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(c) 1990 The Walt DisneyCompanyCompiled by Scott A. Concilla (skippy6400@delphi.com) July '95THE CHARACTERS:    Major characters (voiced by...)         Bernard (BobNewhart)         Miss Bianca (Eva Gabor)         Wilbur (John Candy)         Jake (Tristan Rogers)         Cody (Adam Ryen)         Percival McLeach (George C.Scott)    Minor characters         Joanna (Frank Welker)         Frank (Wayne Robson)         Krebbs (Douglas Seale)         Chairmouse (Bernard Fox)         Doctor(Bernard Fox)         Red (Peter Firth)         Baitmouse (Billy Barty)         Francois (Ed Gilbert)         Faloo (Carla Meyer)         Mother (Carla Meyer)         Nursemouse (Russi Taylor)    Non-speaking         Polly; Kookie; Snake; Marahute; Dowager; Milktoast; Cricket Cook;         Telegraph mice; Nelson; Sparky; Twister;Razorback; Ranger.Release date:  November 16, 1990Running time:  74 minutes                          THE RESCUERS DOWNUNDER                            The Complete Script(opening:     The camera slowly zooms through a variety of insects and rocks.              We follow a smallyellow bug climb up a blade of grass.  As it              spreads its wings to fly, we are whisked along the Australian              outback and prairie by Ayers rock andeventually slow down as we              approach Cody's house.)(scene:  inside Cody's room.  The camera pans around to show Cody sleeping         in hishammock.  The sound of Faloo's call is heard.  Cody hears         it, jumps out of bed, and runs to the window.  He puts on his         shirt and grabs his


ï»¿The Project Gutenberg EBook of Overruled, by George Bernard ShawThis eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictionswhatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away orre-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online atwww.gutenberg.netTitle: OverruledAuthor: George Bernard ShawPosting Date: May 28, 2009 [EBook #3830]Release Date: March, 2003First Posted: September30, 2001Last Updated: March 5, 2006Language: English*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OVERRULED ***Produced by Eve Sobol.  HTMLversion by Al Haines.TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE: In the printed version of this text, allapostrophes for contractions such as "can't", "wouldn't" and "he'd"were omitted,to read as "cant", "wouldnt" and "hed". This etextrestores the omitted apostrophes.OVERRULEDBERNARD SHAW1912PREFACE TO OVERRULED.THEALLEVIATIONS OF MONOGAMY.This piece is not an argument for or against polygamy. It is a clinicalstudy of how the thing actually occurs among quite ordinarypeople,innocent of all unconventional views concerning it. The enormousmajority of cases in real life are those of people in that position.Those who deliberatelyand conscientiously profess what are oddlycalled advanced views by those others who believe them to beretrograde, are often, and indeed mostly, the last peoplein the worldto engage in unconventional adventures of any kind, not only becausethey have neither time nor disposition for them, but because thefriction set upbetween the individual and the community by theexpression of unusual views of any sort is quite enough hindrance tothe heretic without being complicated bypersonal scandals. Thus thetheoretic libertine is usually a person of blameless family life,whilst the practical libertine is mercilessly severe on all otherlibertines,and excessively conventional in professions of socialprinciple.What is more, these professions are not hypocritical: they are for themost part quite sincere. Thecommon libertine, like the drunkard,succumbs to a temptation which he does not defend, and against which hewarns others with an earnestness proportionate tothe intensity of hisown remorse. He (or she) may be a liar and a humbug, pretending to bebetter than the detected libertines, and clamoring for theircondignpunishment; but this is mere self-defence. No reasonable person expectsthe burglar to confess his pursuits, or to refrain from joining in thecry of StopThief when the police get on the track of another burglar.If society chooses to penalize candor, it has itself to thank if itsattack is countered by falsehood. Theclamorous virtue of the libertineis therefore no more hypocritical than the plea of Not Guilty which isallowed to every criminal. But one result is that the theoristswhowrite most sincerely and favorably about polygamy know least about it;and the practitioners who know most about it keep their knowledge veryjealously tothemselves. Which is hardly fair to the practice.INACCESSIBILITY OF THE FACTS.Also it is impossible to estimate its prevalence. A practice to whichnobodyconfesses may be both universal and unsuspected, just as avirtue which everybody is expected, under heavy penalties, to claim,may have no existence. It isoften assumed--indeed it is the officialassumption of the Churches and the divorce courts that a gentleman anda lady cannot be alone together innocently. Andthat is manifestblazing nonsense, though many women have been stoned to death in theeast, and divorced in the west, on the strength of it. On the otherhand,the innocent and conventional people who regard the gallantadventures as crimes of so horrible a nature that only the mostdepraved and desperate charactersengage in them or would listen toadvances in that direction without raising an alarm with the noisiestindignation, are clearly examples of the fact that mostsections ofsociety do not know how the other sections live. Industry is the mosteffective check on gallantry. Women may, as Napoleon said, be theoccupation ofthe idle man just as men are the preoccupation of theidle woman; but the mass of mankind is too busy and too poor for thelong and expensive sieges which theprofessed libertine lays to virtue.Still, wherever there is idleness or even a reasonable supply ofelegant leisure there is a good deal of coquetry and philandering.Itis so much pleasanter to dance on the edge of a precipice than to goover it that leisured society is full of people who spend a great partof their lives in flirtation,and conceal nothing but the humiliatingsecret that they have never gone any further. For there is no pleasingpeople in the matter of reputation in thisdepartment: every insult isa flattery; every testimonial is a disparagement: Joseph is despisedand promoted, Potiphar's wife admired and condemned: in short,you arenever on solid ground until you get away from the subject altogether.There is a continual and irreconcilable conflict between the naturaland conventionalsides of the case, between spontaneous human relationsbetween independent men and women on the one hand and the propertyrelation between husband andwife on the other, not to mention theconfusion under the common name of love of a generous naturalattraction and interest with the murderous jealousy thatfastens on andclings to its mate (especially a hated mate) as a tiger fastens on acarcase. And the confusion is natural; for these extremes are extremesof thesame passion; and most cases lie somewhere on the scale betweenthem, and are so complicated by ordinary likes and dislikes, byincidental wounds to vanity orgratifications of it, and by classfeeling, that A will be jealous of B and not of C, and will tolerateinfidelities on the part of D whilst being furiously angry whentheyare committed by E.THE CONVENTION OF JEALOUSYThat jealousy is independent of sex is shown by its intensity inchildren, and by the fact that very jealouspeople are jealous ofeverybody without regard to relationship or sex, and cannot bear tohear the person they "love" speak favorably of anyone underanycircumstances (many women, for instance, are much more jealous of theirhusbands' mothers and sisters than of unrelated women whom they suspecthim offancying); but it is seldom possible to disentangle the twopassions in practice. Besides, jealousy is an inculcated passion,forced by society on people in whom itwould not occur spontaneously.In Brieux's Bourgeois aux Champs, the benevolent hero finds himselfdetested by the neighboring peasants and farmers, notbecause hepreserves game, and sets mantraps for poachers, and defends his legalrights over his land to the extremest point of unsocial savagery, butbecause,being an amiable and public-spirited person, he refuses to doall this, and thereby offends and disparages the sense of property inhis neighbors. The same thing istrue of matrimonial jealousy; the manwho does not at least pretend to feel it and behave as badly as if hereally felt it is despised and insulted; and many a manhas shot orstabbed a friend or been shot or stabbed by him in a duel, or disgracedhimself and ruined his own wife in a divorce scandal, against hisconscience,against his instinct, and to the destruction of his home,solely because Society conspired to drive him to keep its own lowermorality in countenance in thismiserable and undignified manner.Morality is confused in such matters. In an elegant plutocracy, ajealous husband is regarded as a boor. Among the tradesmenwho supplythat plutocracy with its meals, a husband who is not jealous, andrefrains from assailing his rival with his fists, is regarded as aridiculous, contemptibleand cowardly cuckold. And the laboring classis divided into the respectable section which takes the tradesman'sview, and the disreputable section which enjoysthe license of theplutocracy without its money: creeping below the law as its exemplarsprance above it; cutting down all expenses of respectability andevendecency; and frankly accepting squalor and disrepute as the price ofanarchic self-indulgence. The conflict between Malvolio and Sir Toby,between themarquis and the bourgeois, the cavalier and the puritan,the ascetic and the voluptuary, goes on continually, and goes on notonly between class and class andindividual and individual, but in theselfsame breast in a series of reactions and revulsions in which theirresistible becomes the unbearable, and the unbearabletheirresistible, until none of us can say what our characters really arein this respect.THE MISSING DATA OF A SCIENTIFIC NATURAL HISTORY OF MARRIAGE.Ofone thing I am persuaded: we shall never attain to a reasonablehealthy public opinion on sex questions until we offer, as the data forthat opinion, our actualconduct and our real thoughts instead of amoral fiction which we agree to call virtuous conduct, and which wethen--and here comes in the mischief--pretend isour conduct and ourthoughts. If the result were that we all believed one another to bebetter than we really are, there would be something to be said for it;but theactual result appears to be a monstrous exaggeration of thepower and continuity of sexual passion. The whole world shares the fateof Lucrezia Borgia, who,though she seems on investigation to have beenquite a suitable wife for a modern British Bishop, has been invested bythe popular historical imagination with allthe extravagances of aMessalina or a Cenci. Writers of belles lettres who are rash enough toadmit that their whole life is not one constant preoccupationwithadored members of the opposite sex, and who even countenance LaRochefoucauld's remark that very few people would ever imaginethemselves in love ifthey had never read anything about it, aregravely declared to be abnormal or physically defective by critics ofcrushing unadventurousness and domestication.French authors of saintlytemperament are forced to include in their retinue countesses of ardentcomplexion with whom they are supposed to live in sin.Sentimentalcontroversies on the subject are endless; but they are useless, becausenobody tells the truth. Rousseau did it by an extraordinary effort,aided by asuperhuman faculty for human natural history, but the resultwas curiously disconcerting because, though the facts were soconventionally shocking that peoplefelt that they ought to matter agreat deal, they actually mattered very little. And even at thateverybody pretends not to believe him.ARTIFICIALRETRIBUTION.The worst of that is that busybodies with perhaps rather more than anormal taste for mischief are continually trying to make negligiblethingsmatter as much in fact as they do in convention by deliberatelyinflicting injuries--sometimes atrocious injuries--on the partiesconcerned. Few people have anyknowledge of the savage punishments thatare legally inflicted for aberrations and absurdities to which nosanely instructed community would call any attention.We create anartificial morality, and consequently an artificial conscience, bymanufacturing disastrous consequences for events which, left tothemselves, would dovery little harm (sometimes not any) and beforgotten in a few days.But the artificial morality is not therefore to be condemned offhand.In many cases it may savemischief instead of making it: for example,though the hanging of a murderer is the duplication of a murder, yet itmay be less murderous than leaving the matter


