and some Joan.

LUTHER by John Osborne - MARTIN
I have been served with a piece of paper. Let me tell you about it. It has come to me from a latrine called Rome, that capital of the devil's own sweet empire. It is called the papal bull and it claims to excommunicate me, Dr Martin Luther. These lies they rise up from paper like fumes from the bog of Europe; because papal decretals are the devil's excretals. I'll hold it up for you to see properly. You see the signature? Signed beneath the seal of the Fisherman's Ring by one certain middle cock called Leo, an over-indulged jake's attendant to Satan himself, a glittering worm in excrement, known to you as his holiness the Pope. You may know him as the head of the Church. Which he may still be: like the fish is the head of a cat's dinner; eyes without sight clutched to a stick of sucked bones. God has told me: there can be no dealings between this cat's dinner and me. And, as for the bull, it's going to roast, it's going to roast and so are the balls of the Medici!

MACBETH (ACT 1, SCENE 7) by William Shakespeare - MACBTEH
If it were done when 'tis done, then 'twere well
It were done quickly: if the assassination
Could trammel up the consequence, and catch
With his surcease success; that but this blow
Might be the be-all and the end-all here 
But here, upon this bank and shoal of time,
We'ld jump the life to come. But in these cases
We still have judgment here; that we but teach
Bloody instructions, which, being taught, return
To plague the inventor: this even-handed justice
Commends the ingredients of our poison'd chalice
To our own lips. He's here in double trust;
First, as I am his kinsman and his subject,
Strong both against the deed; then, as his host,
Who should against his murderer shut the door,
Not bear the knife myself. Besides, this Duncan
Hath borne his faculties so meek, hath been
So clear in his great office, that his virtues
Will plead like angels, trumpet-tongued, against
The deep damnation of his taking-off;
And pity, like a naked new-born babe,
Striding the blast, or heaven's cherubim, horsed
Upon the sightless couriers of the air,
Shall blow the horrid deed in every eye,
That tears shall drown the wind. I have no spur
To prick the sides of my intent, but only
Vaulting ambition, which o'erleaps itself
And falls on the other.

MACBETH (ACT 4, SCENE 3) by William Shakespeare (ADAPTED) - MALCOLM
Be not offended:
I speak not as in absolute fear of you.
I think our country sinks beneath the yoke;
It weeps, it bleeds; and each new day a gash
Is added to her wounds: I think withal
There would be hands uplifted in my right;
And here from gracious England have I offer
Of goodly thousands: but, for all this,
When I shall tread upon the tyrant's head,
Or wear it on my sword, yet my poor country
Shall have more vices than it had before,
More suffer and more sundry ways than ever,
By him that shall succeed.
It is myself I mean: in whom I know
All the particulars of vice so grafted
That, when they shall be open'd, black Macbeth
Will seem as pure as snow, and the poor state
Esteem him as a lamb, being compared
With my confineless harms.  Macbeth is bloody,
Luxurious, avaricious, false, deceitful,
Sudden, malicious, smacking of every sin
That has a name: but there's no bottom, none,
In my voluptuousness: your wives, your daughters,
Your matrons and your maids, could not fill up
The cistern of my lust, and my desire
All continent impediments would o'erbear
That did oppose my will: better Macbeth
Than such an one to reign.

MEASURE FOR MEASURE (ACT 2, SCENE 2) by William Shakespeare - ANGELO
What's this, what's this? Is this her fault or mine?
The tempter or the tempted, who sins most?
Not she: nor doth she tempt: but it is I
That, lying by the violet in the sun,
Do as the carrion does, not as the flower,
Corrupt with virtuous season. Can it be
That modesty may more betray our sense
Than woman's lightness? Having waste ground enough,
Shall we desire to raze the sanctuary
And pitch our evils there? O, fie, fie, fie!
What dost thou, or what art thou, Angelo?
Dost thou desire her foully for those things
That make her good? O, let her brother live!
Thieves for their robbery have authority
When judges steal themselves. What, do I love her,
That I desire to hear her speak again,
And feast upon her eyes? What is't I dream on?
O cunning enemy, that, to catch a saint,
With saints dost bait thy hook! Most dangerous
Is that temptation that doth goad us on
To sin in loving virtue: never could the strumpet,
With all her double vigour, art and nature,
Once stir my temper; but this virtuous maid
Subdues me quite. Even till now,
When men were fond, I smiled and wonder'd how.

MEASURE FOR MEASURE (ACT 3, SCENE 1) by William Shakespeare - CLAUDIO
Ay, but to die, and go we know not where;
To lie in cold obstruction and to rot;
This sensible warm motion to become
A kneaded clod; and the delighted spirit
To bathe in fiery floods, or to reside
In thrilling region of thick-ribbed ice;
To be imprison'd in the viewless winds,
And blown with restless violence round about
The pendent world; or to be worse than worst
Of those that lawless and incertain thought
Imagine howling: 'tis too horrible!
The weariest and most loathed worldly life
That age, ache, penury and imprisonment
Can lay on nature is a paradise
To what we fear of death.

What they could do with round here is a good war. What else can you expect with peace running wild all over the place? You know what the trouble with peace is? No organisation. And when do you get organisation? In a war. Peace is one big waste of equipment. Anything goes, no one gives a damn. See the way they eat? Cheese on pumpernickel, bacon on cheese? Disgusting! How many horses have they got I this town? How many young men? Nobody knows! They haven't bothered to count 'em! That's peace for you! I've been in places where they haven't had a war for seventy years and you know what? The people haven't even been given names! They don't know who they are! It takes a war to fix that. In a war, everyone registers, everyone's name is on a list. Their shoes are stacked, their corn's in the bag, you count it all up - cattle, men, et cetera - and you take it away! That's the story: no organisation, no war! Of course, a war's like any good deal: hard to get going. But when it does get moving, it's a winner, and they're scared of peace, like dice-playing who daren't stop - 'cause when peace comes they have to pay up. Of course, until it gets going, they're just as scared of was, it's such a novelty!

This can be no trick: the conference was sadly borne. They have the truth of this from Hero. They seem to pity the lady: it seems her affections have their full bent. Love me!  why, it must be requited. I hear how I am censured: they say I will bear myself proudly, if I perceive the love come from her; they say too that she will rather die than give any sign of affection. I did never think to marry: I must not seem proud: happy are they that hear their detractions and can put them to mending. They say the lady is fair; 'tis a truth, I can bear them witness; and virtuous; 'tis so, I cannot reprove it; and wise, but for loving me; by my troth, it is no addition to her wit, nor no great argument of her folly, for I will be horribly in love with her. I may chance have some odd quirks and remnants of wit broken on me, because I have railed so long against marriage: but doth not the appetite alter? a man loves the meat in his youth that he cannot endure in his age.  Shall quips and sentences and these paper bullets of the brain awe a man from the career of his humour?  No, the world must be peopled. When I said I would die a bachelor, I did not think I should live till I were married. Here comes Beatrice. By this day!  She's a fair lady: I do spy some marks of love in her.

Look, mate, I don't know what's happening - I just arrived, right?  And, all right, I know the Americans go on with all this flag-waving, patriotic bullshit and think the rest of the world hates them, but fuck, Talbot, they're right:  the rest of the world does hate 'em - I hate 'em, and I want to live here!  It's envy, isn't it?  Evereyone looks at what they've got and wants it...They just want the stuff, that's right, isn't it?  And figure the reason they can't get the stuff, is because the Americans are stopping them.  That's where we're at now, and now some prick's actually done something about it, and killed three thousand people, and the Americans are fucking mad as hell, because they know every single one of them is hurtling towards the Twin Towers and they don't like it and they're not going to stand for it, and they're going to get the pricks that're threatening them.  Well, all power to George W - I don't want the fucking pricks to win, either.  There were Aussies killed up there, mate, there were English, there was Scotts, there were fucking Muslems, for fuck's sake!  There was fucking everybody: everyone's hopes were up there in those two towers....It's a war, Talbot - It is a war.  It's a war against terror and it's a war against ignorance, and it's a war against prejudice and pure dumb-arsed fuckwittedness, and we've got to win that war, otherwise we're fucked.

