prompt:
Chapter: Actus Primus, Scaena Prima.

Enter King Richard, Iohn of Gaunt, with other Nobles and
Attendants.

  King Richard. Old Iohn of Gaunt, time-honoured Lancaster,
Hast thou according to thy oath and band
Brought hither Henry Herford thy bold son:
Heere to make good y boistrous late appeale,
Which then our leysure would not let vs heare,
Against the Duke of Norfolke, Thomas Mowbray?
  Gaunt. I haue my Liege

   King. Tell me moreouer, hast thou sounded him,
If he appeale the Duke on ancient malice,
Or worthily as a good subiect should
On some knowne ground of treacherie in him

   Gaunt. As neere as I could sift him on that argument,
On some apparant danger seene in him,
Aym'd at your Highnesse, no inueterate malice

   Kin. Then call them to our presence face to face,
And frowning brow to brow, our selues will heare
Th' accuser, and the accused, freely speake;
High stomack'd are they both, and full of ire,
In rage, deafe as the sea; hastie as fire.
Enter Bullingbrooke and Mowbray.

  Bul. Many yeares of happy dayes befall
My gracious Soueraigne, my most louing Liege

   Mow. Each day still better others happinesse,
Vntill the heauens enuying earths good hap,
Adde an immortall title to your Crowne

   King. We thanke you both, yet one but flatters vs,
As well appeareth by the cause you come,
Namely, to appeale each other of high treason.
Coosin of Hereford, what dost thou obiect
Against the Duke of Norfolke, Thomas Mowbray?
  Bul. First, heauen be the record to my speech,
In the deuotion of a subiects loue,
Tendering the precious safetie of my Prince,
And free from other misbegotten hate,
Come I appealant to this Princely presence.
Now Thomas Mowbray do I turne to thee,
And marke my greeting well: for what I speake,
My body shall make good vpon this earth,
Or my diuine soule answer it in heauen.
Thou art a Traitor, and a Miscreant;
Too good to be so, and too bad to liue,
Since the more faire and christall is the skie,
The vglier seeme the cloudes that in it flye:
Once more, the more to aggrauate the note,
With a foule Traitors name stuffe I thy throte,
And wish (so please my Soueraigne) ere I moue,
What my tong speaks, my right drawn sword may proue
  Mow. Let not my cold words heere accuse my zeale:
'Tis not the triall of a Womans warre,
The bitter clamour of two eager tongues,
Can arbitrate this cause betwixt vs twaine:
The blood is hot that must be cool'd for this.
Yet can I not of such tame patience boast,
As to be husht, and nought at all to say.
First the faire reuerence of your Highnesse curbes mee,
From giuing reines and spurres to my free speech,
Which else would post, vntill it had return'd
These tearmes of treason, doubly downe his throat.
Setting aside his high bloods royalty,
And let him be no Kinsman to my Liege,
I do defie him, and I spit at him,
Call him a slanderous Coward, and a Villaine:
Which to maintaine, I would allow him oddes,
And meete him, were I tide to runne afoote,
Euen to the frozen ridges of the Alpes,
Or any other ground inhabitable,
Where euer Englishman durst set his foote.
Meane time, let this defend my loyaltie,
By all my hopes most falsely doth he lie

   Bul. Pale trembling Coward, there I throw my gage,
Disclaiming heere the kindred of a King,
And lay aside my high bloods Royalty,
Which feare, not reuerence makes thee to except.
If guilty dread hath left thee so much strength,
As to take vp mine Honors pawne, then stoope.
By that, and all the rites of Knight-hood else,
Will I make good against thee arme to arme,
What I haue spoken, or thou canst deuise

   Mow. I take it vp, and by that sword I sweare,
Which gently laid my Knight-hood on my shoulder,
Ile answer thee in any faire degree,
Or Chiualrous designe of knightly triall:
And when I mount, aliue may I not light,
If I be Traitor, or vniustly fight

   King. What doth our Cosin lay to Mowbraies charge?
It must be great that can inherite vs,
So much as of a thought of ill in him

   Bul. Looke what I said, my life shall proue it true,
That Mowbray hath receiu'd eight thousand Nobles,
In name of lendings for your Highnesse Soldiers,
The which he hath detain'd for lewd employments,
Like a false Traitor, and iniurious Villaine.
Besides I say, and will in battaile proue,
Or heere, or elsewhere to the furthest Verge
That euer was suruey'd by English eye,
That all the Treasons for these eighteene yeeres
Complotted, and contriued in this Land,
Fetch'd from false Mowbray their first head and spring.
Further I say, and further will maintaine
Vpon his bad life, to make all this good.
That he did plot the Duke of Glousters death,
Suggest his soone beleeuing aduersaries,
And consequently, like a Traitor Coward,
Sluc'd out his innocent soule through streames of blood:
Which blood, like sacrificing Abels cries,
(Euen from the toonglesse cauernes of the earth)
To me for iustice, and rough chasticement:
And by the glorious worth of my discent,
This arme shall do it, or this life be spent

   King. How high a pitch his resolution soares:
Thomas of Norfolke, what sayest thou to this?
  Mow. Oh let my Soueraigne turne away his face,
And bid his eares a little while be deafe,
Till I haue told this slander of his blood,
How God, and good men, hate so foule a lyar

   King. Mowbray, impartiall are our eyes and eares,
Were he my brother, nay our kingdomes heyre,
As he is but my fathers brothers sonne;
Now by my Scepters awe, I make a vow,
Such neighbour-neerenesse to our sacred blood,
Should nothing priuiledge him, nor partialize
The vn-stooping firmenesse of my vpright soule.
He is our subiect (Mowbray) so art thou,
Free speech, and fearelesse, I to thee allow

   Mow. Then Bullingbrooke, as low as to thy heart,
Through the false passage of thy throat; thou lyest:
Three parts of that receipt I had for Callice,
Disburst I to his Highnesse souldiers;
The other part reseru'd I by consent,
For that my Soueraigne Liege was in my debt,
Vpon remainder of a deere Accompt,
Since last I went to France to fetch his Queene:
Now swallow downe that Lye. For Glousters death,
I slew him not; but (to mine owne disgrace)
Neglected my sworne duty in that case:
For you my noble Lord of Lancaster,
The honourable Father to my foe,
Once I did lay an ambush for your life,
A trespasse that doth vex my greeued soule:
But ere I last receiu'd the Sacrament,
I did confesse it, and exactly begg'd
Your Graces pardon, and I hope I had it.
This is my fault: as for the rest appeal'd,
It issues from the rancour of a Villaine,
A recreant, and most degenerate Traitor,
Which in my selfe I boldly will defend,
And interchangeably hurle downe my gage
Vpon this ouer-weening Traitors foote,
To proue my selfe a loyall Gentleman,
Euen in the best blood chamber'd in his bosome.
In hast whereof, most heartily I pray
Your Highnesse to assigne our Triall day

   King. Wrath-kindled Gentlemen be rul'd by me:
Let's purge this choller without letting blood:
This we prescribe, though no Physition,
Deepe malice makes too deepe incision.
Forget, forgiue, conclude, and be agreed,
Our Doctors say, This is no time to bleed.
Good Vnckle, let this end where it begun,
Wee'l calme the Duke of Norfolke; you, your son

   Gaunt. To be a make-peace shall become my age,
Throw downe (my sonne) the Duke of Norfolkes gage

   King. And Norfolke, throw downe his

   Gaunt. When Harrie when? Obedience bids,
Obedience bids I should not bid agen

   King. Norfolke, throw downe, we bidde; there is
no boote

   Mow. My selfe I throw (dread Soueraigne) at thy foot.
My life thou shalt command, but not my shame,
The one my dutie owes, but my faire name
Despight of death, that liues vpon my graue
To darke dishonours vse, thou shalt not haue.
I am disgrac'd, impeach'd, and baffel'd heere,
Pierc'd to the soule with slanders venom'd speare:
The which no balme can cure, but his heart blood
Which breath'd this poyson

   King. Rage must be withstood:
Giue me his gage: Lyons make Leopards tame

   Mo. Yea, but not change his spots: take but my shame,
And I resigne my gage. My deere, deere Lord,
The purest treasure mortall times afford
Is spotlesse reputation: that away,
Men are but gilded loame, or painted clay.
A Iewell in a ten times barr'd vp Chest,
Is a bold spirit, in a loyall brest.
Mine Honor is my life; both grow in one:
Take Honor from me, and my life is done.
Then (deere my Liege) mine Honor let me trie,
In that I liue; and for that will I die

   King. Coosin, throw downe your gage,
Do you begin

   Bul. Oh heauen defend my soule from such foule sin.
Shall I seeme Crest-falne in my fathers sight,
Or with pale beggar-feare impeach my hight
Before this out-dar'd dastard? Ere my toong,
Shall wound mine honor with such feeble wrong;
Or sound so base a parle: my teeth shall teare
The slauish motiue of recanting feare,
And spit it bleeding in his high disgrace,
Where shame doth harbour, euen in Mowbrayes face.

Exit Gaunt.

  King. We were not borne to sue, but to command,
Which since we cannot do to make you friends,
Be readie, (as your liues shall answer it)
At Couentree, vpon S[aint]. Lamberts day:
There shall your swords and Lances arbitrate
The swelling difference of your setled hate:
Since we cannot attone you, you shall see
Iustice designe the Victors Chiualrie.
Lord Marshall, command our Officers at Armes,
Be readie to direct these home Alarmes.

Exeunt.

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: At Windsor Castle, Richard II just wants to chill out and enjoy the benefits of being a king who everyone thinks has been handpicked by God to rule England. But he can't relax because two seriously angry noblemen have arrived at the castle and want him to play Judge Judy. The angry noblemen are Henry Bolingbroke and Mowbray. Richard invites them in and asks what the problem is. Bolingbroke and Mowbray are pretty formal here - they bow down to the king and proceed to do a lot of brown-nosing. Richard's not having it. He orders each one to give his side. Things heat up pretty quickly. Bolingbroke and Mowbray immediately start to hurl a lot of nasty accusations and creative insults at each other, which sound a lot like this: Bolingbroke: I'm officially accusing you of being a traitor, Mowbray! And if I could, I'd stuff my words down your throat. Mowbray: You talk a lot of trash, Bolingbroke. And by the way, talking trash is for girls who fight with words because they can't fight with swords, which is why I'm not going to do it. But, if I were going to talk smack, I'd say that you're a "slanderous coward and a villain." Bolingbroke: Don't worry, Mowbray - I'll put my money where my mouth is. In fact, I'm going to get medieval on you with my sword. In the middle of all this trash talk, Bolingbroke throws down his "gage" , an official challenge to throwdown. Mowbray reaches down and picks up the gage. Challenge accepted. Finally we find out what all the fuss is about. Bolingbroke accuses Mowbray of stealing a bunch of money from the crown and plotting against the kingdom. Then Bolingbroke gets to the good stuff: he accuses Mowbray of killing Richard's uncle, Thomas of Woodstock, the Duke of Gloucester . Mowbray is pretty adamant that he's not a thief or a traitor, but he waffles when it comes to whether or not he's responsible for Gloucester's death. Mowbray doesn't want to look like a wimp, so he throws down his gage. Naturally, Bolingbroke picks it up. King Richard tries to make peace, but it's no use. Bolingbroke says he'll never agree to a truce. In fact, he'd rather tear out his own tongue with his teeth and spit it in Mowbray's face. Richard is exasperated by all this gage throwing and threat-making. He gets all huffy and says he doesn't have time to play Dr. Phil. They can have their fight - a trial by combat at Coventry. Brain Snack: A trial by combat is when two guys duke it out in a crowded tournament arena until one or the other dies or can't get up - sort of like going into a Mixed Martial Arts Octagon, except with swords and stuff. These trials were common in medieval England but they were pretty old-school and outdated by the time Shakespeare was writing the play.


prompt:
Chapter: Scaena Secunda.