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                            TheBlack Dahlia                               Written by                             Josh Friedman                         Based on the novel by                             JamesEllroy     CREDITS ROLL OVER     Black and white newsreel footage from the 1930s. Clips from     prize fights featuring two different boxers againstvarious     opponents. One a light heavyweight--pure finesse, a     counterpunches; the other, stouter and stronger, a     headhunting puncher.     Theintercutting of the two fighters suggests a possible     showdown at the end of the newsreel. No such luck.     END CREDITS     CLOSE UPON:     A TRIPLE CARBON LAPD "INCIDENT REPORT" FORM trapped in an old     Corona typewriter. The keys pound letters into theblank     spaces.     INCIDENT: THE ZOOT SUIT RIOTS...JUNE 10, 1943...     REPORTING OFFICER...DWIGHT "BUCKY"BLEICHERT     EXT. BOYLE HEIGHTS - EVERGREEN AND WABASH - DUSK     A WORLD WAR II ERA PERSONNEL CARRIER transports twentysilent     LAPD officers into the heart of downtown Los Angeles. The     sounds of glass breaking and men screaming serves as backdrop     for their arrival.     Wefocus in on BUCKY BLEICHERT, 26, (The counterpuncher from     the newsreels) as he jumps from the carrier.     Bucky's minus his gun but plus a WWI tin helmetand a three     pound truncheon.     BUCKY'S POV:     Hundreds of in-uniform GI's use baseball bats and two-by-     fours to beat the shit out of ZootSuit-wearing Mexicans.     Most of the cops wander to the edge of the race riot and     hobnob with the pockets of MPs and Shore Patrol who've chosen     to


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                                  GINGER SNAPS                                   Written by                                  KarenWalton                                                     July 15th, 1996          FADE IN          EXT. FITZGERALD HOME -- NIGHT          The house is dark.The moon is almost full. A dog barks.          A melancholy voice, worn for its age, narrates:          BRIGITTE (V/o)          Ever try bein' different? An, I          don'tmean jus' thinkin' about          it, either. Ginger an' me - I          mean I...          The house numbers read 669. The 9 slips: the number now          reads666.          BRIGITTE (CON'T/V/O)          Ginger an' I? Went for different.          Big time.          There's a light on in a basement window. We creep upto it,          crushing the tulip. borders on the way. The window is propped          open with a sneaker: it looks like somebody's foot is caught          in it. Musicplays inside-          INT. GIRLS' BASEMENT BEDROOM - NIGHT          Gyrating in her underwear to bad-girl grunge, BRIGITTE          FITZGERALD (15)straddles GINGER FITZGERALD (also 15 and in          underwear) on one of the twin single beds. Both girls have          cigarettes lolling on their lower lips. Bothgirls have          pierced eyebrows, pierced noses and streaked hair. Brigitte          has blue nail polish on. Ginger hasbreasts.          GINGER          Brigitte. Quit dickin' around.          Jus' do it.          Brigitte reluctantly stops her thrashing and douses a cotton          ballin rubbing alcohol.          Without looking up from her TANK GIRL comic, Ginger hauls her          own shirt up to expose her navel.          Brigitte swabs Ginger's