NIGHT LETTERS by Susan Rogers and Chris Drummond - ROBERT
I’ve cancelled the cooking course.

And my German.  It’s all pointless.

I feel like a scaly bag of filth.  People can smell death.

I’m an affront.  If I go out there, they’ll sniff at me.  Know I’m rotting.  And the terrible thing is I’ve never felt more alive in my life.  Every sound, every flicker of movement, every skerrick of meaning in every word, I hear it, I see it.  When you touch me, I feel it.  It’s like a cut.  Like I’ve lost three layers of skin.  And I don’t want you to touch me and I do want you to touch me.  And I want your love and I don’t want you to love me.  And it’s all unbearable.  I don’t want to go out there and I do want to go out there.  And I want everything that’s out there and I want to dance and I want to make love and I want to sing and I want to be humiliated and I want to feel.  And I want it now.  Because now I know I can’t have it.

Who cares what you think you are?  I don't give a damb.  What kind of boy do you think I am?  You seem to think I'm soft in the head.  Just like Anderson and McIlwaine did on the frist day to me, you're doing now.  Trying to knock the living daylights out of my mind and senses - through ganging up.  They ganged up with Christ.  Well, listen, keep him to yourself.  I'm not interested in either of you.  Christ never did much for me, and I don't think he's done much for you.  What did he give me?  Look at it.  What am I?  I'll tell you.  I'm a soldier that risks his neck for no cause other than the men he's fighting with.  I've seen enough to see through empires and kings and countries.  I know the only side worth supporting is your own sweet self.  I'll support you because if it comes to the crunch I hope you'll support me.  That's all I know.  That's all I feel.  I don't believe in Christ.  I believe in myself.  I beleiev in you only in so far as you're a soldier like myself.  No more, no less.  That's what I have to say about your outburst.  It was a disgrace.  Do you have anything to say to defend yourself?

ONE FOR THE ROAD by Willy Russell - DENNIS
Every time I see a new piece of Tupperware in the house it feels like another little invasion has taken place...It seems to have a will of its own.  I dreamt about it the other night.  I dreamed that all the Tupperware in the house gelled together into one big plastic mass and began rollin' and slidin' up the stairs, on and on, through the bedroom door and sliding across the carpet, creepin' up onto the bed and pouncin' on me.  The more I struggled, the more wrapped up in it I became until finally I stopped struggling and became The Tupperware Man.
An' in the next part of the dream I was Tupperware Man himself - I could fly and everything I touched turned to Tupperware.  The world was in panic.  They sent Superman after me, and Batman and Robin and Luke Skywalker and Wonder Woman.  But they were all helpless in the face of Tupperware Man.  I turned them all into Tupperware - Batman and Robin became a butterdish an' egg cup, Superman was turned into a picnic box, Luke Skywalker into a salad spinner and I turned Wonder Woman into a huge, tit-shaped jelly mould.  Planet Earth was in danger of becoming a Tupperware Globe when the Americans came up with a new invention - Tupperware Woman.  They sent her after me and I tried to resist, but it was no good, I was helpless in the face of her.  An irresistible force drew me towards her, I couldn't stop myself, I struggled to keep away but I was drawn on and on.  Beaten, I gave up, I kissed her and me lid flew off.  It was all over.

OTHELLO (ACT 1, SCENE 3) by William Shakespeare - IAGO
Go to; farewell! Put money enough in your purse.
                                 (Exit Roderigo)
Thus do I ever make my fool my purse:
For I mine own gain'd knowledge should profane,
If I would time expend with such a snipe.
But for my sport and profit. I hate the Moor:
And it is thought abroad, that 'twixt my sheets
He has done my office: I know not if't be true;
But I, for mere suspicion in that kind,
Will do as if for surety. He holds me well;
The better shall my purpose work on him.
Cassio's a proper man: let me see now:
To get his place and to plume up my will
In double knavery--How, how? Let's see:--
After some time, to abuse Othello's ear
That he is too familiar with his wife.
He hath a person and a smooth dispose
To be suspected, framed to make women false.
The Moor is of a free and open nature,
That thinks men honest that but seem to be so,
And will as tenderly be led by the nose
As asses are.
I have't. It is engender'd. Hell and night
Must bring this monstrous birth to the world's light.

OTHELLO (ACT 2, SCENE 1) by William Shakespeare - IAGO
That Cassio loves her, I do well believe it;
That she loves him, 'tis apt and of great credit:
The Moor, howbeit that I endure him not,
Is of a constant, loving, noble nature,
And I dare think he'll prove to Desdemona
A most dear husband. Now, I do love her too;
Not out of absolute lust, though peradventure
I stand accountant for as great a sin,
But partly led to diet my revenge,
For that I do suspect the lusty Moor
Hath leap'd into my seat; the thought whereof
Doth, like a poisonous mineral, gnaw my inwards;
And nothing can or shall content my soul
Till I am even'd with him, wife for wife,
Or failing so, yet that I put the Moor
At least into a jealousy so strong
That judgment cannot cure. Which thing to do,
If this poor trash of Venice, whom I trash
For his quick hunting, stand the putting on,
I'll have our Michael Cassio on the hip,
Abuse him to the Moor in the rank garb--
For I fear Cassio with my night-cap too--
Make the Moor thank me, love me and reward me.
For making him egregiously an ass
And practising upon his peace and quiet
Even to madness. 'Tis here, but yet confused:
Knavery's plain face is never seen tin used.

REVENGE by Howard Brenton - GEORGE
Evening, all. PC George signing on. ... A few words for your edification, ladies and gents, on the nature of the criminal. Now traditionally your criminal's a foxy dicy snotty-nosed masturbating little runt, who'd send his grandma up the river, let alone his country. He starts early pinching his dad's fags and his mum's money for the dinner, and smashing the toys of his brothers and sisters. Next he goes to Borstal for his education, and comes out a right villain, mean and hard, a foxy dicy snotty nosed masturbating little runt. That is the traditional picture. But unfortunately, as you may have noted, traditions don't go for much nowadays. The times they are a-changing, to coin a phrase. And your criminals are no exception. ... You could do a villain of yore cleanly. You could knock him around, tread on his toes, call him names and punch his navel no matter how big he was. In the old days that's what a criminal would want us to do. He'd expect it of us. But now-a-days? ... Now-a-days it's don't you dare touch me and where's my lawyer. In they come to the station full of citizen's rights and the police a public service and other left wing slogans. It's your comprehensive schools have done it. They don't go to Borstal anymore, they go to comprehensive schools. I tell you what you're going to do with your comprehensive education, you're going to educate your criminal classes so much you don't recognise them anymore. And when that day comes we coppers may as well pack up and bugger off to Rhodesia, or South Africa. At least it's clear there who you have to bash. ... So ladies and gents, be warned. The days of Jack The Ripper, Donald Hume, Heath, Christie, John Haig, Adama Hepple are going. Now the true psychos, the truly vicious nuts and villains don't have names. They look ordinary. As ordinary as anyone. Ladies and gents: look closely at your neighbour, he may be a robber. A trafficker in drugs, an anarchist or a murderer. Don't be fooled just cos he looks like you. That's all.