Enter Gaunt, and Dutchesse of Gloucester.

  Gaunt. Alas, the part I had in Glousters blood,
Doth more solicite me then your exclaimes,
To stirre against the Butchers of his life.
But since correction lyeth in those hands
Which made the fault that we cannot correct,
Put we our quarrell to the will of heauen,
Who when they see the houres ripe on earth,
Will raigne hot vengeance on offenders heads

   Dut. Findes brotherhood in thee no sharper spurre?
Hath loue in thy old blood no liuing fire?
Edwards seuen sonnes (whereof thy selfe art one)
Were as seuen violles of his Sacred blood,
Or seuen faire branches springing from one roote:
Some of those seuen are dride by natures course,
Some of those branches by the destinies cut:
But Thomas, my deere Lord, my life, my Glouster,
One Violl full of Edwards Sacred blood,
One flourishing branch of his most Royall roote
Is crack'd, and all the precious liquor spilt;
Is hackt downe, and his summer leafes all vaded
By Enuies hand, and Murders bloody Axe.
Ah Gaunt! His blood was thine, that bed, that wombe,
That mettle, that selfe-mould that fashion'd thee,
Made him a man: and though thou liu'st, and breath'st,
Yet art thou slaine in him: thou dost consent
In some large measure to thy Fathers death,
In that thou seest thy wretched brother dye,
Who was the modell of thy Fathers life.
Call it not patience (Gaunt) it is dispaire,
In suffring thus thy brother to be slaughter'd,
Thou shew'st the naked pathway to thy life,
Teaching sterne murther how to butcher thee:
That which in meane men we intitle patience
Is pale cold cowardice in noble brests:
What shall I say, to safegard thine owne life,
The best way is to venge my Glousters death

   Gaunt. Heauens is the quarrell: for heauens substitute
His Deputy annointed in his sight,
Hath caus'd his death, the which if wrongfully
Let heauen reuenge: for I may neuer lift
An angry arme against his Minister

   Dut. Where then (alas may I) complaint my selfe?
  Gau. To heauen, the widdowes Champion to defence
  Dut. Why then I will: farewell old Gaunt.
Thou go'st to Couentrie, there to behold
Our Cosine Herford, and fell Mowbray fight:
O sit my husbands wrongs on Herfords speare,
That it may enter butcher Mowbrayes brest:
Or if misfortune misse the first carreere,
Be Mowbrayes sinnes so heauy in his bosome,
That they may breake his foaming Coursers backe,
And throw the Rider headlong in the Lists,
A Caytiffe recreant to my Cosine Herford:
Farewell old Gaunt, thy sometimes brothers wife
With her companion Greefe, must end her life

   Gau. Sister farewell: I must to Couentree,
As much good stay with thee, as go with mee

   Dut. Yet one word more: Greefe boundeth where it falls,
Not with the emptie hollownes, but weight:
I take my leaue, before I haue begun,
For sorrow ends not, when it seemeth done.
Commend me to my brother Edmund Yorke.
Loe, this is all: nay, yet depart not so,
Though this be all, do not so quickly go,
I shall remember more. Bid him, Oh, what?
With all good speed at Plashie visit mee.
Alacke, and what shall good old Yorke there see
But empty lodgings, and vnfurnish'd walles,
Vn-peopel'd Offices, vntroden stones?
And what heare there for welcome, but my grones?
Therefore commend me, let him not come there,
To seeke out sorrow, that dwels euery where:
Desolate, desolate will I hence, and dye,
The last leaue of thee, takes my weeping eye.

Exeunt.

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: When the scene opens, John of Gaunt is in the middle of a private chitchat with his sister-in-law, the Duchess of Gloucester. The Duchess is the widow of the late Thomas of Woodstock, Duke of Gloucester. The Duchess is heartbroken about her husband's murder and has just asked her brother-in-law to avenge his death. Gaunt admits to the Duchess that her husband was murdered. But he says she is out of luck if she expects him to do anything about it, because there's no way he's going to lift a finger against the king. The Duchess accuses John of Gaunt of being a lousy brother. She argues that loyalty to one's own flesh and blood is the most important thing in the world. Then she reminds him of his family history: he's one of King Edward III's sons. In other words, he's royal, and so was his brother, which is why Richard shouldn't be allowed to get away with murdering his uncle, even if Richard is a king. Gaunt disagrees. He argues that he can't do anything to Richard because he's a monarch and, like all kings, he's God's "deputy" on earth. Brain Snack: Gaunt's talking about a political theory that's often referred to as the "divine right of kings," which says that kings have a right to rule because they've been chosen by God to do so. What this means is that kings don't have to answer to anybody but God. This also means that if a subject rebels against the king, he's basically rebelling and sinning against God too. Now, back to the play. Fine, says the Duchess, but where the heck is she supposed to go for justice if Gaunt's not going to help her get revenge? Gaunt says she'll have to take it up with God - he's the only one who can help her. The Duchess gives up the argument but adds that she hopes that Bolingbroke's sword will "butcher Mowbray's breast" at the big trial by combat that's coming up. Then the Duchess hints that she's going to go off to die of grief and/or commit suicide.


prompt:
Chapter: Scena Tertia.

Enter Marshall, and Aumerle.

  Mar. My L[ord]. Aumerle, is Harry Herford arm'd

   Aum. Yea, at all points, and longs to enter in

   Mar. The Duke of Norfolke, sprightfully and bold,
Stayes but the summons of the Appealants Trumpet

   Au. Why then the Champions, are prepar'd, and stay
For nothing but his Maiesties approach.

Flourish.

Enter King, Gaunt, Bushy, Bagot, Greene, & others: Then
Mowbray in Armor,
and Harrold.

  Rich. Marshall, demand of yonder Champion
The cause of his arriuall heere in Armes,
Aske him his name, and orderly proceed
To sweare him in the iustice of his cause

   Mar. In Gods name, and the Kings say who y art,
And why thou com'st thus knightly clad in Armes?
Against what man thou com'st, and what's thy quarrell,
Speake truly on thy knighthood, and thine oath,
As so defend thee heauen, and thy valour

   Mow. My name is Tho[mas]. Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk,
Who hither comes engaged by my oath
(Which heauen defend a knight should violate)
Both to defend my loyalty and truth,
To God, my King, and his succeeding issue,
Against the Duke of Herford, that appeales me:
And by the grace of God, and this mine arme,
To proue him (in defending of my selfe)
A Traitor to my God, my King, and me,
And as I truly fight, defend me heauen.

Tucket. Enter Hereford, and Harold.

  Rich. Marshall: Aske yonder Knight in Armes,
Both who he is, and why he commeth hither,
Thus placed in habiliments of warre:
And formerly according to our Law
Depose him in the iustice of his cause

   Mar. What is thy name? and wherfore comst y hither
Before King Richard in his Royall Lists?
Against whom com'st thou? and what's thy quarrell?
Speake like a true Knight, so defend thee heauen

   Bul. Harry of Herford, Lancaster, and Derbie,
Am I: who ready heere do stand in Armes,
To proue by heauens grace, and my bodies valour,
In Lists, on Thomas Mowbray Duke of Norfolke,
That he's a Traitor foule, and dangerous,
To God of heauen, King Richard, and to me,
And as I truly fight, defend me heauen

   Mar. On paine of death, no person be so bold,
Or daring hardie as to touch the Listes,
Except the Marshall, and such Officers
Appointed to direct these faire designes

   Bul. Lord Marshall, let me kisse my Soueraigns hand,
And bow my knee before his Maiestie:
For Mowbray and my selfe are like two men,
That vow a long and weary pilgrimage,
Then let vs take a ceremonious leaue
And louing farwell of our seuerall friends

   Mar. The Appealant in all duty greets your Highnes,
And craues to kisse your hand, and take his leaue

   Rich. We will descend, and fold him in our armes.
Cosin of Herford, as thy cause is iust,
So be thy fortune in this Royall fight:
Farewell, my blood, which if to day thou shead,
Lament we may, but not reuenge thee dead

   Bull. Oh let no noble eye prophane a teare
For me, if I be gor'd with Mowbrayes speare:
As confident, as is the Falcons flight
Against a bird, do I with Mowbray fight.
My louing Lord, I take my leaue of you,
Of you (my Noble Cosin) Lord Aumerle;
Not sicke, although I haue to do with death,
But lustie, yong, and cheerely drawing breath.
Loe, as at English Feasts, so I regreete
The daintiest last, to make the end most sweet.
Oh thou the earthy author of my blood,
Whose youthfull spirit in me regenerate,
Doth with a two-fold rigor lift mee vp
To reach at victory aboue my head,
Adde proofe vnto mine Armour with thy prayres,
And with thy blessings steele my Lances point,
That it may enter Mowbrayes waxen Coate,
And furnish new the name of Iohn a Gaunt,
Euen in the lusty hauiour of his sonne

   Gaunt. Heauen in thy good cause make thee prosp'rous
Be swift like lightning in the execution,
And let thy blowes doubly redoubled,
Fall like amazing thunder on the Caske
Of thy amaz'd pernicious enemy.
Rouze vp thy youthfull blood, be valiant, and liue

   Bul. Mine innocence, and S[aint]. George to thriue

   Mow. How euer heauen or fortune cast my lot,
There liues, or dies, true to Kings Richards Throne,
A loyall, iust, and vpright Gentleman:
Neuer did Captiue with a freer heart,
Cast off his chaines of bondage, and embrace
His golden vncontroul'd enfranchisement,
More then my dancing soule doth celebrate
This Feast of Battell, with mine Aduersarie.
Most mighty Liege, and my companion Peeres,
Take from my mouth, the wish of happy yeares,
As gentle, and as iocond, as to iest,
Go I to fight: Truth, hath a quiet brest

   Rich. Farewell, my Lord, securely I espy
Vertue with Valour, couched in thine eye:
Order the triall Marshall, and begin

   Mar. Harrie of Herford, Lancaster, and Derby,
Receiue thy Launce, and heauen defend thy right

   Bul. Strong as a towre in hope, I cry Amen

   Mar. Go beare this Lance to Thomas D[uke]. of Norfolke

   1.Har. Harry of Herford, Lancaster, and Derbie,
Stands heere for God, his Soueraigne, and himselfe,
On paine to be found false, and recreant,
To proue the Duke of Norfolke, Thomas Mowbray,
A Traitor to his God, his King, and him,
And dares him to set forwards to the fight

   2.Har. Here standeth Tho[mas]: Mowbray Duke of Norfolk
On paine to be found false and recreant,
Both to defend himselfe, and to approue
Henry of Herford, Lancaster, and Derby,
To God, his Soueraigne, and to him disloyall:
Couragiously, and with a free desire
Attending but the signall to begin.