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           A WALK TOREMEMBER                            Screenplay by                            Karen Janszen                     Based on the novel by                        Nicholas Sparks       Noportion of this script may be performed, reproduced,       or used by any means, or quoted or published in any       medium without the prior written consent ofWarner Bros.                                             July 27, 2000WARNER BROS.                                 © 20004000 WarnerBoulevard                        WARNER BROS.Burbank, California 91522                    All Rights ReservedBLACKA young man'sV.O.:                         ADULT LANDON (V.O.)           I was born in Beaufort, North           Carolina. A place where the air           always smells of pineand salt and           sea.The voice is gentle. Slightly Southern in inflection.   Ayoung doctor's soothing manner.FADE IN:EXT. COASTAL NORTHCAROLINA (DECEMBER) (PRESENT)A vast view of the coastline in winter -- beaches, rivers,sea marshes, inlets -- ebbing andflowing.                         ADULT LANDON (V.O.)           For many, days and nights are           spent fishing Pamlico Sound or           crabbing the NeuseRiver.The CAMERA FINDS a small coastal town, edged by a harboron which fishermen toil.EXT. BEAUFORT, NORTH CAROLINA - MORNING(DECEMBER)The CAMERA, MOVING inland, CROSSES OVER modest housesdecked with plastic rooftop Santas...                         ADULT LANDON


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<TITLE>The Usual Suspects</TITLE>
The Usual SuspectsWritten ByChristopher McQuarrieProduced and Directed By Bryan SingerRevised, 05/25/94 White
Revised, 06/01/94 Blue
Revised, 06/07/94 Pink
Revised,06/11/94 Yellow
SCRIPT DATE 5/25/941 -BLACK     The lonely sound of a buoy bell in the distance. Water     slapping against a smooth,flat surface in rhythm. The     creaking of wood.     Off in the very far distance, one can make out the sound of     sirens.     SUDDENLY, a single match ignites andinvades the darkness. It     quivers for a moment. A dimly lit hand brings the rest of the     pack to the match. A plume of yellow-white flame flaresand     illuminates the battered face of DEAN KEATON, age forty. His     salty-gray hair is wet and matted. His face drips with water     or sweat. A large cut runsthe length of his face from the     corner of his eye to his chin. It bleeds freely. An un-lit     cigarette hangs in the corner of his mouth.     In the half-light we canmake out that he is on the deck of a     large boat. A yacht, perhaps, or a small freighter. He sits     with his back against the front bulkhead of the wheelhouse.     His legs are twisted at odd, almost impossible angles. He     looks down.     A thin trail of liquid runs past his feet and off into the     darkness. Keatonlights the cigarette on the burning pack of     matches before throwing them into the liquid.     The liquid IGNITES with a poof.     The flame runs up the stream,gaining in speed and intensity.     It begins to ripple and rumble as it runs down the deck     towards the


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       187
                by

          Scott Yagemann

       REVISED SHOOTINGDRAFT

         November 4, 1996

FOR EDUCATIONAL PURPOSES ONLY

    Rev.7/10/96

                             1   8   7

1   EXT. LOWER MANHATTAN SKYLINE - BROOKLYN BRIDGE - MORNING    1
    RUSHHOUR

    ON a pair of black Dexter penny loafers diligently
    pedaling an old Schwinn mountain bike. ADJUST ANGLE now
    to meet thebicyclist...

    He's African-American. Anywhere from 33 to 40. Wears
    wire-rim glasses, a fresh white oxford shirt, creased
    slacks and asolid green tie. An unobtrusive figure, at
    once familiar and yet undiscerning. The type you'd pass
    on a sidewalk and never even notice. He'sTREVOR GARFIELD.

    ADJUST ANGLE FURTHER now to reveal the upper promenade
    bike path and a dramatic view of Lower Manhattanbehind
    him. Morning sun glimmers off the Trade Center towers.

    Trevor's shadow skitters along the wooden path, 160 ft.
    above theEast River.

    A fat briefcase, strapped to the back of his bike, rocks
    back and forth as he pumps the pedals.

    FROM ABOVE now asweeping view of Trevor, alone on the
    bike path, a speck, suspended above a sea of rush hour
    traffic on the bridge below.

2   EXT.ATLANTIC AVENUE (BEDFORD STUYVESANT) - MORNING         2

    A wrought-iron train trestle covered with graffiti shakes
    as an "EL" TRAIN


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SWORDFISH         by     Skip Woods     January 2001Final Production DraftFOR EDUCATIONAL PURPOSESONLY1   BLACKNESS                                                     1    We hear OVER...                              GABRIEL(V.O.)                You know the problem with                Hollywood? They make shit.                Unbelievable, unremarkable shit.                I'm not somegrungy filmmaker-                wannabee searching for                existentialism through a haze of                bong-smoke. It's easy to pick                apart badacting, short-sighted                directing, or the purely moronic                stringing together of words many                of the studios term as prose.No,                I'm talking the lack of realism.                Realism. Not a pervasive element                in the modern Americancinematic                vision.    FADE IN:    INT. STARBUCKS COFFEE SHOP - MORNING    Three men sit at a window booth drinking coffeeand    talking. Two of the men sit on one side of the table;    STANLEY is in his early thirties, AGENT ROBERTS, early    forties. Both wear suits, the younger's isfairly    expensive and well cut, the other's is polyester, enough    said. The MAN across, however, is quite different. He    is what they used to call a"cool-cat."                              GABRIEL (MAN)                Take Dog Day Afternoon for                example. Arguably Pacino's                greatestperformance, excepting                The Godfather, Part I, and                Scarface, of course. A                masterpiece of directing, easily                Lumet's best.