I'm not good-looking, I'm not good-looking. (He takes down the pictures, throws them furiously to the ground, and goes over to the mirror) They're the good-looking ones.  I was wrong!  Oh, how I wish I was like them!  I haven't got any horns, more's the pity!  A smooth brow looks so ugly.  I need one or two horns to give my sagging face a lift.  Perhaps one will grow and I needn't be ashamed anymore - then I could go and join them.  But it will never grow!  (He looks at the palms of his hands) My hands are so limp - oh, why won't they get rough!  (He takes his coat off, undoes his shirt to look at his chest in the mirror) My skin is so slack.  I can't stand this white, hairy body.  Oh I'd love to have a hard skin in that wonderful dull green colour - a skin that looks decent naked without any hair on it, like theirs!  (He listens to the trumpetings) Their song is charming - a bit raucous perhaps, but it does have charm!  I wish I could do it! (He tries to imitate them) Ahh, Ahh, Brr!  No, that's not it!  Try again, louder!  Ahh, Ahh, Brr!  No, that's not it, it's too feeble, it's got no drive behind it.  I'm not trumpeting at all; I'm just howling.  Ahh, Ahh, Brr!  There's a big difference between howling and trumpeting.  I've only myself to blame; I should have gone with them while there was still time.  Now it's too late!  Now I'm a monster, just a monster.  Now I'll never become a rhinoceros, never, never!  I'm gone past changing.  I want to, I really do, but I can't, I just can't.  I can't stand the sight of me.  I'm too ashamed!  (He turns his back on the mirror)  I'm so ugly!  People who try to hang onto their individuality always come to a bad end!  (He suddenly snaps out of it) Oh well, too bad!  I'll take on the whole of them!  I'll put up a fight against the lot of them, the whole lot of them!  I'm the last man left, and I'm staying that way until the end.  I'm not capitulating!

Don't you see?! We're actors - we're the opposite of people! Think, in your head, now, think of the most..private ...secret ...intimate thing you have ever done secure in the knowledge of its privacy. (Pause) Are you thinking of it? Well, I saw you do it! We're actors...We pledge our identities, secure in the conventions of our trade; that someone would be watching. And then, gradually, no one was. We were caught high and dry. It was not until the murderer's long soliloquy that we were able to look around; frozen as we were in profile, our eyes searched you out, first confidently, then hesitantly, then desperately as each patch of turf, each log, every exposed corner in every direction proved uninhabited, and all the while the murderous king addressed the horizon with his dreary interminable guilt...Our heads began to move, wary as lizards, the corpse of unsullied Rosalinda peeped through his fingers, and the King faltered. Even then, habit and a stubborn trust that our audience spied upon us from behind the nearest bush, forced our bodies to blunder on long after they had emptied of meaning, until like runaway carts they dragged us to a halt. No one came forward. No one shouted at us. The silence was unbreakable, it imposed itself upon us; it was obscene. We took off our crowns and swords and cloth of gold and moved silent on the road to Elsinore.

To hell with Dowd! To hell with all the boys! They can pick grapes or do anythin' they want to, I won't even get in touch with them. We'll go off on our own, Roo, we'll make a fresh start. There's plenty of places we can go to - that bloke up in Warwick, he always said he'd give us a job any time we ever wanted one. Or even - look, we don't have to go any place we've ever been before, even. How about that, Roo? We've been goin' to the same places for so long and doin' the same things that we've started to run ourselves into the ground. That's what's wrong with us! And there's a whole bloody country out there - wide open before us. There's all the West - we can hit Perth, and then work our way right up to Broome there. Or even - (Barney, knowing he has failed, carries on in desperate rising tone, but backing away from the wrath he senses is to come) Look, Roo, this is even better. That Rum jungle you hear so much about! There's a packet in it, they reckon. I bet fellas like us could really clean up there - and we wouldn't have to give a Continental for - Come on, Roo. Come on, boy.

You selfish little bastard! You listen to me - we come down here for the lay-off, five months of the year, December to April. That leaves another seven months still hangin' - what d'yer reckon Olive does in that time? Knocks around with other blokes, goes out on the loose every week? No, she doesn't, she just waits for us to come back again - 'cos she thinks our five months is worth all the rest of the year put together! It's knowin' that that brought me down this time, broke and - and when I would have given anythin' to have stopped up there. But I couldn't let her down - and if I hear you mention either grapes or the Murray to her now, I'll kick you so far they'll have to feed you with a shanghai. (There is a rattle of trays from offstage and Pearl says: "Oops, Nearly lost the lot."  Roo finishes quickly.) Now remember what I said.

Do you guys know what I did to get in here? I taped Larry Lester's buns together. Yeah, you know him? Well then, you know how hairy he is, right? Well, when they pulled the tape off, most of his hair came off and some skin too. And the bizarre thing is, is that I did it for my old man. I tortured this kid because I wanted him to think I was cool. He's always going off about, you know, the wild things he used to do, and I got the feeling he was disappointed that I never cut loose on anyone, right? So, I'm sitting in the locker room and I'm taping up my knee and Larry's undressing a couple of lockers down from me and he's kinda skinny, weak, and I started thinking about my father and his attitude to weakness, and the next thing I knew I, I jumped on top of him and started wailing on him. Then my friends, they just laughed and cheered me on. And afterwards when I was sitting in Vernon's office, all I could think about was Larry's father and Larry having to explain what happened to him. And the humiliation he must have felt. It must have been unreal. I mean, how do you apologise for something like that? There's no way. It's all because of my old man. God, I fucking hate him. He's like, he's like this mindless machine I can't even relate to anymore. "Andrew, you've got to be number one. I won't tolerate losers in this family. Your intensity is for shit." You son of a bitch. You know, sometimes I wish my knee would give and I wouldn't be able to wrestle anymore. He could forget all about me.

I bought it…I bought it!  One moment…wait…if you would,  ladies and gentlemen…My head’s going round and round,  I can’t speak… (laughs).  So now the cherry orchard is mine!  Mine! (he gives a shout of laughter)  Great God in heaven – the cherry orchard is mine!  Tell me I’m drunk – I’m out of my mind – tell me it’s all an illusion…Don’t laugh at me!  If my father and grandfather could rise from their graves and see it all happening – if they could see me, their Yermolay, their beaten, half-literate Yermolay, who ran barefoot in winter – if they could see this same Yermolay buying the estate…The most beautiful thing in the entire world!  I have bought the estate where my father and grandfather were slaves, where they weren’t even allowed into the kitchens.  I’m asleep – this is all just inside my head – a figment of the imagination.  Hey, you in the band!  Play away!  I want to hear you!  Everyone come and watch Yermolay Lopakhin set about the cherry orchard with his axe!  Watch these trees come down!  Weekend houses, we’ll build weekend houses, and our grandchildren and our great grandchildren will see a new life here… Music! Let’s hear the band play!  Let’s have everything the way I want it. Here comes the new landlord, the owner of the cherry orchard!

I've noticed a growing dependence on smut in this class. This morning I saw a group of boys from this class over by the bubblers. Looking at this! Now boys, I want you to understand that the misguided young woman who posed for this unfortunate photo has the same physical characteristics as the Blessed Virgin Mary. There is nothing intrinsically wrong with her. What is wrong is the absence of clothes and the immodest way she is disporting herself. So when you see pictures of this nature ask yourself: Would the mother of Christ be seen like this? Boys, the human body is a temple of the Holy Ghost and believe me, for those who abuse that temple by either posing near naked or leering on that pose are trafficking with the devil himself. And for those who publish such photographs - in this case (Consulting the print at the bottom of the page) Sungravure - there is a pit in hell awaiting them this very minute and in that pit is a fire (Indicating the lighter) a world wider than this, which will rage and burn them body and soul. (He burns the picture) Gentlemen, in hell there is no such thing as time. Eternity means time without end. A million years is nothing. Absolutely nothing. Hell means torture without any end whatsoever. Think that today will end, but in hell no day ever ends and no night neither because both are one and both are without end. Is it worth risking this terrible punishment for a minute - an hour - of passing sinful pleasure? Oh, boys, it's not! So when these temptations arise, do something else. Go and play handball. Handball's great virtue is that it demands such energy that it outpaces the devil. Don't think that the Brothers don't feel these temptations of the flesh. We're human and the devil is particularly anxious that we should fall. You know, boys, don't you, that the worst punishments in hell are reserved for the fallen religious? And they say that damned priests suffer terribly. That's why we play handball! You look in after school one day. You'll see a few Brothers whipping the handball. Outpacing the devil, I call it. But I personally think the best way to avoid temptation is to pray to the Blessed Virgin Mary. (Pause) I've ... I've actually seen the Blessed virgin Mary. (Pause) Take out your geography books and get on with your cross-sections.