A charge sounded

  Mar. Sound Trumpets, and set forward Combatants:
Stay, the King hath throwne his Warder downe

   Rich. Let them lay by their Helmets & their Speares,
And both returne backe to their Chaires againe:
Withdraw with vs, and let the Trumpets sound,
While we returne these Dukes what we decree.

A long Flourish.

Draw neere and list
What with our Councell we haue done.
For that our kingdomes earth should not be soyld
With that deere blood which it hath fostered,
And for our eyes do hate the dire aspect
Of ciuill wounds plowgh'd vp with neighbors swords,
Which so rouz'd vp with boystrous vntun'd drummes,
With harsh resounding Trumpets dreadfull bray,
And grating shocke of wrathfull yron Armes,
Might from our quiet Confines fright faire peace,
And make vs wade euen in our kindreds blood:
Therefore, we banish you our Territories.
You Cosin Herford, vpon paine of death,
Till twice fiue Summers haue enrich'd our fields,
Shall not regreet our faire dominions,
But treade the stranger pathes of banishment

   Bul. Your will be done: This must my comfort be,
That Sun that warmes you heere, shall shine on me:
And those his golden beames to you heere lent,
Shall point on me, and gild my banishment

   Rich. Norfolke: for thee remaines a heauier dombe,
Which I with some vnwillingnesse pronounce,
The slye slow houres shall not determinate
The datelesse limit of thy deere exile:
The hopelesse word, of Neuer to returne,
Breath I against thee, vpon paine of life

   Mow. A heauy sentence, my most Soueraigne Liege,
And all vnlook'd for from your Highnesse mouth:
A deerer merit, not so deepe a maime,
As to be cast forth in the common ayre
Haue I deserued at your Highnesse hands.
The Language I haue learn'd these forty yeares
(My natiue English) now I must forgo,
And now my tongues vse is to me no more,
Then an vnstringed Vyall, or a Harpe,
Or like a cunning Instrument cas'd vp,
Or being open, put into his hands
That knowes no touch to tune the harmony.
Within my mouth you haue engaol'd my tongue,
Doubly percullist with my teeth and lippes,
And dull, vnfeeling, barren ignorance,
Is made my Gaoler to attend on me:
I am too old to fawne vpon a Nurse,
Too farre in yeeres to be a pupill now:
What is thy sentence then, but speechlesse death,
Which robs my tongue from breathing natiue breath?
  Rich. It boots thee not to be compassionate,
After our sentence, plaining comes too late

   Mow. Then thus I turne me from my countries light
To dwell in solemne shades of endlesse night

   Ric. Returne againe, and take an oath with thee,
Lay on our Royall sword, your banisht hands;
Sweare by the duty that you owe to heauen
(Our part therein we banish with your selues)
To keepe the Oath that we administer:
You neuer shall (so helpe you Truth, and Heauen)
Embrace each others loue in banishment,
Nor euer looke vpon each others face,
Nor euer write, regreete, or reconcile
This lowring tempest of your home-bred hate,
Nor euer by aduised purpose meete,
To plot, contriue, or complot any ill,
'Gainst Vs, our State, our Subiects, or our Land

   Bull. I sweare

   Mow. And I, to keepe all this

   Bul. Norfolke, so fare, as to mine enemie,
By this time (had the King permitted vs)
One of our soules had wandred in the ayre,
Banish'd this fraile sepulchre of our flesh,
As now our flesh is banish'd from this Land.
Confesse thy Treasons, ere thou flye this Realme,
Since thou hast farre to go, beare not along
The clogging burthen of a guilty soule

   Mow. No Bullingbroke: If euer I were Traitor,
My name be blotted from the booke of Life,
And I from heauen banish'd, as from hence:
But what thou art, heauen, thou, and I do know,
And all too soone (I feare) the King shall rue.
Farewell (my Liege) now no way can I stray,
Saue backe to England, all the worlds my way.
Enter.

  Rich. Vncle, euen in the glasses of thine eyes
I see thy greeued heart: thy sad aspect,
Hath from the number of his banish'd yeares
Pluck'd foure away: Six frozen Winters spent,
Returne with welcome home, from banishment

   Bul. How long a time lyes in one little word:
Foure lagging Winters, and foure wanton springs
End in a word, such is the breath of Kings

   Gaunt. I thanke my Liege, that in regard of me
He shortens foure yeares of my sonnes exile:
But little vantage shall I reape thereby.
For ere the sixe yeares that he hath to spend
Can change their Moones, and bring their times about,
My oyle-dride Lampe, and time-bewasted light
Shall be extinct with age, and endlesse night:
My inch of Taper, will be burnt, and done,
And blindfold death, not let me see my sonne

   Rich. Why Vncle, thou hast many yeeres to liue

   Gaunt. But not a minute (King) that thou canst giue;
Shorten my dayes thou canst with sudden sorow,
And plucke nights from me, but not lend a morrow:
Thou canst helpe time to furrow me with age,
But stop no wrinkle in his pilgrimage:
Thy word is currant with him, for my death,
But dead, thy kingdome cannot buy my breath

   Ric. Thy sonne is banish'd vpon good aduice,
Whereto thy tongue a party-verdict gaue,
Why at our Iustice seem'st thou then to lowre?
  Gau. Things sweet to tast, proue in digestion sowre:
You vrg'd me as a Iudge, but I had rather
You would haue bid me argue like a Father.
Alas, I look'd when some of you should say,
I was too strict to make mine owne away:
But you gaue leaue to my vnwilling tong,
Against my will, to do my selfe this wrong

   Rich. Cosine farewell: and Vncle bid him so:
Six yeares we banish him, and he shall go.
Enter.

Flourish.

  Au. Cosine farewell: what presence must not know
From where you do remaine, let paper show

   Mar. My Lord, no leaue take I, for I will ride
As farre as land will let me, by your side

   Gaunt. Oh to what purpose dost thou hord thy words,
That thou returnst no greeting to thy friends?
  Bull. I haue too few to take my leaue of you,
When the tongues office should be prodigall,
To breath th' abundant dolour of the heart

   Gau. Thy greefe is but thy absence for a time

   Bull. Ioy absent, greefe is present for that time

   Gau. What is sixe Winters, they are quickely gone?
  Bul. To men in ioy, but greefe makes one houre ten

   Gau. Call it a trauell that thou tak'st for pleasure

   Bul. My heart will sigh, when I miscall it so,
Which findes it an inforced Pilgrimage

   Gau. The sullen passage of thy weary steppes
Esteeme a soyle, wherein thou art to set
The precious Iewell of thy home returne

   Bul. Oh who can hold a fire in his hand
By thinking on the frostie Caucasus?
Or cloy the hungry edge of appetite,
By bare imagination of a Feast?
Or Wallow naked in December snow
By thinking on fantasticke summers heate?
Oh no, the apprehension of the good
Giues but the greater feeling to the worse:
Fell sorrowes tooth, doth euer ranckle more
Then when it bites, but lanceth not the sore

   Gau. Come, come (my son) Ile bring thee on thy way
Had I thy youth, and cause, I would not stay

   Bul. Then Englands ground farewell: sweet soil adieu,
My Mother, and my Nurse, which beares me yet:
Where ere I wander, boast of this I can,
Though banish'd, yet a true-borne Englishman.

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: The day of the big throwdown has finally arrived. Everyone gathers at the tournament arena in Coventry. Bolingbroke and Mowbray are all suited up in their armor and ready to throw down. King Richard arrives and makes a big, red-carpet-worthy entry, complete with trumpet blasts and kneeling subjects. Richard gives the go-ahead for the trial by combat to begin. The Lord Marshal tells Mowbray to explain why he plans to fight. Mowbray, more or less following the script for a duel, swears an oath to God and the king to prove that he's innocent and Bolingbroke is the one who is a traitor. Then Mowbray asks "heaven" to "defend" him. Trumpets sound and Bolingbroke appears. The Lord Marshal asks him to give his name and present his case. He does. Bolingbroke compares the fight to a pilgrimage and asks King Richard if he can kiss his hand goodbye. Richard comes down from his shiny, bejeweled throne to hug Bolingbroke. He wishes him luck and says that if he's telling the truth about Mowbray being a traitor, hopefully he'll win the fight. Richard adds that if Henry loses, he'll probably cry for him, but he won't lift a finger to avenge his death. Brain Snack: We've already explained that a trial by combat was a way for "gentlemen" to settle disputes in medieval England . During the trial, two noblemen would go toe to toe until one died or had to be taken off on a stretcher. The last guy standing was the winner. Here's something else you should know: in medieval England, people thought that God would make sure that the good guy won the fight and the bad guy lost. That way everyone would know who was lying and who was telling the truth. As a bonus, the guilty party would be punished in the process . Bolingbroke says not to worry. In Shakespearean trash-talk, he explains that he's like a falcon and Mowbray's like the bird the falcon hunts. Then he says goodbye to his father, "the earthly author of my blood," and asks him to pray for his success. Gaunt says he hopes he hacks Mowbray's helmet in God's name. Bolingbroke answers that his innocence and Saint George's will win the day. When it's Mowbray's turn to speak, he says his cause is just and makes fun of Bolingbroke's big, violent speeches: "truth has a quiet breast," he says. Richard is a little chilly toward Mowbray. He doesn't hug him, but he does say he sees "virtue with valour" in Mowbray's eye. Just as the throwdown is about to start, Richard steps in and is all, "Hold up a minute, guys. I've changed my mind and don't want you two hacking into each other with your swords and staining the earth with your blood." Richard says Mowbray and Bolingbroke need to go back to their chairs and wait for him. He goes off somewhere with his advisors to talk about what should happen next. When Richard comes back, he announces that he's banishing Mowbray from the kingdom... forever. Also, he's banishing Bolingbroke from the kingdom for ten years. Mowbray calls this "a heavy sentence" and compares his banishment to being imprisoned, since he doesn't speak any language but English, which won't be any use to him if he's sent to go live in a foreign country. Richard tells him it's no use whining - he's made up his mind and wants Mowbray gone ASAP. Richard tells both Bolingbroke and Mowbray to swear on the king's sword that they won't see each other, write to each other, or communicate ever again. Also, they have to swear that they'll never plot against him while they're banished. Bolingbroke tries to get Mowbray to fess up. He says he might as well tell the truth, since they're both banished anyway. Mowbray says if he's a traitor, his name should be crossed out from the book of life . He adds that he, like God, knows the truth about Bolingbroke. Richard notices that John of Gaunt is really bummed out that his kid is getting booted out of the country. Richard makes what he thinks is a generous offer. He says that since Gaunt has been so loyal and is so old, he'll shorten Bolingbroke's banishment by four years so Henry can come back to England in six years instead of ten. Bolingbroke makes a smart-aleck crack about how powerful the "breath of kings" can be Gaunt says Richard's offer is no good. Since he's super old, he'll probably be dead by the time his son gets to come home, even if the banishment is six years instead of ten. Richard tries to make Gaunt feel better and says something like, "Don't be silly, Gaunt, of course you'll be alive when Henry comes home." Gaunt's not having it. He points out that kings can shorten other people's lives but they can't make people live longer. Then Richard gets defensive. He says he's shocked to hear Gaunt say all of this, because Gaunt's the one who advised him to banish Bolingbroke and Mowbray in the first place. Gaunt's all, "Yeah, but when I said that I was hoping you'd step up and say that banishment is too harsh. Plus, you never should have asked me about punishing my own son." Richard tunes this out and tells Gaunt to say adios to his kid. Everyone says goodbye to Bolingbroke. Bolingbroke is silent. When Gaunt asks his son why he's being so quiet, Bolingbroke claims he doesn't have the right words to express his pain, so he's just not going to say anything at all. Gaunt tries to comfort him. He tells him to think of his banishment as an adventure and a place to get "honour." He suggests that Bolingbroke pretend the roles were reversed: "Think not the king did banish thee, / But thou the king." Bolingbroke says he's not in the mood to play "let's pretend." Then Bolingbroke says goodbye to England, and says at least he can say that he's "a trueborn Englishman."


prompt:
Chapter: Scoena Quarta.