ï»¿The Project Gutenberg EBook of Thuvia, Maid of Mars, by Edgar Rice BurroughsThis eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost norestrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away orre-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online atwww.gutenberg.netTitle: Thuvia, Maid of MarsAuthor: Edgar Rice BurroughsPosting Date: June 23, 2008 [EBook #72]Release Date: July, 1993First Posted:November 14, 2001[Last updated: October 10, 2012]Language: English*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THUVIA, MAID OF MARS ***Producedby Judith Boss and Charles Keller.  HTML version by Al Haines.Thuvia, Maid of MarsByEdgar Rice Burroughs             CONTENTS CHAPTER    I  Carthoris andThuvia   II  Slavery  III  Treachery   IV  A Green Man's Captive    V  The Fair Race   VI  The Jeddak of Lothar  VII  The Phantom Bowmen VIII  The Hall ofDoom   IX  The Battle in the Plain    X  Kar Komak, the Bowman   XI  Green Men and White Apes  XII  To Save Dusar XIII  Turjun, the Panthan  XIV  Kulan Tith'sSacrifice       Glossary of Names and TermsTHUVIA, MAID OF MARSCHAPTER ICARTHORIS AND THUVIAUpon a massive bench of polished ersite beneath thegorgeous bloomsof a giant pimalia a woman sat.  Her shapely, sandalled foot tappedimpatiently upon the jewel-strewn walk that wound beneath thestatelysorapus trees across the scarlet sward of the royal gardensof Thuvan Dihn, Jeddak of Ptarth, as a dark-haired, red-skinnedwarrior bent low toward her,whispering heated words close to herear."Ah, Thuvia of Ptarth," he cried, "you are cold even before thefiery blasts of my consuming love!  No harder than yourheart, norcolder is the hard, cold ersite of this thrice happy bench whichsupports your divine and fadeless form!  Tell me, O Thuvia ofPtarth, that I may stillhope--that though you do not love me now,yet some day, some day, my princess, I--"The girl sprang to her feet with an exclamation of surpriseanddispleasure.  Her queenly head was poised haughtily upon her smoothred shoulders.  Her dark eyes looked angrily into those of the man."You forget yourself,and the customs of Barsoom, Astok," she said."I have given you no right thus to address the daughter of ThuvanDihn, nor have you won such a right."The manreached suddenly forth and grasped her by the arm."You shall be my princess!" he cried.  "By the breast of Issus, thoushalt, nor shall any other come betweenAstok, Prince of Dusar,and his heart's desire.  Tell me that there is another, and I shallcut out his foul heart and fling it to the wild calots of thedeadsea-bottoms!"At touch of the man's hand upon her flesh the girl went pallidbeneath her coppery skin, for the persons of the royal women ofthe courts ofMars are held but little less than sacred.  The actof Astok, Prince of Dusar, was profanation.  There was no terrorin the eyes of Thuvia of Ptarth--only horror forthe thing the manhad done and for its possible consequences."Release me."  Her voice was level--frigid.The man muttered incoherently and drew her roughlytoward him."Release me!" she repeated sharply, "or I call the guard, and thePrince of Dusar knows what that will mean."Quickly he threw his right arm about hershoulders and strove todraw her face to his lips.  With a little cry she struck him fullin the mouth with the massive bracelets that circled her free arm."Calot!" sheexclaimed, and then:  "The guard!  The guard!  Hastenin protection of the Princess of Ptarth!"In answer to her call a dozen guardsmen came racing acrossthescarlet sward, their gleaming long-swords naked in the sun, themetal of their accoutrements clanking against that of their leathernharness, and in theirthroats hoarse shouts of rage at the sightwhich met their eyes.But before they had passed half across the royal garden to whereAstok of Dusar still held thestruggling girl in his grasp, anotherfigure sprang from a cluster of dense foliage that half hid a goldenfountain close at hand.  A tall, straight youth he was, withblackhair and keen grey eyes; broad of shoulder and narrow of hip; aclean-limbed fighting man.  His skin was but faintly tinged withthe copper colour that marksthe red men of Mars from the otherraces of the dying planet--he was like them, and yet there was asubtle difference greater even than that which lay in hislighterskin and his grey eyes.There was a difference, too, in his movements.  He came on in greatleaps that carried him so swiftly over the ground that thespeedof the guardsmen was as nothing by comparison.Astok still clutched Thuvia's wrist as the young warrior confrontedhim.  The new-comer wasted no timeand he spoke but a single word."Calot!" he snapped, and then his clenched fist landed beneath theother's chin, lifting him high into the air and depositing him inacrumpled heap within the centre of the pimalia bush beside theersite bench.Her champion turned toward the girl.  "Kaor, Thuvia of Ptarth!" hecried.  "It seemsthat fate timed my visit well.""Kaor, Carthoris of Helium!" the princess returned the young man'sgreeting, "and what less could one expect of the son of suchasire?"He bowed his acknowledgment of the compliment to his father, JohnCarter, Warlord of Mars.  And then the guardsmen, panting fromtheir charge, came upjust as the Prince of Dusar, bleeding at themouth, and with drawn sword, crawled from the entanglement of thepimalia.Astok would have leaped to mortal combatwith the son of DejahThoris, but the guardsmen pressed about him, preventing, though itwas clearly evident that naught would have better pleased CarthorisofHelium."But say the word, Thuvia of Ptarth," he begged, "and naught willgive me greater pleasure than meting to this fellow the punishmenthe has earned.""Itcannot be, Carthoris," she replied.  "Even though he has forfeitedall claim upon my consideration, yet is he the guest of the jeddak,my father, and to him alonemay he account for the unpardonableact he has committed.""As you say, Thuvia," replied the Heliumite.  "But afterward heshall account to Carthoris, Prince ofHelium, for this affront tothe daughter of my father's friend." As he spoke, though, thereburned in his eyes a fire that proclaimed a nearer, dearer causefor hischampionship of this glorious daughter of Barsoom.The maid's cheek darkened beneath the satin of her transparent skin,and the eyes of Astok, Prince of Dusar,darkened, too, as he readthat which passed unspoken between the two in the royal gardens ofthe jeddak."And thou to me," he snapped at Carthoris, answeringthe youngman's challenge.The guard still surrounded Astok.  It was a difficult position forthe young officer who commanded it.  His prisoner was the son ofamighty jeddak; he was the guest of Thuvan Dihn--until but now anhonoured guest upon whom every royal dignity had been showered.To arrest him forciblycould mean naught else than war, and yet hehad done that which in the eyes of the Ptarth warrior merited death.The young man hesitated.  He looked toward hisprincess.  She, too,guessed all that hung upon the action of the coming moment.  Formany years Dusar and Ptarth had been at peace with each other.Their greatmerchant ships plied back and forth between the largercities of the two nations.  Even now, far above the gold-shotscarlet dome of the jeddak's palace, she couldsee the huge bulkof a giant freighter taking its majestic way through the thinBarsoomian air toward the west and Dusar.By a word she might plunge these twomighty nations into a bloodyconflict that would drain them of their bravest blood and theirincalculable riches, leaving them all helpless against the inroadsof theirenvious and less powerful neighbors, and at last a preyto the savage green hordes of the dead sea-bottoms.No sense of fear influenced her decision, for fear isseldom knownto the children of Mars.  It was rather a sense of the responsibilitythat she, the daughter of their jeddak, felt for the welfare ofher father's people."Icalled you, Padwar," she said to the lieutenant of the guard,"to protect the person of your princess, and to keep the peacethat must not be violated within theroyal gardens of the jeddak.That is all.  You will escort me to the palace, and the Prince ofHelium will accompany me."Without another glance in the direction ofAstok she turned, andtaking Carthoris' proffered hand, moved slowly toward the massivemarble pile that housed the ruler of Ptarth and his glitteringcourt.  Oneither side marched a file of guardsmen.  Thus Thuviaof Ptarth found a way out of a dilemma, escaping the necessityof placing her father's royal guest underforcible restraint, andat the same time separating the two princes, who otherwise wouldhave been at each other's throat the moment she and the guardhaddeparted.Beside the pimalia stood Astok, his dark eyes narrowed to mere slitsof hate beneath his lowering brows as he watched the retreatingforms of thewoman who had aroused the fiercest passions of hisnature and the man whom he now believed to be the one who stoodbetween his love and itsconsummation.As they disappeared within the structure Astok shrugged his shoulders,and with a murmured oath crossed the gardens toward another wingof thebuilding where he and his retinue were housed.That night he took formal leave of Thuvan Dihn, and though nomention was made of the happening within thegarden, it was plainto see through the cold mask of the jeddak's courtesy that onlythe customs of royal hospitality restrained him from voicing thecontempt hefelt for the Prince of Dusar.Carthoris was not present at the leave-taking, nor was Thuvia.  Theceremony was as stiff and formal as court etiquette could makeit,and when the last of the Dusarians clambered over the rail of thebattleship that had brought them upon this fateful visit to thecourt of Ptarth, and the mightyengine of destruction had risenslowly from the ways of the landing-stage, a note of relief wasapparent in the voice of Thuvan Dihn as he turned to one ofhisofficers with a word of comment upon a subject foreign to thatwhich had been uppermost in the minds of all for hours.But, after all, was it so foreign?"InformPrince Sovan," he directed, "that it is our wish that thefleet which departed for Kaol this morning be recalled to cruiseto the west of Ptarth."As the warship,bearing Astok back to the court of his father,turned toward the west, Thuvia of Ptarth, sitting upon the samebench where the Prince of Dusar had affronted her,watched thetwinkling lights of the craft growing smaller in the distance.Beside her, in the brilliant light of the nearer moon, sat Carthoris.His eyes were not uponthe dim bulk of the battleship, but on theprofile of the girl's upturned face."Thuvia," he whispered.The girl turned her eyes toward his.  His hand stole out tofindhers, but she drew her own gently away."Thuvia of Ptarth, I love you!" cried the young warrior.  "Tell methat it does not offend."She shook her headsadly.  "The love of Carthoris of Helium," shesaid simply, "could be naught but an honour to any woman; but youmust not speak, my friend, of bestowing uponme that which I maynot reciprocate."The young man got slowly to his feet.  His eyes were wide inastonishment.  It never had occurred to the Prince of HeliumthatThuvia of Ptarth might love another."But at Kadabra!" he exclaimed.  "And later here at your father'scourt, what did you do, Thuvia of Ptarth, that might have