Sweet mistress--what your name is else, I know not,
Nor by what wonder you do hit of mine,-
Less in your knowledge and your grace you show not
Than our earth's wonder, more than earth divine.
Teach me, dear creature, how to think and speak;
Lay open to my earthy-gross conceit,
Smother'd in errors, feeble, shallow, weak,
The folded meaning of your words' deceit.
Against my soul's pure truth why labour you
To make it wander in an unknown field?
Are you a god? would you create me new?
Transform me then, and to your power I'll yield.
But if that I am I, then well I know
Your weeping sister is no wife of mine,
Nor to her bed no homage do I owe
Far more, far more to you do I decline.
O, train me not, sweet mermaid, with thy note,
To drown me in thy sister's flood of tears:
Sing, siren, for thyself and I will dote:
Spread o'er the silver waves thy golden hairs,
And as a bed I'll take them and there lie,
And in that glorious supposition think
He gains by death that hath such means to die:
Let Love, being light, be drowned if she sink!

Babbyboddy. I daresay I owe you an explanation. I want to, Bobby. See, I never thought at all this day would come when I'd have to explain. I'd hoped I'd disappear forever to America. And I would've too, if they'd wanted me there. If they'd wanted me for the filming. But they didn't want me. A blond lad from Fort Lauderdale they hired instead of me. He wasn't crippled at all, but the Yank said 'Ah, better to get a normal fella who can act crippled then a crippled fella who can't fecking act at all'. Except he said ruder. (Pause) I thought I'd done alright for meself with me acting. Hours I practised in me hotel there. And all for nothing. (Pause) I gave it a go anyways. I had to give it a go. I had to get away from this place, Babbybobby, by any means, just like me mammy and daddy had to get away from this place. (Pause) Going drowning meself I'd often think of when I was here, just to...just to end laughing at me, and the life of nothing but shuffling to the doctor's and shuffling back from the doctor's and pawing over the same old books and finding any other way to piss another day away. Another day of sniggering, or the patting me on the head like a broken-brained fool. The village orphan. The village cripple, and nothing more.(Pause) But the thing is, you're not one of them, Babbybobby, nor never were. You've a kind heart on you. I suppose that's why it was so easy to cod you with the TB letter, but that's why I was so sorry for codding you at the time and why I'm just as sorry now. Especially for codding you with the same thing your Mrs passed from. Just I thought that would be more effective. But, in the long run, I thought, or hoped, that if you had a choice between you being codded a while and me doing away with meself, once your anger had died downs anyways, you'd choose you being codded every time. Was I wrong, Babbybobby? Was I?

THE DRESSER by Ronald Harwood - NORMAN
He never once took me out for a meal. Never once. Always a back seat, me. Can't even remember him buying me a drink. And just walks out, leaves me, no thought for anyone but himself. What have I been doing here all these years? Why? Yes, well, reason not the need, rotten bugger. Beg your pardon, leave the room, turn around three times and come back - come back - (He breaks off and turns from her.) Speak well of him? I know what you'd say, Ducky. I know all about you. I've got eyes in my head. We all have our little sorrows. (Madge goes but Norman does not notice.) I know what you'd say, stiff upper, faithful, loyal. Loving. Well, I have only one thing to say about him and I wouldn't say it in front of you - or Her Ladyship, or anyone. Or him. Specially not him. If I said what I have to say he'd find a way to take it out on me. No one will ever know. We all have our little sorrows, ducky, you're not the only one. The littler you are, the larger the sorrow. You think you loved him? What about me? (Long Silence.) This is not the place for death. I had a friend - (He turns turns suddenly as if aware of something behind him, but realises he is alone.) Sir? Sir? (Silence.  He hugs the exercise book.  He sings-) 'He that has a little tiny wit, With a hey, ho, the wind and the rain.' (He falls silent)

The howling of a wolf
Is music to thee, screech-owl; prithee peace.
Whate’er thou art, that hast enjoy’d my sister,
(For I am sure thou hear’st me), for thine own sake
Let me not know thee.  I came hither prepar’d
To work thy discovery: yet am now persuaded
It would beget such violent effects
As would damn us both.  I would not for ten millions
I had beheld thee; therefore use all means
I never may have knowledge of thy name;
Enjoy thy lust still, and a wretched life,
On that condition.  And for thee, vild woman,
If thou do wish thy lecher may grow old
In thy embracements, I would have thee build
Such a room for him, as our anchorites
To holier use inhabit.  Let not the sun
Shine on him, till he’s dead.  Let dogs and monkeys
Only converse with him, and such dumb things
To whom nature denies use to sound his name.
Do not keep a paraquito, lest she learn it;
If thou do love him, cut out thine own tongue
Lest it bewray him.

What's the matter with you? Haven't you got fucking eyes? Look at the place! They've turned it into a fucking prison. ...Jesus Christ. You never understood, did you? What did you want me to do? Turn my back on the whole thing? You bring me up to believe in truth and charity and then you want me to ignore what's going on in the world. You can napalm fucking peasants to the shithouse and still receive communion on Sunday. The cops can murder blacks in the streets, but the rule of law still holds. Did you ever ask whose law? Didn't you ever ask why you ate bread an' dripping an' them on the North Shore fed steak to their dogs? Fuck me dead. If you wanted me to be anything else, why didn't you just teach me how to cheat an' swindle a fortune for myself an' leave it at that? (Pause) ...Why don't you say something to me, for God's sake? Why didn't you ever say anything to me? Were you frightened of me? Don't you think I need you?

I think most of us fellas probably have no idea just how good women are at doing a hundred darn things at once. Sometimes I look at Tess and she’s feeding Rosie and, stirring the dinner and on the phone and folding the laundry and throwing something at Tom and, and sobbing, all at once, and I think, gee whiz, what I do out there in the so -called real world amounts to pretty much nothing compared to her and no one thanks her for it, no one thanks her for the fact that she’s raising the next generation of humankind.
(Building with increasing feeling to the point of a Presidential address)
However tiring my work is – and sometimes I’m doing seventeen hour days – at least it’s out there in the world, part of the ebb and flow of global currents. And Tess back home is trapped in this little micro world of domesticity and it’s the tinyness of it, the banality of it, which is so exhausting because it’s simultaneously the most important job in the world and the most invisible.
(Reaching a crescendo)
These women are heroines. And in their own way, in charting the mystery of new lives, they are society’s Amelia Earharts. They are the great adventurers and by gosh, they’re doing it for all of us.

THE GLASS MENAGERIE by Tennessee Williams - TOM
I didn't go to the moon, I went much further - for time is the longest distance between two places. Not long after that I was fired for writing a poem on the lid of a shoe-box. I left Saint Louis. I descended the steps of this fire escape for a last time and followed, from then on, in my father's footsteps, attempting to find in motion what was lost in space. I travelled around a great deal. The cities swept about me like dead leaves, leaves that were brightly colored but torn away from the branches. I would have stopped, but I was pursued by something. It always came upon me unawares, taking me altogether by surprise. Perhaps it was a familiar bit of music. Perhaps it was only a piece of transparent glass. Perhaps I am walking along a street at night, in some strange city, before I have found companions. I pass the lighted window of a shop where perfume is sold. The window is filled with pieces of colored glass, tiny transparent bottles in delicate colors, like bits of a shattered rainbow. Then all at once my sister touches my shoulder. I turn around and look into her eyes. Oh, Laura, Laura, I tried to leave you behind me, but I am more faithful than I intended to be! I reach for a cigarette, I cross the street, I run into the movies or a bar, I buy a drink, I speak to the nearest stranger - anything that can blow your candles out! For nowadays the world is lit by lightning! Blow out your candles, Laura - and so goodbye...