Enter King, Aumerle, Greene, and Bagot.

  Rich. We did obserue. Cosine Aumerle,
How far brought you high Herford on his way?
  Aum. I brought high Herford (if you call him so)
But to the next high way, and there I left him

   Rich. And say, what store of parting tears were shed?
  Aum. Faith none for me: except the Northeast wind
Which then grew bitterly against our face,
Awak'd the sleepie rhewme, and so by chance
Did grace our hollow parting with a teare

   Rich. What said our Cosin when you parted with him?
  Au. Farewell: and for my hart disdained y my tongue
Should so prophane the word, that taught me craft
To counterfeit oppression of such greefe,
That word seem'd buried in my sorrowes graue.
Marry, would the word Farwell, haue lengthen'd houres,
And added yeeres to his short banishment,
He should haue had a volume of Farwels,
But since it would not, he had none of me

   Rich. He is our Cosin (Cosin) but 'tis doubt,
When time shall call him home from banishment,
Whether our kinsman come to see his friends,
Our selfe, and Bushy: heere Bagot and Greene
Obseru'd his Courtship to the common people:
How he did seeme to diue into their hearts,
With humble, and familiar courtesie,
What reuerence he did throw away on slaues;
Wooing poore Craftes-men, with the craft of soules,
And patient vnder-bearing of his Fortune,
As 'twere to banish their affects with him.
Off goes his bonnet to an Oyster-wench,
A brace of Dray-men bid God speed him well,
And had the tribute of his supple knee,
With thankes my Countrimen, my louing friends,
As were our England in reuersion his,
And he our subiects next degree in hope

   Gr. Well, he is gone, & with him go these thoughts:
Now for the Rebels, which stand out in Ireland,
Expedient manage must be made my Liege
Ere further leysure, yeeld them further meanes
For their aduantage, and your Highnesse losse

   Ric. We will our selfe in person to this warre,
And for our Coffers, with too great a Court,
And liberall Largesse, are growne somewhat light,
We are inforc'd to farme our royall Realme,
The Reuennew whereof shall furnish vs
For our affayres in hand: if that come short
Our Substitutes at home shall haue Blanke-charters:
Whereto, when they shall know what men are rich,
They shall subscribe them for large summes of Gold,
And send them after to supply our wants:
For we will make for Ireland presently.
Enter Bushy.

Bushy, what newes?
  Bu. Old Iohn of Gaunt is verie sicke my Lord,
Sodainly taken, and hath sent post haste
To entreat your Maiesty to visit him

   Ric. Where lyes he?
  Bu. At Ely house

   Ric. Now put it (heauen) in his Physitians minde,
To helpe him to his graue immediately:
The lining of his coffers shall make Coates
To decke our souldiers for these Irish warres.
Come Gentlemen, let's all go visit him:
Pray heauen we may make hast, and come too late.
Enter.

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: Aumerle reports to King Richard that he just escorted Bolingbroke to the edge of town, where things got a little awkward. Richard wants every juicy detail and is all, "Did anyone cry when Bolingbroke left?" Aumerle says he didn't cry, but a northeast wind might have made his eyes water. Aumerle then tells the king that all Bolingbroke said in the end was "Farewell." Aumerle claims he didn't say anything back because he didn't want to be a phony by wishing him good luck. Instead, he pretended to be too sad to talk. Richard is a teensy bit worried. The commoners really like Bolingbroke, who's sort of a man of the people. Banishing Bolingbroke could turn out to be a seriously bad PR move for Richard. Green chimes in that Richard's got much bigger fish to fry: the rebels in Ireland are acting up again. Richard snaps out of it and is all, "Ugh. Those Irish rebels are such a pain. Looks like I'll have to go to war myself." There's just one tiny problem: Richard is broke because he's spent so much money decorating his palace, buying fancy clothes, and tricking out his coaches with fancy rims and the best horses. It turns out there's not a lot of cash leftover for a war. We find out that Richard also did a dangerous thing: he basically mortgaged his right to tax the people in order to get a little extra money fast. This means he's letting his deputies collect money from the richest men. How the heck is he going to raise any money now? A man named Bushy comes in to announce that John of Gaunt is sick. Richard says the timing is perfect. Hopefully Gaunt will hurry up and die so Richard can snatch up his land and money and use it to fund the war in Ireland. Brain Snack: Legally Richard doesn't actually have a right to take Gaunt's land when the old man dies. According to a system called "primogeniture," the eldest son gets to inherit all of his father's land, wealth, and titles. So technically all of Gaunt's property should go to his oldest son, Henry Bolingbroke. This is important.


prompt:
Chapter: Actus Secundus. Scena Prima.

Enter Gaunt, sicke with Yorke.

  Gau. Will the King come, that I may breath my last
In wholsome counsell to his vnstaid youth?
  Yor. Vex not your selfe, nor striue not with your breth,
For all in vaine comes counsell to his eare

   Gau. Oh but (they say) the tongues of dying men
Inforce attention like deepe harmony;
Where words are scarse, they are seldome spent in vaine,
For they breath truth, that breath their words in paine.
He that no more must say, is listen'd more,
Then they whom youth and ease haue taught to glose,
More are mens ends markt, then their liues before,
The setting Sun, and Musicke in the close
As the last taste of sweetes, is sweetest last,
Writ in remembrance, more then things long past;
Though Richard my liues counsell would not heare,
My deaths sad tale, may yet vndeafe his eare

   Yor. No, it is stopt with other flatt'ring sounds
As praises of his state: then there are found
Lasciuious Meeters, to whose venom sound
The open eare of youth doth alwayes listen.
Report of fashions in proud Italy,
Whose manners still our tardie apish Nation
Limpes after in base imitation.
Where doth the world thrust forth a vanity,
So it be new, there's no respect how vile,
That is not quickly buz'd into his eares?
That all too late comes counsell to be heard,
Where will doth mutiny with wits regard:
Direct not him, whose way himselfe will choose,
Tis breath thou lackst, and that breath wilt thou loose

   Gaunt. Me thinkes I am a Prophet new inspir'd,
And thus expiring, do foretell of him,
His rash fierce blaze of Ryot cannot last,
For violent fires soone burne out themselues,
Small showres last long, but sodaine stormes are short,
He tyres betimes, that spurs too fast betimes;
With eager feeding, food doth choake the feeder:
Light vanity, insatiate cormorant,
Consuming meanes soone preyes vpon it selfe.
This royall Throne of Kings, this sceptred Isle,
This earth of Maiesty, this seate of Mars,
This other Eden, demy paradise,
This Fortresse built by Nature for her selfe,
Against infection, and the hand of warre:
This happy breed of men, this little world,
This precious stone, set in the siluer sea,
Which serues it in the office of a wall,
Or as a Moate defensiue to a house,
Against the enuy of lesse happier Lands,
This blessed plot, this earth, this Realme, this England,
This Nurse, this teeming wombe of Royall Kings,
Fear'd by their breed, and famous for their birth,
Renowned for their deeds, as farre from home,
For Christian seruice, and true Chiualrie,
As is the sepulcher in stubborne Iury
Of the Worlds ransome, blessed Maries Sonne.
This Land of such deere soules, this deere-deere Land,
Deere for her reputation through the world,
Is now Leas'd out (I dye pronouncing it)
Like to a Tenement or pelting Farme.
England bound in with the triumphant sea,
Whose rocky shore beates backe the enuious siedge
Of watery Neptune, is now bound in with shame,
With Inky blottes, and rotten Parchment bonds.
That England, that was wont to conquer others,
Hath made a shamefull conquest of it selfe.
Ah! would the scandall vanish with my life,
How happy then were my ensuing death?
Enter King, Queene, Aumerle, Bushy, Greene, Bagot, Ros, and
Willoughby.

  Yor. The King is come, deale mildly with his youth,
For young hot Colts, being rag'd, do rage the more

   Qu. How fares our noble Vncle Lancaster?
  Ri. What comfort man? How ist with aged Gaunt?
  Ga. Oh how that name befits my composition:
Old Gaunt indeed, and gaunt in being old:
Within me greefe hath kept a tedious fast,
And who abstaynes from meate, that is not gaunt?
For sleeping England long time haue I watcht,
Watching breeds leannesse, leannesse is all gaunt.
The pleasure that some Fathers feede vpon,
Is my strict fast, I meane my Childrens lookes,
And therein fasting, hast thou made me gaunt:
Gaunt am I for the graue, gaunt as a graue,
Whose hollow wombe inherits naught but bones

   Ric. Can sicke men play so nicely with their names?
  Gau. No, misery makes sport to mocke it selfe:
Since thou dost seeke to kill my name in mee,
I mocke my name (great King) to flatter thee

   Ric. Should dying men flatter those that liue?
  Gau. No, no, men liuing flatter those that dye

   Rich. Thou now a dying, sayst thou flatter'st me

   Gau. Oh no, thou dyest, though I the sicker be

   Rich. I am in health, I breath, I see thee ill

   Gau. Now he that made me, knowes I see thee ill:
Ill in my selfe to see, and in thee, seeing ill,
Thy death-bed is no lesser then the Land,
Wherein thou lyest in reputation sicke,
And thou too care-lesse patient as thou art,
Commit'st thy 'anointed body to the cure
Of those Physitians, that first wounded thee.
A thousand flatterers sit within thy Crowne,
Whose compasse is no bigger then thy head,
And yet incaged in so small a Verge,
The waste is no whit lesser then thy Land:
Oh had thy Grandsire with a Prophets eye,
Seene how his sonnes sonne, should destroy his sonnes,
From forth thy reach he would haue laid thy shame,
Deposing thee before thou wert possest,
Which art possest now to depose thy selfe.
Why (Cosine) were thou Regent of the world,
It were a shame to let his Land by lease:
But for thy world enioying but this Land,
Is it not more then shame, to shame it so?
Landlord of England art thou, and not King:
Thy state of Law, is bondslaue to the law,
And-
  Rich. And thou, a lunaticke leane-witted foole,
Presuming on an Agues priuiledge,
Dar'st with thy frozen admonition
Make pale our cheeke, chasing the Royall blood
With fury, from his natiue residence?
Now by my Seates right Royall Maiestie,
Wer't thou not Brother to great Edwards sonne,
This tongue that runs so roundly in thy head,
Should run thy head from thy vnreuerent shoulders

   Gau. Oh spare me not, my brothers Edwards sonne,
For that I was his Father Edwards sonne:
That blood already (like the Pellican)
Thou hast tapt out, and drunkenly carows'd.
My brother Gloucester, plaine well meaning soule
(Whom faire befall in heauen 'mongst happy soules)
May be a president, and witnesse good,
That thou respect'st not spilling Edwards blood:
Ioyne with the present sicknesse that I haue,
And thy vnkindnesse be like crooked age,
To crop at once a too-long wither'd flowre.
Liue in thy shame, but dye not shame with thee,
These words heereafter, thy tormentors bee.
Conuey me to my bed, then to my graue,
Loue they to liue, that loue and honor haue.