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                                  MACHINE GUNPREACHER                                                                                Written by                                     JasonKeller                                                            based on the life of SamChilders                                                                                FINAL SHOOTINGDRAFT                                                                                9/30/2010          This is true...          EXT. VILLAGE - NIGHT -(2003)                                   The night is stillborn.                                   Without sound or movement and nothing is in definition. All we see          aredegrees of blackness in this unlit world. The vague impressions          of an African village in the void... a ragged line of tukuls (straw          huts)... a bicyclepropped against a mud wall... a soccer ball in          the dirt...                                   INT. TUKUL - NIGHT                                   And we find aSudanese family asleep on reed mats. A mother, father          and their two boys. The younger boy we'll come to know as "WILLIAM"          (9). His older brother"CHRISTOPHER" (12) curled next to him.                                   EXT. VILLAGE - NIGHT                                   And slowly the blackness begins to


ï»¿                             THE SQUAW MANThis ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States andmost other parts of the world at no cost and withalmost no restrictionswhatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the termsof the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or onlineathttp://www.gutenberg.org/license. If you are not located in the UnitedStates, youâll have to check the laws of the country where you arelocated beforeusing this ebook.Title: The Squaw ManAuthor: Julie Opp FavershamRelease Date: August 14, 2016 [EBook #52804]Language: EnglishCharacter set encoding:UTF-8*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SQUAW MAN ***Produced by Al Haines.[Illustration: Cover art][Illustration: "âBIGFATHERâSEND FOR LITTLE HALâHAL SEE THE RISING SUNâ"See page 250]                            *The Squaw Man*                               *ANovel*                                  *By                          Julie Opp Faversham*                       *Adapted from the Play by                          Edwin MiltonRoyle*                                New York                            Grosset & Dunlap                               Publishers            Published by arrangement with Harper &Brothers                 Copyright, 1906, by HARPER & BROTHERS.                         _All rights reserved._                       Published December,1906.                                   TO                           WILLIAM FAVERSHAM                            *ILLUSTRATIONS*"THE SQUAW MAN" . . . Cover Inlay"âBIGFATHERâSEND FOR LITTLE HALâHAL SEE THE RISING SUNâ" . . .Frontispiece"ALMOST AS ONE MAN THEY THRUST THEIR REVOLVERS INTOBUDâS FACE""SHE DREW HERSELF UP CLOSE TO HIM, AND SAID âME KILL âUMâ""âYES, DIANA. MY BOYâMY SONâ"_The illustrationsin this book are reproduced from photographs ofscenes in the play, made by Hallâs Studio, New York; the cover inlay byMorrison,Chicago._                                 *HOME*                            *THE SQUAW MAN*                              *CHAPTER I*It was Jimâs last day at home.  He stood inthe centre of the fragrantgarden and watched the glory of color suffusing the Surrey hills towardsthe west.  With a sigh he turned away and walked to thehouse."Whereâs Diana?" he called, as he came from the garden through thecasement-window of the library."Dianaâwhy, sheâs in bed an hour ago, Ishould hope," replied his aunt,Lady Elizabeth Kerhill. "She and Mabel went with Bates to see thedecorations and then said good-night.  Surely you didnâtexpect me toallow the children to stay up for the ball?"Mabel was her daughter; Diana Marjoribanks was a young girl of thirteen,who had come to visit her."Poorimps! they were so excited all day, and followed me about thegun-room where I was doing some packing.  They wanted me to coax you toallow them to see theball, and the tenantry welcome Henry to-night."Lady Kerhill elevated her eyebrows in questioning amazement at Jim, asshe nervously twisted the lace of hergown, and with an impatientgesture motioned the subject aside.  She was a tall, angular woman, witha profile like the head on a bronze coin; there was asuggestion of theeagle in her personality, and by her friends she was likened to thefamous Sarah Churchill, the first Duchess of Marlborough.To-night her faceshowed that anxious thoughts were crowding in on heras she apprehensively watched the big, carved oak door leading into thehall. Jim knew his auntâsfirmness of character, and as silence followedhis words, he feared further discussion was useless; but the wistfulfaces of the children at tea-time in the nursery,as they coaxed him toplead for them to see the fun, made him venture a final appeal."You know, Aunt, Sir Charles brought Di over to stay with Mabel so thatshemight see the festivities and incidentally say good-bye to me, soyou might turn angel and let Diana dance once with me at the verybeginning of the ball.  Ishaânât see my little playfellow for ages, youknow."A sound from outside held Lady Elizabethâs attention more intently thanJimâs pleadingwords.  He crossed to her in the window-enclosure andlaid his hand caressingly on her shoulder."The Colonel wired me that we were leaving Paddington at nineto-morrowmorning, and India is a long way off, Auntie mine.""Nonsense," answered Lady Elizabeth, as she rose from the deepwindow-seat.  "You are almosttwenty, and Diana is only a babeâisnâtshe, Henry?"  She glanced up and appealed to the young man who rathernoisily entered the library."Whoâs ababe?  Diana?  Why, mater, sheâs a little witch, and I promisedher Iâd let her see the illuminations at ten and then old Burrow shouldcarry her off tobed."Henry Wynnegate, seventh Earl of Kerhill, dropped into a great settleclose to the fire.  The ball was for the tenantry in celebration of hisreturn, after fiveyearsâ absence with his regiment.  He was a tall,heavy-set young soldier of seven-and-twenty, with the famous Wynnegatebeauty, but it was marred by theshifting expression of his ratherdeep-set eyes and the heavy lines about his mouth.  Self was his god: itshowed in every expression of his face and in every actionof his life.Jim Wynnegate, his cousin, the son of the younger brother of the lateEarl, Henryâs father, turned from the window as Henry entered.  In theyoungboyâs faceâfor he seemed younger than his yearsâone could easilytrace the family resemblance; but Jim, with his great, clean spiritshining in hishonest gray eyes, invited confidence and won it, from amongrel dog to a superior officer.  He was taller than Henry, and asslim as a young sapling.  The delicate,sensitive mouth was balanced bya strong chin.In the oak-lined room, grown almost black with age, the candle-lightsflickering in the heavy brass sconces, stoodthese three lastdescendants of a great family. The Earlâs brother, Dick Wynnegate, hadrun away with the daughter of an impecunious colonel.  A fewyearslater, while on service in India, he was shot, and the young wife livedonly to bring the tiny boy Jim home and to leave him with herhusbandâsbrother.  Even then the fortunes of the Wynnegates were somewhatimpaired, but the old Earl had taken the boy to his heart, and on hisdeath hadconfided him to his wife to share their fortune with his sonHenry.  His last words were, "Be good to poor Dickâs boy."  The estateswere entailed, so noprovision could be made by him for Jim, but LadyKerhill, in her cold, just fashion, had tried to make Dickâs boy happy.Deep in his heart, Jim remembered theyears that followed; rememberedthe selfish domination of the elder boy; remembered the blind adorationof his aunt for her son, the bearer of the torch, who wasto carry onthe golden light of the house of Kerhill.  In the Anglo-Saxon idolatryof the Countess of Kerhill for the male of the family, all the oldtraditions and beliefswere justified.  Her boyâ-the man-child who wasto be the head of the houseâwas her obsession. The tiny, flower-likegirl who came shortly before herhusbandâs death, learned soon to turnto Cousin Jim for comfort when her brother carelessly crushed her littlejoys, as he selfishly planned and fought for hisown gratification.Instinctively Jim watched his aunt, who, at Henryâs word, had started tomove towards him."Of course, if you care to go and fetch Diana, Ishall be happy," LadyKerhill said.Henry lounged back in his chair.  "Well, if I forget, Jim can rememberfor meâeh, Jim?"Lady Kerhillâs face became graveas she leaned over Henryâs chair andclosely studied the flushed face.  She found there confirmation of thefear that had preyed on her mind for the pasthalf-hour."Oh, Henry, youâve broken your word," she whispered.The reckless challenge of Henryâs dark eyes as he moved impatiently inhis chair was hisonly answer. Then in a burst of ill-concealedresentment he rose: "Donât nag, mother."He swayed slightly as he crossed to the open casement. As Jim turnedtohim, he sullenly pushed him aside."And donât you preach," he muttered, as he started for the garden.Jim quickly caught him by the shoulder, "Pull yourselftogether, Henry.Itâs eight oâclock and the people are gathering in the park."Henryâs only reply was a snarl as he disappeared in the shadow ofthetrees.The broad window opened level on an Old World garden that led into thegreat park beyond.  The late twilight of the July night was bathing parkandgarden in a curious, unearthly light which made strange spectres ofthe slowly waving yew-trees.  The scent of the rose-bushes, the call ofthe late nightingale tohis mate, and the ghostly sundial,sentinel-like, guarding the old place, made a fitting environment forMaudsley Towers.On a slight hill beyond the park, Jim couldsee the ruins of the famousNorman church.  To the right, at the farther end of the garden, was theFairiesâ Corner. There among the trees the fairies of thefield weresupposed to sleep, and to listen to and grant the requests of thechildren, who had the courage to venture to them at even-tide.  Jimâsthoughts werebusy to-night; all the old memories seemed to tug at hisheartstrings.He had carried Diana Marjoribanks there on her first visit to theTowers.  She was six thenand he was twelve.  She had clung to him andhid her head on his shoulderâthe tiny body had stiffened with fearâasthey made their way to the darkenclosure of the trees.  He could stillhear her prayer."Dear Fairy, please make Henry kinder to poor Jim, poor Mabel, and poorme!"Even then, Henry had been thelittle tyrant of the Towers.And yet to-night Henryâs wish, as of old, was law to his mother.  Sheconceded Diana to him at his first careless request, although inallprobability he would forget the longing child in the nurseryâforget hispromise to give her pleasure, as he had forgotten so often when he was aboy.Jimroused himself; as he turned to Lady Elizabeth he caught a glimpseof her with the mask off, the bitter disappointment of the motherâsheart showing in everyline of her proud face.  He crossed to her, butthe sound of carriage-wheels turning into the driveway heralded theapproach of the first arrivals, and before Jimcould speak the doorswere thrown open to the guests.Lady Elizabeth gave one look of appeal to Jim. It said: "Help Henry andme!"Up-stairs in the right wing ofthe old house, a tall, slender childcrouched close to the nursery window. She had crept from her cot, and,wrapped in a coverlet, waited, and clung to the beliefthat Henry wouldcome for her.  Jim had said he would try, but Henry had promised.  Shewas old enough to know that what Henry desired he obtained.  Herlittleface was pressed closer and closer to the window as she listened to theswelling music and saw the guests thronging towards the park.  Carriageafter carriagebrought its load of finery, until the child fancied thatthe entire county must be gathered below.  She could see through theclimbing roses down into the library,which jutted out at a sharp anglealmost opposite to the nursery window.  But of Jim or Henry she couldcatch no glimpse.The stars began to creep out and blink atthe tiny figure in thewindow-seat.  Gradually the entire house grew quiet.  Allâeven theservantsâhad joined the revelry in the park.The music crashed