They survived, why not us? It doesn't matter, anyway. Why should I go back? I have no reason to. How can I go back after all I've seen? This is what I hate about this country, it pretends nothing important ever happens. Everything we experienced overseas ... we return and pretend we never experienced it. I shot that German, not out of pity, but because I was filled with hate. All right, pretend it didn't happen. You helped coordinate the bombing raids over Germany. Forget it. We obliterated a group of people, not through deliberate cruelty, just through plain stupidity and indifference. Doesn't matter, no problems, mate. Indifference is our guiding star. We'd sooner turn our attention to making a quick quid, like children amused by shiny trinkets. We'd sooner wipe out all unpleasant memories, block our ears and pretend we can't hear our cry of pain. If we heard that cry, then our sense of ourselves would be deeper, then we shall have reached home. We are lost, rootless people: she isn't.

I mean, I am very sensitive to atmosphere, but I tend to get desensitized, if you know what I mean, when people make unreasonable demands on me. For instance, last Christmas I decided to do a bit of snow-clearing for the Borough Council. I didn't have to do this snow-clearing - I mean I wasn't financially embarrassed in any way - it just appealed to me, it appealed to something inside me. What I anticipated was a good dealthe brisk cold bite in the air in the early morning. And I was right. I had to get my snow boots on and aI had to stand on a corner, at about five-thirty in the morning, to wait for the lorry to pick me up, to take me to the allotted area. Bloody freezing. Well, the lorry came, I jumped on the tailboard, headlights on, dipped, and off we went. Well, that morning, while I was having my mid-morning cup of tea in a neighbourhood café, the shovel standing by my chair, an old lady approached me and asked if I would give her a hand with her iron mangle. Her brother-in-law, she said, had left it for her, but he'd left it in the wrong room, he'd left it I the front room. Well, naturally, she wanted it in the back room. So I took off to give her a hand. She only lived up the road. Well, the only trouble was when I got there I couldn't move this mangle. It must have weighed about half a ton. So there I was, doing a bit of shoulders on with the mangle, risking a rupture, and this old lady just standing there, waving me on, not even lifting a little finger to give me a helping hand. So after a few minutes I said to her, now look here, why don't you stuff this iron mangle up your arse? Anyway, I said, they're out of date, you want to get a spin dryer. I had a good mind to give her a work over there and then, but as I was feeling jubilant with the snow clearing, I just gave her a short-arm jab to the belly and jumped on the bus outside. Excuse me, shall I take this ashtray out of your way?

THE LIBERTINE by Stephen Jeffreys - DOWNS
To become a wit, a blade, a spark. The very word, spark, hot slinter of fashion to scorch the town and burn it to the ground. There was never another way for me. I live for the cocky swagger: toss the head, grind the loins and gob the pavings. What though they had kept me two years at my Cambridge Latin, learning to parse and wrangle, I came to London bent on cutting a figure with the hot boys. A lecherous leer to the traffic and a stamp of the boot on the alehouse floor: I lived for these Friday night gestures and thought they would satisfy until till I was twenty – five and in my grave. But to be part of the merry gang, for Billy Downs to hang on the coats-tails of my Lord Rochester and the Earl of Dorset, such a thing stood several leagues beyond my dreams and cling to their companionship like an old toper to his pottle. My mother writes to me, asks what I am doing in this dreadful town. I cannot reply,  for there is no setting down with ink and paper that I drink till I’m sick, mump and quarrel till I duel and wench till I am slapped or satisfied. I am the youngest of three brothers. The eldest has the estate and the second is a canting priest. Between them  they have done me out of wealth and piety. There is nothing left to me but spark, so spark I shall. Today we jolly forth to the Epsom races, and though my jerkin has not the force of my companions’ top coats, yet I keep my end up with a clutch of lively sallies and modern curses that fan the fading embers of their youth.

Allow me to be frank at the commencement: you will not like me. No, I say you will not. The gentlemen will be envious and the ladies will be repelled. You will not like me now and you will like me a good deal less as we go on. Oh yes, I shall do things you will like. You will say ‘That was a noble impulse in him’ or ‘He played a brave part there,’ but DO NOT WARM TO ME, it will not serve. When I become a BIT OF A CHARMER that is your danger sign for it prefaces the change into THE FULL REPTILE a few seconds later. What I require is not your affection but your attention.  I must not be ignored or you will find me a troublesome a package as ever pissed in the Thames. Now. Ladies. An announcement. (He looks around.) I am up for it. All the time. That’s not a boast. Or an opinion. It is bone hard medical fact.  I put it around, d’y know? And you will watch me putting it around and sigh for it. Don’t. It is a deal of trouble for you and you are better off watching and drawing your conclusions from a distance than you would be if I got my tarse pointing up your petticoats. Gentlemen. (He looks around.) Do not despair, I am up for that as well. When the mood is on me. And the same warning applies. Now, gents: if there be vizards in the house, jades, harlots ( as how could there not be) leave them be for the moment. Still your cheesy erections till I have had my say. But later when you shag – and later you will shag, I shall expect it of you and I will know if you have let me down – I wish you to shag with my homuncular image rattling in your gonads. Feel how it was for me, how it is for me and ponder. ‘Was that shudder the same shudder he sensed? Did he know something more profound? Or is there some wall of wretchedness that we all batter with our heads at that shinning, livelong moment.’ That is it. That is my prologue, nothing in rhyme, certainly no protestations of modesty, you were not expecting that I trust. I reiterate only for those who have arrived late or were buying oranges or were simply not listening: I am John Wilmot, Second Earl of Rochester and I do not want you to like me.

Isn't the world full of wonderful things. There we sit cooped up in Yonkers for years and years and all the time wonderful people like Mrs Molloy are walking around in New York and we don't know them at all. I don't know whether - from where you're sitting - you can see - well, for instance, the way (Pointing to the edge of his right eye) her eye and forehead and cheek come together, up here. Can you? And the kind of fireworks that shoot out of her eyes all the time. I tell you right now: a fine woman is the greatest work of God. You can talk all you like about Niagara Falls and the Pyramids; they aren't in it at all. Of course, up there at Yonkers they came into the store all the time, and bought this and that, and I said "Yes, ma'am", and "That'll be seventy-five cents, ma'am"; and I watched them. But today I've talked to one, equal to equal, equal to equal, and to the finest one that ever existed, in my opinion. They're so different from men! Everything that they say and do is so different that you feel like laughing all the time. (He laughs) Golly, they're different from men. And they're awfully mysterious, too. You never can be really sure what's going on in their heads. They have a kind of wall around them all the time - of pride and a sort of play-acting: I bet you could know a woman a hundred years without ever being really sure whether she liked you or not. This minute I'm in danger. I'm in danger of losing my job and my future and everything that people think is important; but I don't care. Even if I have to dig ditches for the rest of my life, I'll be a ditch-digger who once had a wonderful day.