Exit

  Rich. And let them dye, that age and sullens haue,
For both hast thou, and both become the graue

   Yor. I do beseech your Maiestie impute his words
To wayward sicklinesse, and age in him:
He loues you on my life, and holds you deere
As Harry Duke of Herford, were he heere

   Rich. Right, you say true: as Herfords loue, so his;
As theirs, so mine: and all be as it is.
Enter Northumberland.

  Nor. My Liege, olde Gaunt commends him to your
Maiestie

   Rich. What sayes he?
  Nor. Nay nothing, all is said:
His tongue is now a stringlesse instrument,
Words, life, and all, old Lancaster hath spent

   Yor. Be Yorke the next, that must be bankrupt so,
Though death be poore, it ends a mortall wo

   Rich. The ripest fruit first fals, and so doth he,
His time is spent, our pilgrimage must be:
So much for that. Now for our Irish warres,
We must supplant those rough rug-headed Kernes,
Which liue like venom, where no venom else
But onely they, haue priuiledge to liue.
And for these great affayres do aske some charge
Towards our assistance, we do seize to vs
The plate, coine, reuennewes, and moueables,
Whereof our Vncle Gaunt did stand possest

   Yor. How long shall I be patient? Oh how long
Shall tender dutie make me suffer wrong?
Not Glousters death, nor Herfords banishment,
Nor Gauntes rebukes, nor Englands priuate wrongs,
Nor the preuention of poore Bullingbrooke,
About his marriage, nor my owne disgrace
Haue euer made me sowre my patient cheeke,
Or bend one wrinckle on my Soueraignes face:
I am the last of noble Edwards sonnes,
Of whom thy Father Prince of Wales was first,
In warre was neuer Lyon rag'd more fierce:
In peace, was neuer gentle Lambe more milde,
Then was that yong and Princely Gentleman,
His face thou hast, for euen so look'd he
Accomplish'd with the number of thy howers:
But when he frown'd, it was against the French,
And not against his friends: his noble hand
Did win what he did spend: and spent not that
Which his triumphant fathers hand had won:
His hands were guilty of no kindreds blood,
But bloody with the enemies of his kinne:
Oh Richard, Yorke is too farre gone with greefe,
Or else he neuer would compare betweene

   Rich. Why Vncle,
What's the matter?
  Yor. Oh my Liege, pardon me if you please, if not
I pleas'd not to be pardon'd, am content with all:
Seeke you to seize, and gripe into your hands
The Royalties and Rights of banish'd Herford?
Is not Gaunt dead? and doth not Herford liue?
Was not Gaunt iust? and is not Harry true?
Did not the one deserue to haue an heyre?
Is not his heyre a well-deseruing sonne?
Take Herfords rights away, and take from time
His Charters, and his customarie rights:
Let not to morrow then insue to day,
Be not thy selfe. For how art thou a King
But by faire sequence and succession?
Now afore God, God forbid I say true,
If you do wrongfully seize Herfords right,
Call in his Letters Patents that he hath
By his Atturneyes generall, to sue
His Liuerie, and denie his offer'd homage,
You plucke a thousand dangers on your head,
You loose a thousand well-disposed hearts,
And pricke my tender patience to those thoughts
Which honor and allegeance cannot thinke

   Ric. Thinke what you will: we seise into our hands,
His plate, his goods, his money, and his lands

   Yor. Ile not be by the while: My Liege farewell,
What will ensue heereof, there's none can tell.
But by bad courses may be vnderstood,
That their euents can neuer fall out good.
Enter.

  Rich. Go Bushie to the Earle of Wiltshire streight,
Bid him repaire to vs to Ely house,
To see this businesse: to morrow next
We will for Ireland, and 'tis time, I trow:
And we create in absence of our selfe
Our Vncle Yorke, Lord Gouernor of England:
For he is iust, and alwayes lou'd vs well.
Come on our Queene, to morrow must we part,
Be merry, for our time of stay is short.

Flourish.

Manet North. Willoughby, & Ross.

  Nor. Well Lords, the Duke of Lancaster is dead

   Ross. And liuing too, for now his sonne is Duke

   Wil. Barely in title, not in reuennew

   Nor. Richly in both, if iustice had her right

   Ross. My heart is great: but it must break with silence,
Er't be disburthen'd with a liberall tongue

   Nor. Nay speake thy mind: & let him ne'r speak more
That speakes thy words againe to do thee harme

   Wil. Tends that thou'dst speake to th' Du[ke]. of Hereford,
If it be so, out with it boldly man,
Quicke is mine eare to heare of good towards him

   Ross. No good at all that I can do for him,
Vnlesse you call it good to pitie him,
Bereft and gelded of his patrimonie

   Nor. Now afore heauen, 'tis shame such wrongs are
borne.
In him a royall Prince, and many moe
Of noble blood in this declining Land;
The King is not himselfe, but basely led
By Flatterers, and what they will informe
Meerely in hate 'gainst any of vs all,
That will the King seuerely prosecute
'Gainst vs, our liues, our children, and our heires

   Ros. The Commons hath he pil'd with greeuous taxes
And quite lost their hearts: the Nobles hath he finde
For ancient quarrels, and quite lost their hearts

   Wil. And daily new exactions are deuis'd,
As blankes, beneuolences, and I wot not what:
But what o' Gods name doth become of this?
  Nor. Wars hath not wasted it, for war'd he hath not.
But basely yeelded vpon comprimize,
That which his Ancestors atchieu'd with blowes:
More hath he spent in peace, then they in warres

   Ros. The Earle of Wiltshire hath the realme in Farme

   Wil. The Kings growne bankrupt like a broken man

   Nor. Reproach, and dissolution hangeth ouer him

   Ros. He hath not monie for these Irish warres:
(His burthenous taxations notwithstanding)
But by the robbing of the banish'd Duke

   Nor. His noble Kinsman, most degenerate King:
But Lords, we heare this fearefull tempest sing,
Yet seeke no shelter to auoid the storme:
We see the winde sit sore vpon our sailes,
And yet we strike not, but securely perish

   Ros. We see the very wracke that we must suffer,
And vnauoyded is the danger now
For suffering so the causes of our wracke

   Nor. Not so: euen through the hollow eyes of death,
I spie life peering: but I dare not say
How neere the tidings of our comfort is

   Wil. Nay let vs share thy thoughts, as thou dost ours
  Ros. Be confident to speake Northumberland,
We three, are but thy selfe, and speaking so,
Thy words are but as thoughts, therefore be bold

   Nor. Then thus: I haue from Port le Blan
A Bay in Britaine, receiu'd intelligence,
That Harry Duke of Herford, Rainald Lord Cobham,
That late broke from the Duke of Exeter,
His brother Archbishop, late of Canterbury,
Sir Thomas Erpingham, Sir Iohn Rainston,
Sir Iohn Norberie, & Sir Robert Waterton, & Francis Quoint,
All these well furnish'd by the Duke of Britaine,
With eight tall ships, three thousand men of warre
Are making hither with all due expedience,
And shortly meane to touch our Northerne shore:
Perhaps they had ere this, but that they stay
The first departing of the King for Ireland.
If then we shall shake off our slauish yoake,
Impe out our drooping Countries broken wing,
Redeeme from broaking pawne the blemish'd Crowne,
Wipe off the dust that hides our Scepters gilt,
And make high Maiestie looke like it selfe,
Away with me in poste to Rauenspurgh,
But if you faint, as fearing to do so,
Stay, and be secret, and my selfe will go

   Ros. To horse, to horse, vrge doubts to them y feare

   Wil. Hold out my horse, and I will first be there.

Exeunt.

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: At Ely House in London, John of Gaunt hangs out with the Duke of York. Gaunt is at death's door, and he says he hopes King Richard will listen to good advice if it comes from a dying man. York tells him it's useless. Richard's too busy listening to all the brown-nosers who only tell the king what he wants to hear. Gaunt prophesies that Richard is like a violent fire that will burn out too quickly and come to a bad end. . By the way, Shakespeare wrote Romeo and Juliet around the same time he whipped up Richard II. 1595 was a productive year.) Henry compares Richard to a cormorant, a greedy bird known for eating fish whole. Richard, Gaunt says, will end up eating England herself. He gives a gorgeous description of England, then laments that Richard has already mortgaged it like a "worthless farm." When the king and queen arrive, Gaunt puns on his name and describes himself as literally "gaunt," starving from grief because of his son's banishment. Richard is all, "Gee, Gaunt can't be that sick if he's got enough energy for witty wordplay." Gaunt answers that though he himself is sick, Richard is the one dying. Gaunt warns Richard that he is "in reputation sick," and that instead of seeking help from good doctors, he's entrusted his health to the very doctors who first made him ill. Gaunt ends by calling Richard a landlord, not a king, since he's leased out royal lands to raise money. Richard gets all huffy and calls Gaunt a "lunatic lean-witted fool." He says the only thing saving Gaunt from being beheaded is the fact that he is Richard's uncle, brother to his father. Gaunt tells Richard not to bother sparing his life. He compares him to a bird again, this time a baby pelican. FYI - it was thought that mother pelicans wounded themselves to feed their ungrateful children on their own blood. Rather than call Richard "king," he calls him "my brother Edward's son" and accuses him of greedily drinking his ancestors' blood. Gaunt dares Richard to go ahead and kill him. Then he makes a dramatic exit by demanding to be taken first to bed, then to his grave. Only men who have love and honor want to live; since he has neither, he wants to die. York tries to make excuses for Gaunt. He's all, "Hey - the old man misses his son and he's dying, so he's acting a little crazy right now." He tells Richard that Gaunt really loves him just as much as he loves his son Henry. Richard purposely misunderstands York and says something like, "Yeah, Gaunt's love for me is like Henry's 'love' for me." The Earl of Northumberland enters to announce that Gaunt has died. Richard is all, "It's about time!" Richard announces that he's going to seize all of Gaunt's property to help pay for the Irish wars. York feels things have gone too far. He tells Richard that up until now, he overlooked his brother Gloucester's death, Henry's banishment, England's troubles, and his own disgrace. Not anymore. York tells Richard that he's nothing like his father was, because his dad didn't go around killing his own relatives. Richard asks why York is all mad. York says he's got to be honest. It's totally not cool for Richard to steal Gaunt's property, which is supposed to go to his heir, Henry. York warns Richard that if he goes through with this, everyone's going to hate him - maybe even turn against him. Richard basically says, "But look at all the money!" York tells Richard he'll have nothing to do with it and leaves. Richard tells Bushy to start seizing Gaunt's property ASAP. Then he appoints York Governor of England while he's off at war in Ireland. Everyone exits except for Northumberland, Willoughby, and Ross. Willoughby, Northumberland, and Ross can't believe what the king has done. They're shocked that Henry's going to lose his inheritance after being banished from England. This is not fair, they say. Then they start to badmouth Richard and name all the reasons he's such a lousy king: he's stolen money from the nobility and he's also bankrupted England. Northumberland says he heard a rumor that Henry has just slapped together an army and is headed to England to challenge the king. Northumberland's on his way to hook up with Henry's army. Willoughby and Ross say they'll come too.


prompt:
Chapter: Scena Secunda.