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                    HOWTO LOSE FRIENDS AND ALIENATE PEOPLE                                                          Written by                              PeterStraughan                                               09/05/07 SHOOTING SCRIPT         FADE IN:                                   1 TV SCREEN - BLACKAND WHITE MOVIE 1           ...British, fifties, a melodrama. We're looking at an           ACTRESS - glamorous, young - but very much in theback           ground of the scene - a secretary typing at her desk.                          REVERSE           A YOUNG BOY sits watching the film, his clothes andthe           room around him telling us this is England in the 1960s. He           is staring raptly at the actress.           SIDNEY (V.O.)           All my lifeI've been a Looky-           Loo.                          DISSOLVE TO:                                   2 INT. GOLDEN GLOBES AWARDS - EVENING2                          SLOW-MOTION           We are CLOSE on an extremely handsome YOUNG MAN staring           past us with a dazzlingsmile.           SIDNEY (V.O.)           My name's Sidney Young. I'm a           journalist...a hack. (Beat) Yeah,           that...that isn't me.           We PANright and down to our hero - SIDNEY YOUNG -           thirties, an odd-ball with a knack for getting people to           dislike him.           SIDNEY (CONT'D)(V.O.) (CONT'D)           This is me at the Golden Globe           Awards in L.A. this year. That's           my Armani tuxedo. That's a Rolex           Sea-Dweller