Let me play the fool:
With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come,
And let my liver rather heat with wine
Than my heart cool with mortifying groans.
Why should a man, whose blood is warm within,
Sit like his grandsire cut in alabaster?
Sleep when he wakes and creep into the jaundice
By being peevish? I tell thee what, Antonio-
I love thee, and it is my love that speaks-
There are a sort of men whose visages
Do cream and mantle like a standing pond,
And do a wilful stillness entertain,
With purpose to be dress'd in an opinion
Of wisdom, gravity, profound conceit,
As who should say 'I am Sir Oracle,
And when I ope my lips let no dog bark!'
O my Antonio, I do know of these
That therefore only are reputed wise
For saying nothing; when, I am very sure,
If they should speak, would almost damn those ears,
Which, hearing them, would call their brothers fools.
I'll tell thee more of this another time:
But fish not, with this melancholy bait,
For this fool gudgeon, this opinion.
Come, good Lorenzo. Fare ye well awhile:
I'll end my exhortation after dinner.

THE MERCHANT OF VENICE (ACT 4, SCENE 1) by William Shakespeare - SHYLOCK
To bait fish withal: if it will feed nothing else, it will feed my revenge. He hath disgraced me, and hindered me half a million; laughed at my losses, mocked at my gains, scorned my nation, thwarted my bargains, cooled my friends, heated mine enemies; and what's his reason? I am a Jew. Hath not a Jew eyes? hath not a Jew hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions? fed with the same food, hurt with the same weapons, subject to the same diseases, healed by the same means, warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer, as a Christian is? If you prick us, do we not bleed? if you tickle us, do we not laugh? if you poison us, do we not die? and if you wrong us, shall we not revenge? If we are like you in the rest, we will resemble you in that. If a Jew wrong a Christian, what is his humility? Revenge. If a Christian wrong a Jew, what should his sufferance be by Christian example? Why, revenge. The villany you teach me, I will execute, and it shall go hard but I will better the instruction.

When we finished this arvo we shot into a mate of mine, runs a photography place in town, and we could see right away ... We took pictures of everything. (Sarcastically) The celebration. There's one, one terrific one - pure fluke how I got it - of an old man lying flat on his back in a lane near the pub. Boy, he had had it ... They're all like that. Outside a pub near Central there was a character sitting on the footpath leaning up against a post. He had the most terrible face, hadn't shaved, few teeth missing, very photogenic. I snuck up near him and squatted down and ... oh, just as I got it framed up, it was wonderful. He vomited. Just quietly. All down his chin, all down the front of his coat. I took it ... I gave it to the paper ... Why? ... Because we're sick of all the muck that's talked about this day ... the great national day of honour, day of memory, day of salute to the fallen, day of grief ... It's just one long grog-up ...No buts. I know what you lot think about it, everyone your age is the same. Well, I've seen enough Anzac days to know what I think of them. And that's what I got today with my little camera. What I think of it ... It's a lot of old has-beens getting up in the local RSL and saying, "Well boys, you all know what we're here for, we're here to honour our mates who didn't come back." And they all feel sad and have another six or seven beers ... Look, no argument. You think what you like, I've had to put up with that all my life, well now you can just put up with my views. If they don't agree, bad luck. 

No, no, no... ya can't turn back now.  I'm startin' to see you as the voice of a very misunderstood section of our society.  But you know... there's a million of me gettin' round, mate.  And they'll all tell ya they had a tough life.  You know, beaten up by their dad, in trouble with the cops, pisshead mum, rough school.  A million fuckin' excuses why they turned out to be bad eggs.  And I got all of the above... Oh yeah!  Truth is, most of 'em are just bored.  They leave their shit-ass state school and live on the dole in their diddly bumfuck nowhere suburb.  Before ya know it, ya got some girl up the duff and no money.  She spends the day with a screamin' sprog and a fag in her mouth plonked in front of a daytime soap wearin' her tracky daks all day, dreamin' of bein' swept away by some Fabio and she just gets... fatter.  But... her Centrelink payments have gone up and all of her fat friends are waitin' in line behind her!  It's a career move for 'em.  Gettin' up the duff.  And you... drink with ya mates, watch the footy and the highlight of the week is the local tavern has a skimpy barmaid every Friday.  The magazines are tellin' ya that, the newspapers, the telly.  Everybody's richer, everybody's more beautiful, and everybody's got more... purpose.  And ya thinkin', how do I make sense of this dog-ass life?  And the one day ya just get hold of a gun.  Ya don't even know what ya gonna do with it.  It's like the sound of a V8 in the distance.  It takes ya... somewhere else.  (Pause) I didn't see ya writin' any of this down.  I'm spillin' my guts out in the name of art and you don't give a shit.  What sort of writer are ya?

THE SEAGULL by Anton Chekhov - TREPLEV
(Pulling the petals off a flower). She loves me, she loves me not. She loves me, she loves me not. She loves me, she loves me not. (Laughs.) You see, Mother doesn't love me - to put it rather mildly. She likes excitement, romantic affairs, gay clothes - but I'm twenty - five years old and a constant reminder that she's not so young as she was. She's only thirty-two when I'm not around, but when I'm with her she's forty-three, and that's what she can't stand about me. Besides, she knows I've no use for the theatre. She adores the stage. Serving humanity in the sacred cause of art, that's how she thinks of it. But the theatre's in a rut nowadays, if you ask me - it's so one-sided. The curtain goes up and you see a room with three walls. It's evening, so the lights are on. And in the room you have these geniuses, these high priests of art, to show you how people eat, drink, love, walk about and wear their jackets. Out of mediocre scenes and lines they try to drag a moral, some commonplace that doesn't tax the brain and might come in useful about the house. When I'm offered a thousand different variations on the same old theme, I have to escape - run for it, as Maupassant ran from the Eiffel Tower because it was so vulgar he felt it was driving him crazy. ..... What we need's a new kind of theatre. New forms are what we need, and if we haven't got them we'd be a sight better off with nothing at all.

THE SUM OF US by David Stevens - JEFF
Its not that flamin’ easy. Doesn’t just happen to order. The choice is a bit more limited for one thing. Maybe some places like San Francisco, all the blokes wear their dicks on their sleeves, they reckon.

I don’t want to live like that, Dad. I don’t want to live in a world that just begins and ends with being gay. I like having all sorts of people around kids and old folks, every sort of person there is. I don’t want to live in a world without women. I like women. Me and the girls in the office get on great. They know and they don’t care. We laugh about it. Fancy the same blokes sometimes. Even fancied a couple of the girls. Done it with a few of them just to make sure I wasn’t missing out on anything.

(Harry suddenly pokes his head out from behind the Christmas trees)

See what I mean about getting your hopes up? I like doing it with blokes, Dad. I don’t think that’s ever going to change because I don’t want it to. I don’t want to be limited by other people’s ideas of who I am. Yours or anyone else’s.

You’ve been great, mate. Best Dad in the world, I reckon. Fairest, that’s a certain fact. I don’t often say it, but its Christmas, so thanks mate, for everything. You give me the first class shits at times, and I suppose I do you, but I don’t think there’s many got a father like you.

They shall go forward, Kate, at thy command.
Obey the bride, you that attend on her;
Go to the feast, revel and domineer,
Carouse full measure to her maidenhead,
Be mad and merry, or go hang yourselves:
But for my bonny Kate, she must with me.
Nay, look not big, nor stamp, nor stare, nor fret;
I will be master of what is mine own:
She is my goods, my chattels; she is my house,
My household stuff, my field, my barn,
My horse, my ox, my ass, my any thing;
And here she stands, touch her whoever dare;
I'll bring mine action on the proudest he
That stops my way in Padua. Grumio,
Draw forth thy weapon, we are beset with thieves;
Rescue thy mistress, if thou be a man.
Fear not, sweet wench, they shall not touch thee,
I'll buckler thee against a million.