Enter Queene, Bushy, and Bagot.

  Bush. Madam, your Maiesty is too much sad,
You promis'd when you parted with the King,
To lay aside selfe-harming heauinesse,
And entertaine a cheerefull disposition

   Qu. To please the King, I did: to please my selfe
I cannot do it: yet I know no cause
Why I should welcome such a guest as greefe,
Saue bidding farewell to so sweet a guest
As my sweet Richard; yet againe me thinkes,
Some vnborne sorrow, ripe in fortunes wombe
Is comming towards me, and my inward soule
With nothing trembles, at something it greeues,
More then with parting from my Lord the King

   Bush. Each substance of a greefe hath twenty shadows
Which shewes like greefe it selfe, but is not so:
For sorrowes eye, glazed with blinding teares,
Diuides one thing intire, to many obiects,
Like perspectiues, which rightly gaz'd vpon
Shew nothing but confusion, ey'd awry,
Distinguish forme: so your sweet Maiestie
Looking awry vpon your Lords departure,
Finde shapes of greefe, more then himselfe to waile,
Which look'd on as it is, is naught but shadowes
Of what it is not: then thrice-gracious Queene,
More then your Lords departure weep not, more's not seene;
Or if it be, 'tis with false sorrowes eie,
Which for things true, weepe things imaginary

   Qu. It may be so: but yet my inward soule
Perswades me it is otherwise: how ere it be,
I cannot but be sad: so heauy sad,
As though on thinking on no thought I thinke,
Makes me with heauy nothing faint and shrinke

   Bush. 'Tis nothing but conceit (my gracious Lady.)
  Qu. 'Tis nothing lesse: conceit is still deriu'd
From some fore-father greefe, mine is not so,
For nothing hath begot my something greefe,
Or something, hath the nothing that I greeue,
'Tis in reuersion that I do possesse,
But what it is, that is not yet knowne, what
I cannot name, 'tis namelesse woe I wot.
Enter Greene.

  Gree. Heauen saue your Maiesty, and wel met Gentlemen:
I hope the King is not yet shipt for Ireland

   Qu. Why hop'st thou so? Tis better hope he is:
For his designes craue hast, his hast good hope,
Then wherefore dost thou hope he is not shipt?
  Gre. That he our hope, might haue retyr'd his power,
and driuen into dispaire an enemies hope,
Who strongly hath set footing in this Land.
The banish'd Bullingbrooke repeales himselfe,
And with vp-lifted Armes is safe arriu'd
At Rauenspurg

   Qu. Now God in heauen forbid

   Gr. O Madam 'tis too true: and that is worse,
The L[ord]. Northumberland, his yong sonne Henrie Percie,
The Lords of Rosse, Beaumond, and Willoughby,
With all their powrefull friends are fled to him

   Bush. Why haue you not proclaim'd Northumberland
And the rest of the reuolted faction, Traitors?
  Gre. We haue: whereupon the Earle of Worcester
Hath broke his staffe, resign'd his Stewardship,
And al the houshold seruants fled with him to Bullinbrook
  Qu. So Greene, thou art the midwife of my woe,
And Bullinbrooke my sorrowes dismall heyre:
Now hath my soule brought forth her prodegie,
And I a gasping new deliuered mother,
Haue woe to woe, sorrow to sorrow ioyn'd

   Bush. Dispaire not Madam

   Qu. Who shall hinder me?
I will dispaire, and be at enmitie
With couzening hope; he is a Flatterer,
A Parasite, a keeper backe of death,
Who gently would dissolue the bands of life,
Which false hopes linger in extremity.
Enter Yorke.

  Gre. Heere comes the Duke of Yorke

   Qu. With signes of warre about his aged necke,
Oh full of carefull businesse are his lookes:
Vncle, for heauens sake speake comfortable words:
  Yor. Comfort's in heauen, and we are on the earth,
Where nothing liues but crosses, care and greefe:
Your husband he is gone to saue farre off,
Whilst others come to make him loose at home:
Heere am I left to vnder-prop his Land,
Who weake with age, cannot support my selfe:
Now comes the sicke houre that his surfet made,
Now shall he try his friends that flattered him.
Enter a seruant.

  Ser. My Lord, your sonne was gone before I came

   Yor. He was: why so: go all which way it will:
The Nobles they are fled, the Commons they are cold,
And will I feare reuolt on Herfords side.
Sirra, get thee to Plashie to my sister Gloster,
Bid her send me presently a thousand pound,
Hold, take my Ring

   Ser. My Lord, I had forgot
To tell your Lordship, to day I came by, and call'd there,
But I shall greeue you to report the rest

   Yor. What is't knaue?
  Ser. An houre before I came, the Dutchesse di'de

   Yor. Heau'n for his mercy, what a tide of woes
Come rushing on this wofull Land at once?
I know not what to do: I would to heauen
(So my vntruth had not prouok'd him to it)
The King had cut off my head with my brothers.
What, are there postes dispatcht for Ireland?
How shall we do for money for these warres?
Come sister (Cozen I would say) pray pardon me.
Go fellow, get thee home, prouide some Carts,
And bring away the Armour that is there.
Gentlemen, will you muster men?
If I know how, or which way to order these affaires
Thus disorderly thrust into my hands,
Neuer beleeue me. Both are my kinsmen,
Th' one is my Soueraigne, whom both my oath
And dutie bids defend: th' other againe
Is my kinsman, whom the King hath wrong'd,
Whom conscience, and my kindred bids to right:
Well, somewhat we must do: Come Cozen,
Ile dispose of you. Gentlemen, go muster vp your men,
And meet me presently at Barkley Castle:
I should to Plashy too: but time will not permit,
All is vneuen, and euery thing is left at six and seuen.

Exit

  Bush. The winde sits faire for newes to go to Ireland,
But none returnes: For vs to leuy power
Proportionable to th' enemy, is all impossible

   Gr. Besides our neerenesse to the King in loue,
Is neere the hate of those loue not the King

   Ba. And that's the wauering Commons, for their loue
Lies in their purses, and who so empties them,
By so much fils their hearts with deadly hate

   Bush. Wherein the king stands generally condemn'd
  Bag. If iudgement lye in them, then so do we,
Because we haue beene euer neere the King

   Gr. Well: I will for refuge straight to Bristoll Castle,
The Earle of Wiltshire is alreadie there

   Bush. Thither will I with you, for little office
Will the hatefull Commons performe for vs,
Except like Curres, to teare vs all in peeces:
Will you go along with vs?
  Bag. No, I will to Ireland to his Maiestie:
Farewell, if hearts presages be not vaine,
We three here part, that neu'r shall meete againe

   Bu. That's as Yorke thriues to beate back Bullinbroke
  Gr. Alas poore Duke, the taske he vndertakes
Is numbring sands, and drinking Oceans drie,
Where one on his side fights, thousands will flye

   Bush. Farewell at once, for once, for all, and euer.
Well, we may meete againe

   Bag. I feare me neuer.
Enter.

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: At Windsor castle, Bushy tries to cheer up Queen Isabella, who seems sad and preoccupied now that her husband has run off to fight a war in Ireland. Isabella says she's worried that something terrible is about to happen, even though she can't quite put her finger on what it is that's bothering her. Brain Snack: In the play, Shakespeare makes Queen Isabella a grown-up, but historically she was only 7 years old when she married Richard and 10 when Henry Bolingbroke invaded. Bushy tells Isabella to chill out - she's just imagining things. But Isabella insists that her woman's intuition is correct and that something awful is about to go down. Then Green shows up and announces that... something awful has just gone down. Henry Bolingbroke has landed with a huge army at Ravenspurgh , on the northeastern coast of England. Not only that, but a bunch of the English nobility have joined up with Bolingbroke against the king - including Northumberland, his son Henry Percy, Worcester, Ross, Beaumont, and Willoughby. York shows up dressed in battle gear and looking all serious and stressed out. Queen Isabella asks York for comfort. He says something like, "Sorry sweetie - I'm an old man and can barely comfort myself. Plus, I'm pretty busy trying to defend the kingdom while your husband's off fighting some silly war on Ireland." A Servingman shows up and announces that York's son Aumerle has run off, probably to hook up with Bolingbroke's army. York orders the Servingman to go ask his sister-in-law if he can borrow some cash so he can put together an army and confront Henry Bolingbroke. York's timing couldn't be worse. The Servingman tells him the Duchess won't be lending out money any time soon - she died about an hour ago. York is shocked. He says he wishes he had been beheaded along with his brother Gloucester. York wonders how to pay for the wars and asks his men to go rustle up some soldiers to help defend the kingdom against Bolingbroke. Then he worries about who he should be loyal to. On the one hand, Richard is his king, but both Richard and Bolingbroke are his family, and Richard was wrong to steal Bolingbroke's inheritance. Everyone leaves except Bushy, Green, and Bagot. Bushy and Green know that Richard is going down. They don't want to be anywhere near him when it happens, since Bolingbroke will likely come after them too. So they decide to hightail it to Bristol Castle to hide. Bagot says he'll go to the king in Ireland.


prompt:
Chapter: Scaena Tertia.

Enter the Duke of Hereford, and Northumberland.

  Bul. How farre is it my Lord to Berkley now?
  Nor. Beleeue me noble Lord,
I am a stranger heere in Gloustershire,
These high wilde hilles, and rough vneeuen waies,
Drawes out our miles, and makes them wearisome.
And yet our faire discourse hath beene as sugar,
Making the hard way sweet and delectable:
But I bethinke me, what a wearie way
From Rauenspurgh to Cottshold will be found,
In Rosse and Willoughby, wanting your companie,
Which I protest hath very much beguild
The tediousnesse, and processe of my trauell:
But theirs is sweetned with the hope to haue
The present benefit that I possesse;
And hope to ioy, is little lesse in ioy,
Then hope enioy'd: By this, the wearie Lords
Shall make their way seeme short, as mine hath done,
By sight of what I haue, your Noble Companie

   Bull. Of much lesse value is my Companie,
Then your good words: but who comes here?