ï»¿The Project Gutenberg EBook of A King, and No Kingby Francis Beaumont and John FletcherThis eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost andwithalmost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away orre-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook oronline at www.gutenberg.netTitle: A King, and No KingAuthor: Francis Beaumont and John FletcherRelease Date: May 10, 2004 [EBook #12312]Language:English*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A KING, AND NO KING ***Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Jayam Subramanian and PGDistributedProofreadersA KING, AND NO KING.By Francis Beaumont and John FletcherPersons Represented in the Play.Arbaces, _King_  of Iberia.Tigranes, _Kingof_  Armenia.Gobrias, _Lord Protector, and Father of_  Arbaces.Bacurius, _another Lord_.Mardonius.)Bessus,  ) _Two Captains_Ligo[n]es, _Fatherof_  Spaconia._Two Gentlemen_._Three Men and a Woman_.Philip, _a servant, and two Citizens Wives_._A Messenger_._A Servant to_  Bacurius._TwoSword-men_._A Boy_.Arane,  ) _The [Queen-Mother_.Panthea,) _Her Daughter_.Spaconia,) _A Lady Daughter of_  LigonesMandane,) _A waiting woman, andother attendants_.       *       *       *       *       *_Actus primus. Scena prima_.       *       *       *       *       *_Enter_  Mardonius _and_  Bessus, _TwoCaptains_._Mar_.  _Bessus_, the King has made a fair hand on't, he has ended the  Wars at a blow, would my sword had a close basket hilt to hold  Wine, andthe blade would make knives, for we shall have nothing  but eating and drinking._Bes_.  We that are Commanders shall do well enough._Mar_.  Faith _Bessus_,such Commanders as thou may; I had as lieve set  thee Perdue for a pudding i'th' dark, as _Alexander_  the Great._Bes_.  I love these jestsexceedingly._Mar_.  I think thou lov'st 'em better than quarrelling _Bessus_, I'le  say so much i'thy behalf, and yet thou 'rt valiant enough upon a  retreat, I thinkthou wouldst kill any man that stopt thee if  thou couldst._Bes_.  But was not this a brave Combate _Mardonius_?_Mar_.  Why, didst thou see't?_Bes_.  Youstood wi'me._Mar_.  I did so, but me thought thou wink'dst every blow they strook._Bes_.  Well, I believe there are better souldiers than I, that never saw  twoPrinces fight in lists._Mar_.  By my troth I think so too _Bessus_, many a thousand, but  certainly all that are worse than thou have seen as much._Bes_.  'Twasbravely done of our King._Mar_.  Yes, if he had not ended the wars: I'me glad thou dar'st talk of  such dangerous businesses._Bes_.  To take a Prince prisoner inthe heart of's own Country in single  combat._Mar_.  See how thy blood curdles at this, I think thou couldst be  contented to be beaten i'this passion._Bes_.  ShallI tell you truly?_Mar_.  I._Bes_.  I could willingly venture for't._Mar_.  Um, no venture neither _Bessus_._Bes_.  Let me not live, if I do not think 'tis a braverpiece of service  than that I'me so fam'd for._Mar_.  Why, art thou fam'd for any valour?_Bes_.  Fam'd! I, I warrant you._Mar_.  I'me e'en heartily glad on't, Ihave been with thee e're since  thou cam'st to th'wars, and this is the first word that ever I  heard on't, prethee who fames thee._Bes_.  The Christianworld._Mar_.  'Tis heathenishly done of'em in my conscience, thou deserv'st it  not._Bes_.  Yes, I ha' don good service._Mar_.  I do not know how thou maystwait of a man in's Chamber, or thy  agility of shifting of a Trencher, but otherwise no service good  _Bessus_._Bes_.  You saw me do the service yourself._Mar_.  Not so hasty sweet _Bessus_, where was it, is the placevanish'd?_Bes_.  At _Bessus_  desp'rate redemption._Mar_.  At _Bessus_  desp'rateredemption, where's that?_Bes_.  There where I redeem'd the day, the place bears my name._Mar_.  Pray thee, who Christened it?_Bes_.  TheSouldiers._Mar_.  If I were not a very merrily dispos'd man, what would become of  thee? one that had but a grain of choler in the whole composition  of hisbody, would send thee of an errand to the worms for  putting thy name upon that field: did not I beat thee there i'th'  head o'th' Troops with a Trunchion, becausethou wouldst needs  run away with thy company, when we should charge the enemy?_Bes_.  True, but I did not run._Mar_.  Right _Bessus_, I beat thee outon't._Bes_.  But came I not up when the day was gone, and redeem'dall?_Mar_.  Thou knowest, and so do I, thou meanedst to flie, and thy fear  making theemistake, thou ranst upon the enemy, and a hot charge  thou gav'st, as I'le do thee right, thou art furious in running  away, and I think, we owe thy fear for ourvictory; If I were the  King, and were sure thou wouldst mistake alwaies and run away  upon th' enemy, thou shouldst be General by this light._Bes_.  You'l neverleave this till I fall foul._Mar_.  No more such words dear _Bessus_, for though I have ever known  thee a coward, and therefore durst never strike thee, yet ifthou  proceedest, I will allow thee valiant, and beat thee._Bes_.  Come, our King's a brave fellow._Mar_.  He is so _Bessus_, I wonder how thou cam'st to knowit. But if  thou wer't a man of understanding, I would tell thee, he is  vain-glorious, and humble, and angry, and patient, and merry and  dull, and joyful andsorrowful in extremity in an hour: Do not  think me thy friend for this, for if I ear'd who knew it, thou  shouldst not hear it _Bessus_. Here he is with his prey inhis  foot._Enter &c. Senet Flourish_._Enter_  Arbaces _and_  Tigranes, _Two Kings and two Gentlemen_._Arb_.  