THE TEMPLE (ACT 2, SCENE 4) by Louis Nowra - LAURIE
(to BARRY ST JOHN) People ask me why I do something.  I answer ‘Why should I not do it?’  Yeh, why do I do things, Baz?
(He grabs a knife and slashes the Monet painting)
Like that.   Because I like to play for keeps.  You’re terminated, Baz.  You’ll never get out of this financial black hole.
(He whips BAZ’s sunglasses of him)
Let’s see the whites of your eyes.  Without your sunnies, Baz, your eyes are a dead give away.  I have seen that look, many, many times. It’s the look of fear.  You see it in an animal’s eyes when it’s about to be slaughtered.  They enter the chute, a bit nervous.  But confident, but as they advance down the chute into the killing rooms, they smell blood.  They look around and see men with these things in their hand.  And although they are not  terrified yet, they are afraid.  Their eyes grow large and twitch.  Hands grab them, sure, certain hands.  Hands that have done this a thousand times.  The animals are locked into a position they struggle against but cannot escape from.  You place the stun gun behind the back of their ear and the feeling of the metal, the sense of being trapped-at that split second, they know.  They are going to die.  Before the whack, there is such a look of terror and fear in their eyes that you never forget it.  You’re looking into the soul of an animal and seeing the greatest terror a man can see in another beast.

I'll just say what I have to say and then I'll go. Forthwith.... In the first place you've got something against Natasha, my wife - and this I've been aware of from the very day we got married. Natasha is a very fine person - honest, straightforward, and upright - that's my opinion. I love and respect my wife - I respect her, you understand? - and I insist that others respect her, too.I say it again - she is an honest and upright person, and all your little marks of displeasure - forgive me, but you're simply behaving like spoilt children. (Pause) Secondly, you seem to be angry that I'm not a professor, that I'm not a scientist. But I serve in local government, I am a member of the local Council, and this service I consider just as sacred, just as elevated, as any service I could render science. I am a member of the local Council and proud of it, if you wish to know.... (Pause) Thirdly..... I have something else to say...I mortgaged the house without asking your permission... To this I plead guilty, and indeed ask you to forgive me... I was driven to it by my debts... thirty-five thousand... I don't play cards now - I gave it up long since - but the main thing I can say in my own justification is that you're girls, and you get an annuity, whereas I had no... well, no income..... (Pause) .... You're not listening. Natasha is an outstanding woman, someone of great integrity. (Walks about in silence, then stops) When I got married I thought we were going to be happy ... all going to be happy... But my god... (Weeps) My dear sisters, my own dear sisters, don't believe me, don't trust me.... (He goes)

(Responding to Valentine's question, "Why, how know you that I am in love?")
Marry, by these special marks: first, you have learned, like Sir Proteus, to wreathe your arms, like a malecontent; to relish a love-song, like a robin-redbreast; to walk alone, like one that had the pestilence; to sigh, like a school-boy that had lost his A B C; to weep, like a young wench that had buried her grandam; to fast, like one that takes diet; to watch like one that fears robbing; to speak puling, like a beggar at Hallowmas. You were wont, when you laughed, to crow like a cock; when you walked, to walk like one of the lions; when you fasted, it was presently after dinner; when you looked sadly, it was for want of money: and now you are metamorphosed with a mistress, that, when I look on you, I can hardly think you my master.

Nay, 'twill be this hour ere I have done weeping; all the kind of the Launces have this very fault. I have received my proportion, like the prodigious son, and am going with Sir Proteus to the Imperial's court. I think Crab, my dog, be the sourest-natured dog that lives: my mother weeping, my father wailing, my sister crying, our maid howling, our cat wringing her hands, and all our house in a great perplexity, yet did not this cruel-hearted cur shed one tear: he is a stone, a very pebble stone, and has no more pity in him than a dog: a Jew would have wept to have seen our parting; why, my grandam, having no eyes, look you, wept herself blind at my parting. Nay, I'll show you the manner of it. This shoe is my father: no, this left shoe is my father: no, no, this left shoe is my mother: nay, that cannot be so neither: yes, it is so, it is so, it hath the worser sole. This shoe, with the hole in it, is my mother, and this my father; a vengeance on't! there 'tis: now, sit, this staff is my sister, for, look you, she is as white as a lily and as small as a wand: this hat is Nan, our maid: I am the dog: no, the dog is himself, and I am the dog--Oh! the dog is me, and I am myself; ay, so, so. Now come I to my father; Father, your blessing: now should not the shoe speak a word for weeping: now should I kiss my father; well, he weeps on. Now come I to my mother: O, that she could speak now like a wood woman! Well, I kiss her; why, there 'tis; here's my mother's breath up and down. Now come I to my sister; mark the moan she makes. Now the dog all this while sheds not a tear nor speaks a word; but see how I lay the dust with my tears.

(Enter Launce and his dog.)
When a man's servant shall play the cur with him, look you, it goes hard: one that I brought up of a puppy; one that I saved from drowning, when three or four of his blind brothers and sisters went to it. I have taught him, even as one would say precisely, 'thus I would teach a dog.' I was sent to deliver him as a present to Mistress Silvia from my master; and I came no sooner into the dining-chamber but he steps me to her trencher and steals her capon's leg: O, 'tis a foul thing when a cur cannot keep himself in all companies! I would have, as one should say, one that takes upon him to be a dog indeed, to be, as it were, a dog at all things. If I had not had more wit than he, to take a fault upon me that he did, I think verily he had been hanged for't; sure as I live, he had suffered for't; you shall judge. He thrusts me himself into the company of three or four gentlemanlike dogs under the duke's table: he had not been there--bless the mark!--a pissing while, but all the chamber smelt him. 'Out with the dog!' says one: 'What cur is that?' says another: 'Whip him out' says the third: 'Hang him up' says the duke. I, having been acquainted with the smell before, knew it was Crab, and goes me to the fellow that whips the dogs: 'Friend,' quoth I, 'you mean to whip the dog?' 'Ay, marry, do I,' quoth he. 'You do him the more wrong,' quoth I; ''twas I did the thing you wot of.' He makes me no more ado, but whips me out of the chamber. How many masters would do this for his servant? Nay, I'll be sworn, I have sat in the stocks for puddings he hath stolen, otherwise he had been executed; I have stood on the pillory for geese he hath killed, otherwise he had suffered for't. Thou thinkest not of this now. Nay, I remember the trick you served me when I took my leave of Madam Silvia: did not I bid thee still mark me and do as I do? when didst thou see me heave up my leg and make water against a gentlewoman's farthingale? Didst thou ever see me do such a trick?

THE WINTER'S TALE (ACT 1, SCENE 2) by William Shakespeare - LEONTES
Gone already!
Inch-thick, knee-deep, o'er head and
ears a fork'd one!
Go, play, boy, play: thy mother plays, and I
Play too, but so disgraced a part, whose issue
Will hiss me to my grave: contempt and clamour
Will be my knell. Go, play, boy, play.
There have been,
Or I am much deceived, cuckolds ere now;
And many a man there is, even at this present,
Now while I speak this, holds his wife by the arm,
That little thinks she has been sluiced in's absence
And his pond fish'd by his next neighbour, by
Sir Smile, his neighbour: nay, there's comfort in't
Whiles other men have gates and those gates open'd,
As mine, against their will. Should all despair
That have revolted wives, the tenth of mankind
Would hang themselves. Physic for't there is none;
It is a bawdy planet, that will strike
Where 'tis predominant; and 'tis powerful, think it,
From east, west, north and south: be it concluded,
No barricado for a belly; know't;
It will let in and out the enemy
With bag and baggage: many thousand on's
Have the disease, and feel't not. How now, boy!