Enter H[arry]. Percie.

  North. It is my Sonne, young Harry Percie,
Sent from my Brother Worcester: Whence soeuer.
Harry, how fares your Vnckle?
  Percie. I had thought, my Lord, to haue learn'd his
health of you

   North. Why, is he not with the Queene?
  Percie. No, my good Lord, he hath forsook the Court,
Broken his Staffe of Office, and disperst
The Household of the King

   North. What was his reason?
He was not so resolu'd, when we last spake together

   Percie. Because your Lordship was proclaimed Traitor.
But hee, my Lord, is gone to Rauenspurgh,
To offer seruice to the Duke of Hereford,
And sent me ouer by Barkely, to discouer
What power the Duke of Yorke had leuied there,
Then with direction to repaire to Rauenspurgh

   North. Haue you forgot the Duke of Hereford (Boy.)
  Percie. No, my good Lord; for that is not forgot
Which ne're I did remember: to my knowledge,
I neuer in my life did looke on him

   North. Then learne to know him now: this is the
Duke

   Percie. My gracious Lord, I tender you my seruice,
Such as it is, being tender, raw, and young,
Which elder dayes shall ripen, and confirme
To more approued seruice, and desert

   Bull. I thanke thee gentle Percie, and be sure
I count my selfe in nothing else so happy,
As in a Soule remembring my good Friends:
And as my Fortune ripens with thy Loue,
It shall be still thy true Loues recompence,
My Heart this Couenant makes, my Hand thus seales it

   North. How farre is it to Barkely? and what stirre
Keepes good old Yorke there, with his Men of Warre?
  Percie. There stands the Castle, by yond tuft of Trees,
Mann'd with three hundred men, as I haue heard,
And in it are the Lords of Yorke, Barkely, and Seymor,
None else of Name, and noble estimate.
Enter Rosse and Willoughby.

  North. Here come the Lords of Rosse and Willoughby,
Bloody with spurring, fierie red with haste

   Bull. Welcome my Lords, I wot your loue pursues
A banisht Traytor; all my Treasurie
Is yet but vnfelt thankes, which more enrich'd,
Shall be your loue, and labours recompence

   Ross. Your presence makes vs rich, most Noble Lord

   Willo. And farre surmounts our labour to attaine it

   Bull. Euermore thankes, th' Exchequer of the poore,
Which till my infant-fortune comes to yeeres,
Stands for my Bountie: but who comes here?
Enter Barkely.

  North. It is my Lord of Barkely, as I ghesse

   Bark. My Lord of Hereford, my Message is to you

   Bull. My Lord, my Answere is to Lancaster,
And I am come to seeke that Name in England,
And I must finde that Title in your Tongue,
Before I make reply to aught you say

   Bark. Mistake me not, my Lord, 'tis not my meaning
To raze one Title of your Honor out.
To you, my Lord, I come (what Lord you will)
From the most glorious of this Land,
The Duke of Yorke, to know what pricks you on
To take aduantage of the absent time,
And fright our Natiue Peace with selfe-borne Armes.
Enter Yorke.

  Bull. I shall not need transport my words by you,
Here comes his Grace in Person. My Noble Vnckle

   York. Shew me thy humble heart, and not thy knee,
Whose dutie is deceiuable, and false

   Bull. My gracious Vnckle

   York. Tut, tut, Grace me no Grace, nor Vnckle me,
I am no Traytors Vnckle; and that word Grace,
In an vngracious mouth, is but prophane.
Why haue these banish'd, and forbidden Legges,
Dar'd once to touch a Dust of Englands Ground?
But more then why, why haue they dar'd to march
So many miles vpon her peacefull Bosome,
Frighting her pale-fac'd Villages with Warre,
And ostentation of despised Armes?
Com'st thou because th' anoynted King is hence?
Why foolish Boy, the King is left behind,
And in my loyall Bosome lyes his power.
Were I but now the Lord of such hot youth,
As when braue Gaunt, thy Father, and my selfe
Rescued the Black Prince, that yong Mars of men,
From forth the Rankes of many thousand French:
Oh then, how quickly should this Arme of mine,
Now Prisoner to the Palsie, chastise thee,
And minister correction to thy Fault

   Bull. My gracious Vnckle, let me know my Fault,
On what Condition stands it, and wherein?
  York. Euen in Condition of the worst degree,
In grosse Rebellion, and detested Treason:
Thou art a banish'd man, and here art come
Before th' expiration of thy time,
In brauing Armes against thy Soueraigne

   Bull. As I was banish'd, I was banish'd Hereford,
But as I come, I come for Lancaster.
And Noble Vnckle, I beseech your Grace
Looke on my Wrongs with an indifferent eye:
You are my Father, for me thinkes in you
I see old Gaunt aliue. Oh then my Father,
Will you permit, that I shall stand condemn'd
A wandring Vagabond; my Rights and Royalties
Pluckt from my armes perforce, and giuen away
To vpstart Vnthrifts? Wherefore was I borne?
If that my Cousin King, be King of England,
It must be graunted, I am Duke of Lancaster.
You haue a Sonne, Aumerle, my Noble Kinsman,
Had you first died, and he beene thus trod downe,
He should haue found his Vnckle Gaunt a Father,
To rowze his Wrongs, and chase them to the bay.
I am denyde to sue my Liuerie here,
And yet my Letters Patents giue me leaue:
My Fathers goods are all distraynd, and sold,
And these, and all, are all amisse imployd.
What would you haue me doe? I am a Subiect,
And challenge Law: Attorneyes are deny'd me;
And therefore personally I lay my claime
To my Inheritance of free Discent

   North. The Noble Duke hath been too much abus'd

   Ross. It stands your Grace vpon, to doe him right

   Willo. Base men by his endowments are made great

   York. My Lords of England, let me tell you this,
I haue had feeling of my Cosens Wrongs,
And labour'd all I could to doe him right:
But in this kind, to come in brauing Armes,
Be his owne Caruer, and cut out his way,
To find out Right with Wrongs, it may not be;
And you that doe abett him in this kind,
Cherish Rebellion, and are Rebels all

   North. The Noble Duke hath sworne his comming is
But for his owne; and for the right of that,
Wee all haue strongly sworne to giue him ayd,
And let him neu'r see Ioy, that breakes that Oath

   York. Well, well, I see the issue of these Armes,
I cannot mend it, I must needes confesse,
Because my power is weake, and all ill left:
But if I could, by him that gaue me life,
I would attach you all, and make you stoope
Vnto the Soueraigne Mercy of the King.
But since I cannot, be it knowne to you,
I doe remaine as Neuter. So fare you well,
Vnlesse you please to enter in the Castle,
And there repose you for this Night

   Bull. An offer Vnckle, that wee will accept:
But wee must winne your Grace to goe with vs
To Bristow Castle, which they say is held
By Bushie, Bagot, and their Complices,
The Caterpillers of the Commonwealth,
Which I haue sworne to weed, and plucke away

   York. It may be I will go with you: but yet Ile pawse,
For I am loth to breake our Countries Lawes:
Nor Friends, nor Foes, to me welcome you are,
Things past redresse, are now with me past care.

Exeunt.

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: The scene opens in Gloucestershire , where Bolingbroke and Northumberland are leading Henry's army toward Cotswold to meet up with Berkeley, Ross, and Willoughby . Tip: Now would be a good time to take a look at this map to see how far Henry has marched . Northumberland's son Henry Percy shows up. He says Northumberland's brother Worcester left the court and is on his way to join Henry's army because Northumberland had been declared a traitor. Northumberland yells at his son for not showing Henry enough respect. Ross and Willoughby show up. Bolingbroke thanks them for coming and promises to reward them. For now he offers them all he has: his thanks. Berkeley arrives to deliver a message to Bolingbroke and calls him "my lord of Hereford" . This irritates Bolingbroke, who replies he'll only answer to the name "Lancaster," the title Richard took away. Berkeley's message is from the Duke of York. It goes something like this: "Dear Henry, in case you forgot, you've been officially banished from England. So what the heck do you think you're doing showing up here with a big army? Love, Uncle York.) As Bolingbroke is about to reply, York appears in person. Bolingbroke kneels and calls him "uncle." York says, "show me thy humble heart, and not thy knee." York says he is "no traitor's uncle," and asks again why Bolingbroke has returned from his banishment to disturb England's peace while the "anointed King" is away. Bolingbroke is all, "Gee, Uncle York. What on earth have I done wrong?" Rebellion and treason, York says. Bolingbroke gets up off his knee, stands, and says that technically, he was banished as the Duke of Hereford. Since he's now the Duke of Lancaster, he should get to come home. After all, King Richard didn't say anything about the Duke of Lancaster being banished. Then Bolingbroke plays the dead dad card and tells his uncle York to cut him some slack. Bolingbroke also points out that if Richard can take away his inheritance, then maybe Henry should take away Richard's . Northumberland, Ross, and Willoughby join in and try to convince York that Bolingbroke has been wronged. York agrees in principle, but says that Henry shouldn't have shown up with an army. It sort of sends the wrong message. Northumberland chimes in that Henry has sworn to come only to claim his own property and not to take over England. York gives up. He says he's too weak to stop Henry from rebelling. It's late and Henry's army has had a big day, so York generously offers to let them all spend the night at the king's castle so they can be bright-eyed and bushy tailed in the morning. Bolingbroke is all, "Thanks Uncle York, but I need to get to Bristol Castle ASAP so I can take care of Bushy and Green. Why don't you come with?" York pauses. He really hates it when people like Henry break the laws of the land, but he finally agrees to go with Henry.


prompt:
Chapter: Scoena Quarta.

Enter Salisbury, and a Captaine.

  Capt. My Lord of Salisbury, we haue stayd ten dayes,
And hardly kept our Countreymen together,
And yet we heare no tidings from the King;
Therefore we will disperse our selues: farewell

   Sal. Stay yet another day, thou trustie Welchman,
The King reposeth all his confidence in thee

   Capt. 'Tis thought the King is dead, we will not stay;
The Bay-trees in our Countrey all are wither'd,
And Meteors fright the fixed Starres of Heauen;
The pale-fac'd Moone lookes bloody on the Earth,
And leane-look'd Prophets whisper fearefull change;
Rich men looke sad, and Ruffians dance and leape,
The one in feare, to loose what they enioy,
The other to enioy by Rage, and Warre:
These signes fore-run the death of Kings.
Farewell, our Countreymen are gone and fled,
As well assur'd Richard their King is dead.
Enter.

  Sal. Ah Richard, with eyes of heauie mind,
I see thy Glory, like a shooting Starre,
Fall to the base Earth, from the Firmament:
Thy Sunne sets weeping in the lowly West,
Witnessing Stormes to come, Woe, and Vnrest:
Thy Friends are fled, to wait vpon thy Foes,
And crossely to thy good, all fortune goes.
Enter.