Thy sadness brave _Tigranes_  takesaway  From my full victory, am I become  Of so small fame, that any man should grieve  When I o'recome him? They that plac'd me here,  Intended it an honourlarge enough, (though he  For the most valiant living, but to dare oppose me single,  Lost the day. What should afflict you, you are as free as I,  To be myprisoner, is to be more free  Than you were formerly, and never think  The man I held worthy to combate me  Shall be us'd servilely: Thy ransom is  To take myonly Sister to thy Wife.  A heavy one _Tigranes_, for she is  A Lady, that the neighbour Princes send  Blanks to fetch home. I have been too unkind  To her_Tigranes_, she but nine years old  I left her, and ne're saw her since, your wars  Have held me long and taught me though a youth,  The way to victory, she wasa pretty child,  Then I was little better, but now fame  Cries loudly on her, and my messengers  Make me believe she is a miracle;  She'l make you shrink, as Idid, with a stroak  But of her eye _Tigranes_._Tigr_.  Is't the course of _Iberia_  to use their prisoners thus?  Had fortune thrown my name above _Arbace_,  Ishould not thus have talk'd Sir, in _Armenia_  We hold it base, you should have kept your temper  Till you saw home again, where 'tis the fashion  Perhaps tobrag._Arb_.  Be you my witness earth, need I to brag,  Doth not this captive Prince speak  Me sufficiently, and all the acts  That I have wrought upon his sufferingLand;  Should I then boast! where lies that foot of ground  Within his whole Realm, that I have not past,  Fighting and conquering; Far then from me  Beostentation. I could tell the world  How I have laid his Kingdom desolate  By this sole Arm prop't by divinity,  Stript him out of his glories, and have sent  Thepride of all his youth to people graves,  And made his Virgins languish for their Loves,  If I would brag, should I that have the power  To teach the Neighbourworld humility,  Mix with vain-glory?_Mar_.  Indeed this is none._Arb.  _Tigranes_, Nay did I but take delight  To stretch my deeds as others do, on words,  Icould amaze my hearers._Mar_.So you do._Arb_.  But he shall wrong his and my modesty,  That thinks me apt to boast after any act  Fit for a good man to doupon his foe.  A little glory in a souldiers mouth  Is well-becoming, be it far from vain._Mar_.  'Tis pity that valour should be thus drunk._Arb_.  I offer you mySister, and you answer  I do insult, a Lady that no suite  Nor treasure, nor thy Crown could purchase thee,  But that thou fought'st with me._Tigr_.  Though thisbe worse  Than that you spake before, it strikes me not;  But that you think to overgrace me with  The marriage of your Sister, troubles me.  I would give worldsfor ransoms were they mine,  Rather than have her._Arb_.  See if I insult  That am the Conquerour, and for a ransom  Offer rich treasure to theConquered,  Which he refuses, and I bear his scorn:  It cannot be self-flattery to say,  The Daughters of your Country set by her,  Would see their shame, runhome and blush to death,  At their own foulness; yet she is not fair,  Nor beautiful, those words express her not,  They say her looks have somethingexcellent,  That wants a name: yet were she odious,  Her birth deserves the Empire of the world,  Sister to such a brother, that hath ta'ne  Victory prisoner, andthroughout the earth,  Carries her bound, and should he let her loose,  She durst not leave him; Nature did her wrong,  To Print continual conquest on hercheeks,  And make no man worthy for her to taste  But me that am too near her, and as strangely  She did for me, but you will think I brag._Mar_.  I do I'le besworn. Thy valour and thy passions sever'd, would  have made two excellent fellows in their kinds: I know not  whether I should be sorry thou art so valiant, orso passionate,  wou'd one of 'em were away._Tigr_.  Do I refuse her that I doubt her worth?  Were she as vertuous as she would be thought,  So perfect that noone of her own sex  Could find a want, had she so tempting fair,  That she could wish it off for damning souls,  I would pay any ransom, twenty lives  Rather thanmeet her married in my bed.  Perhaps I have a love, where I have fixt  Mine eyes not to be mov'd, and she on me,  I am not fickle._Arb_.  Is that all thecause?  Think you, you can so knit your self in love  To any other, that her searching sight  Cannot dissolve it? So before you tri'd,  You thought your self a matchfor me in [f]ight,  Trust me _Tigranes_, she can do as much  In peace, as I in war, she'l conquer too,  You shall see if you have the power to stand  The force ofher swift looks, if you dislike,  I'le send you home with love, and name your ransom  Some other way, but if she be your choice,  She frees you: To _Iberia_  youmust._Tigr_.  Sir, I have learn'd a prisoners sufferance,  And will obey, but give me leave to talk  In private with some friends before I go._Arb_.  Some to awaithim forth, and see him safe,  But let him freely send for whom he please,  And none dare to disturb his conference,  I will not have him know what bondageis,                                           [_Exit Tigranes_.  Till he be free from me. This Prince, _Mardonius_,  Is full of wisdom, valour, all the graces  Man canreceive._Mar_.   And yet you conquer'd him._Arb_.  And yet I conquer'd him, and could have don't  Hadst thou joyn'd with him, though thy name in Arms  Begreat; must all men that are vertuous  Think suddenly to match themselves with me?  I conquered him and bravely, did I not?_Bes_.  And please your Majesty, Iwas afraid at first._Mar_.   When wert thou other?_Arb_.  Of what?_Bes_.  That you would not have spy'd your best advantages, for your  Majesty in my opinionlay too high, methinks, under favour, you  should have lain thus._Mar_.  Like a Taylor at a wake._Bes_.  And then, if please your Majesty to remember, at one