TAMBURLAINE by Christopher Marlowe - TAMBURLAINE
Well bark, ye dogs!  I'll bridle all your tongues,
And bind them close with bits of burnished steel,
Down to the channels of your hateful throats,
And with the pains my rigour shall inflict,
I'll make ye roar, that earth may echo forth
The far-resounding torments yet sustain:
As when an herd of lusty Cimbrian bulls
Run mourning round about the female' miss,
And stung with fury of their following,
Fill all the air with troublous bellowing.
I will, with engines never exercis'd,
Conquer, sack, and utterly consume
Your cities and your golden palaces,
And with the flames that beat against the clouds
Incemse the heavens and make the stars to melt,
As if they were the tears of Mohamet
For hot consumption of his country's pride.
And till by vision or by speech I hear
Immortal Jove say 'Cease, my Tamburlaine',
I will persist a terror to the world,
Making the meteors that like armed men,
Are seen to march upon the towers of heaven,
Run tilting round the firmament,
And break their burning lances in the air,
For honour of my wonderous victories.
Come, bring them to our pavilion.

TITUS ANDRONICUS (ACT 5, SCENE 1) by William Shakespeare - AARON
Ay, that I had not done a thousand more.
Even now I curse the day (and yet, I think,
Few come within the compass of my curse),
Wherein I did not some notorious ill,
As kill a man, or else devise his death,
Ravish a maid, or plot the way to do it,
Accuse some innocent and forswear myself,
Set deadly enmity between two friends,
Make poor men's cattle break their necks;
Set fire on barns and hay-stacks in the night,
And bid the owners quench them with their tears.
Oft have I digg'd up dead men from their graves,
And set them upright at their dear friends' doors,
Even when their sorrows almost were forgot;
And on their skins, as on the bark of trees,
Have with my knife carved in Roman letters,
'Let not your sorrow die, though I am dead.'
Tut, I have done a thousand dreadful things
As willingly as one would kill a fly,
And nothing grieves me heartily indeed
But that I cannot do ten thousand more.

We merely see things differently and place different importance on what we see.  You charge from one thing to another and because you cover a lot of ground you think you have seen a lot.  Consequently, you make no sense of what you see or how one thing is related to another.  You want to see it all and yet see nothing.  Others will come afterwards and be astounded at the things we missed.  But still a moment.  Notice this tree grows in the soil, that this beetle is found on this tree and the birds feed on its berries.  Look deeper still.  Open up the bird, split the tree, dig the soil.  That way you can steal nature's secrets.  You can learn so much just sitting here.  Move fifty yards in any direction and everything is different.  My world is what is within my field of vision.  If I go to see what is there, I miss what is here.  I build a picture of this clearing by putting together the little things that make it up.  I build a picture of Australia by putting together the clearings.  I am happy, but for the knowledge that I won't see it all.  I can't cover the ground fast enough.

TWELFTH NIGHT (ACT 4, SCENE 3) by William Shakespeare - SEBASTIAN
This is the air; that is the glorious sun;
This pearl she gave me, I do feel't and see't;
And though 'tis wonder that enwraps me thus,
Yet 'tis not madness. Where's Antonio, then?
I could not find him at the Elephant:
Yet there he was; and there I found this credit,
That he did range the town to seek me out.
His counsel now might do me golden service;
For though my soul disputes well with my sense,
That this may be some error, but no madness,
Yet doth this accident and flood of fortune
So far exceed all instance, all discourse,
That I am ready to distrust mine eyes
And wrangle with my reason that persuades me
To any other trust but that I am mad
Or else the lady's mad; yet, if 'twere so,
She could not sway her house, command her followers,
Take and give back affairs and their dispatch
With such a smooth, discreet and stable bearing
As I perceive she does: there's something in't
That is deceiveable. But here the lady comes.

UP THE ROAD by John Harding - IAN
Hey, brother, how do I look? Or have you been watching me for a while. I never got to tell you about the places I've been or the people I've met. I've travelled a bit. Went to Coober Pedy, had a go at miming. First day on the job I fell down a shaft and broke my arm. Decided mining wasn't for me. Some way or another I ended up in Canberra. You used to brylcreem my hair for me. I used to love the way you'd grab my ears like motor cycle handles and twist them? Vroom vroom. And that toy sheep we used to fight over. It's bloody fresh up here isn't it? Those boots of yours keep you warm? I got a big electric heater at home. I bought my own place now. What a whitefella, eh? A real house. Double brick. And I'm the only one in it. Well, you got the family up here. What've I got? I hate being alone. You all keep leaving me alone. Mum, dad, you. Now Uncle Kenny's gonna be up here. Yous'll be fucking right. What the fuck's going on? They're punishing me. Are you punishing me too? I didn't want to leave, Nat. They all told me to go. They made me go away. Not to do nothing. I fucking hated 'em. They did jack shit. Those cops killed you and they did jack shit. Are you ashamed of me for that, my brother? If it was me they'd killed, you would've rode your horse into the fucken station and torn those cunts apart. That's what I wanted to do. But they made me go away. I thought you were a king and they killed you like a fucken dog. I'm sorry, Nat, I'm sorry. You knew I'd be back. You knew I'd be back here with you. It's fresh, eh? I love you, Nat. I love you brother.
Amazing Grace how sweet the sound/ That saved a wretch like me/ I once was lost but now am found/ was blind but now I see.

I'm sorry about pulling that loyalty bullshit. You don't owe me anything. I took on your work because it was good. No other reason. Because it was good, and if there's one damn thing I can do well it's spot quality. I am a talent sniffer. That's it. That's me. Pure and simple. A talent sniffer and I can sniff it out better than anybody else in the country, and consider this, consider this, boy. Talent is a commodity like anything just else, it's a commodity that's got to be found and mined and processed, and I found you and mined you and I processed you for one reason and for one reason only - because I knew you were good and because I knew that if I treated you fairly and honestly you would make us both a fortune one day. That's the reason I've always been straight with you. Not any phoney honesty or principles or any of that crap. Because you were good, and I knew that if I did anything sharp or shady or tricksy with you, sooner or later you would find out and say, "Up you, Harry," and there would go my golden goose flying right out the window. Get me? So forgive me for peddling that loyalty bullshit. All I've done for you I've done out of pure self-interest. My Christ. I've been dishonest in my time. I could tell you some things I've done that I'm still ashamed of, but never to you, boy. Never, never to you, and it's not that I'm patting myself on the back, as I've said a few times already, it's out of pure self interest. And I'm not going to try and appeal to you on the grounds of what I've done for you as an editor, either. It's getting that work onto the paper that's the hard part. Shuffling it around a bit after that is easy. Relatively easy. Your agent might be right. Who knows? Perhaps I am crass. Perhaps Carmel might point you in more sensitive directions, but I would point out the warning that sensitive and precious are often synonymous ... So ... are you going to sign with me?

Hey, did you know Mal was buying a new car?... Mal is one of the most talented drunken drivers I've ever come across. I've seen him, pissed to the eyeballs, do the most amazing things-beautifully judged cornering and controlled broadsides. Were you there the time he roared between a tram and a parked car? (Gesturing enthusiastically) There just wasn't room! I screamed at him not to try it. But he ignored me and bored straight on. Not a scratch. Must've been a quarter of an inch to spare on each side. Bloody amazing performance. He should be in the racing game. I've told him numerous times... He's quite safe, really. I know. Never blotted his copybook. I feel much safer with him than my old man who thrashes around the city at a death-defying speed - thirty miles per hour. In a new Jaguar. You'd think he was running it on wop juice. (Pause) Anne, I've got something to tell you.... (Coldly) I'm calling it off....I don't want to get mixed up in any long affair at the moment....You're getting too fond of me. I think it's better to call it off now when it won't hurt you as much as it would if I called it off later on. I'm thinking of myself as well. It won't hurt me as much now as it would later on. It's easier all round. Don't you see? (Pause) It's just not convenient at the moment. To hell with it! I'm not going into it all. I don't have to. I've made up my mind and there's nothing you can do about it. I have my reasons, don't worry. I just don't want to see you again. Is that clear? (Pause) To be honest, I'm sick of you. You just don't interest me any more. You bore me. I may even hate your guts. When this happens, I naturally just move on. Simple as that. What else can you expect me to do? (Pause) Well, I don't see much point in staying.