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: On the coast of Wales, a Welsh Captain and his troops have been waiting around for King Richard to show up so they can help him fight Henry Bolingbroke's army. The Captain tells the Earl of Salisbury that he's sick and tired of waiting for Richard. He's going to send all his men home if Richard doesn't show up in the next two seconds. When Salisbury begs him to stay just one more day, the Welsh Captain says forget about it. Everyone thinks the king is dead anyway. The Captain and his army leave. Salisbury notes that when Richard shows up he's going to be totally screwed, because he'll have little to no protection.


prompt:
Chapter: Actus Tertius. Scena Prima.

Enter Bullingbrooke, Yorke, Northumberland, Rosse, Percie,
Willoughby,
with Bushie and Greene Prisoners.

  Bull. Bring forth these men:
Bushie and Greene, I will not vex your soules,
(Since presently your soules must part your bodies)
With too much vrging your pernitious liues,
For 'twere no Charitie: yet to wash your blood
From off my hands, here in the view of men,
I will vnfold some causes of your deaths.
You haue mis-led a Prince, a Royall King,
A happie Gentleman in Blood, and Lineaments,
By you vnhappied, and disfigur'd cleane:
You haue in manner with your sinfull houres
Made a Diuorce betwixt his Queene and him,
Broke the possession of a Royall Bed,
And stayn'd the beautie of a faire Queenes Cheekes,
With teares drawn fro[m] her eyes, with your foule wrongs.
My selfe a Prince, by fortune of my birth,
Neere to the King in blood, and neere in loue,
Till you did make him mis-interprete me,
Haue stoopt my neck vnder your iniuries,
And sigh'd my English breath in forraine Clouds,
Eating the bitter bread of banishment;
While you haue fed vpon my Seignories,
Dis-park'd my Parkes, and fell'd my Forrest Woods;
From mine owne Windowes torne my Household Coat,
Raz'd out my Impresse, leauing me no signe,
Saue mens opinions, and my liuing blood,
To shew the World I am a Gentleman.
This, and much more, much more then twice all this,
Condemnes you to the death: see them deliuered ouer
To execution, and the hand of death

   Bushie. More welcome is the stroake of death to me,
Then Bullingbrooke to England

   Greene. My comfort is, that Heauen will take our soules,
And plague Iniustice with the paines of Hell

   Bull. My Lord Northumberland, see them dispatch'd:
Vnckle, you say the Queene is at your House,
For Heauens sake fairely let her be entreated,
Tell her I send to her my kind commends;
Take speciall care my Greetings be deliuer'd

   York. A Gentleman of mine I haue dispatch'd
With Letters of your loue, to her at large

   Bull. Thankes gentle Vnckle: come Lords away,
To fight with Glendoure, and his Complices;
A while to worke, and after holliday.

Exeunt.

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: When the scene opens, Bolingbroke has captured Bristol Castle, where Bushy and Green have been hiding out. Bolingbroke doesn't want there to be any confusion, so he tells everybody why he's sentencing Bushy and Green to death. First Bolingbroke accuses Bushy and Green of corrupting the king and coming between him and his friends and family members . Then, since no political drama is complete without a sexual scandal, Bolingbroke implies that Bushy and Green both had sex with Richard, making a "divorce betwixt his queen and him" by breaking "the possession of a royal bed." Finally, Bolingbroke says that Bushy and Green helped King Richard steal his land from him, which basically stripped Bolingbroke of his identity as a "gentleman." Bushy and Green say they'd rather die and go to heaven than live in England with Henry Bolingbroke running around. Bolingbroke orders Northumberland do his dirty work for him by making sure Bushy and Green are put to death. Northumberland is all over it. Bolingbroke turns to York and says he wants to make sure the queen is treated fairly. Then he says something like, "Okay guys, time to get back to our uprising. If we work hard now, we can party later."


prompt:
Chapter: Scena Secunda.

Drums: Flourish, and Colours. Enter Richard, Aumerle, Carlile,
and
Souldiers.

  Rich. Barkloughly Castle call you this at hand?
  Au. Yea, my Lord: how brooks your Grace the ayre,
After your late tossing on the breaking Seas?
  Rich. Needs must I like it well: I weepe for ioy
To stand vpon my Kingdome once againe.
Deere Earth, I doe salute thee with my hand,
Though Rebels wound thee with their Horses hoofes:
As a long parted Mother with her Child,
Playes fondly with her teares, and smiles in meeting;
So weeping, smiling, greet I thee my Earth,
And doe thee fauor with my Royall hands.
Feed not thy Soueraignes Foe, my gentle Earth,
Nor with thy Sweetes, comfort his rauenous sence:
But let thy Spiders, that suck vp thy Venome,
And heauie-gated Toades lye in their way,
Doing annoyance to the trecherous feete,
Which with vsurping steps doe trample thee.
Yeeld stinging Nettles to mine Enemies;
And when they from thy Bosome pluck a Flower,
Guard it I prethee with a lurking Adder,
Whose double tongue may with a mortall touch
Throw death vpon thy Soueraignes Enemies.
Mock not my sencelesse Coniuration, Lords;
This Earth shall haue a feeling, and these Stones
Proue armed Souldiers, ere her Natiue King
Shall falter vnder foule Rebellious Armes

   Car. Feare not my Lord, that Power that made you King
Hath power to keepe you King, in spight of all

   Aum. He meanes, my Lord, that we are too remisse,
Whilest Bullingbrooke through our securitie,
Growes strong and great, in substance and in friends

   Rich. Discomfortable Cousin, knowest thou not,
That when the searching Eye of Heauen is hid
Behind the Globe, that lights the lower World,
Then Theeues and Robbers raunge abroad vnseene,
In Murthers and in Out-rage bloody here:
But when from vnder this Terrestriall Ball
He fires the prowd tops of the Easterne Pines,
And darts his Lightning through eu'ry guiltie hole,
Then Murthers, Treasons, and detested sinnes
(The Cloake of Night being pluckt from off their backs)
Stand bare and naked, trembling at themselues.
So when this Theefe, this Traytor Bullingbrooke,
Who all this while hath reuell'd in the Night,
Shall see vs rising in our Throne, the East,
His Treasons will sit blushing in his face,
Not able to endure the sight of Day;
But selfe-affrighted, tremble at his sinne.
Not all the Water in the rough rude Sea
Can wash the Balme from an anoynted King;
The breath of worldly men cannot depose
The Deputie elected by the Lord:
For euery man that Bullingbrooke hath prest,
To lift shrewd Steele against our Golden Crowne,
Heauen for his Richard hath in heauenly pay
A glorious Angell: then if Angels fight,
Weake men must fall, for Heauen still guards the right.
Enter Salisbury.

Welcome my Lord, how farre off lyes your Power?
  Salisb. Nor neere, nor farther off, my gracious Lord,
Then this weake arme; discomfort guides my tongue,
And bids me speake of nothing but despaire:
One day too late, I feare (my Noble Lord)
Hath clouded all thy happie dayes on Earth:
Oh call backe Yesterday, bid Time returne,
And thou shalt haue twelue thousand fighting men:
To day, to day, vnhappie day too late
Orethrowes thy Ioyes, Friends, Fortune, and thy State;
For all the Welchmen hearing thou wert dead,
Are gone to Bullingbrooke, disperst, and fled

   Aum. Comfort my Liege, why lookes your Grace so
pale?
  Rich. But now the blood of twentie thousand men
Did triumph in my face, and they are fled,
And till so much blood thither come againe,
Haue I not reason to looke pale, and dead?
All Soules that will be safe, flye from my side,
For Time hath set a blot vpon my pride

   Aum. Comfort my Liege, remember who you are

   Rich. I had forgot my selfe. Am I not King?
Awake thou sluggard Maiestie, thou sleepest:
Is not the Kings Name fortie thousand Names?
Arme, arme my Name: a punie subiect strikes
At thy great glory. Looke not to the ground,
Ye Fauorites of a King: are wee not high?
High be our thoughts: I know my Vnckle Yorke
Hath Power enough to serue our turne.
But who comes here?
Enter Scroope.

  Scroope. More health and happinesse betide my Liege,
Then can my care-tun'd tongue deliuer him

   Rich. Mine eare is open, and my heart prepar'd:
The worst is worldly losse, thou canst vnfold:
Say, Is my Kingdome lost? why 'twas my Care:
And what losse is it to be rid of Care?
Striues Bullingbrooke to be as Great as wee?
Greater he shall not be: If hee serue God,
Wee'l serue him too, and be his Fellow so.
Reuolt our Subiects? That we cannot mend,
They breake their Faith to God, as well as vs:
Cry Woe, Destruction, Ruine, Losse, Decay,
The worst is Death, and Death will haue his day

   Scroope. Glad am I, that your Highnesse is so arm'd
To beare the tidings of Calamitie.
Like an vnseasonable stormie day,
Which make the Siluer Riuers drowne their Shores,
As if the World were all dissolu'd to teares:
So high, aboue his Limits, swells the Rage
Of Bullingbrooke, couering your fearefull Land
With hard bright Steele, and hearts harder then Steele:
White Beares haue arm'd their thin and hairelesse Scalps
Against thy Maiestie, and Boyes with Womens Voyces,
Striue to speake bigge, and clap their female ioints
In stiffe vnwieldie Armes: against thy Crowne
Thy very Beads-men learne to bend their Bowes
Of double fatall Eugh: against thy State
Yea Distaffe-Women manage rustie Bills:
Against thy Seat both young and old rebell,
And all goes worse then I haue power to tell

   Rich. Too well, too well thou tell'st a Tale so ill.
Where is the Earle of Wiltshire? where is Bagot?
What is become of Bushie? where is Greene?
That they haue let the dangerous Enemie
Measure our Confines with such peacefull steps?
If we preuaile, their heads shall pay for it.
I warrant they haue made peace with Bullingbrooke

   Scroope. Peace haue they made with him indeede (my
Lord.)
  Rich. Oh Villains, Vipers, damn'd without redemption,
Dogges, easily woon to fawne on any man,
Snakes in my heart blood warm'd, that sting my heart,
Three Iudasses, each one thrice worse then Iudas,
Would they make peace? terrible Hell make warre
Vpon their spotted Soules for this Offence

   Scroope. Sweet Loue (I see) changing his propertie,
Turnes to the sowrest, and most deadly hate:
Againe vncurse their Soules; their peace is made
With Heads, and not with Hands: those whom you curse
Haue felt the worst of Deaths destroying hand,
And lye full low, grau'd in the hollow ground

   Aum. Is Bushie, Greene, and the Earle of Wiltshire
dead?
  Scroope. Yea, all of them at Bristow lost their heads

   Aum. Where is the Duke my Father with his Power?
  Rich. No matter where; of comfort no man speake:
Let's talke of Graues, of Wormes, and Epitaphs,
Make Dust our Paper, and with Raynie eyes
Write Sorrow on the Bosome of the Earth.
Let's chuse Executors, and talke of Wills:
And yet not so; for what can we bequeath,
Saue our deposed bodies to the ground?
Our Lands, our Liues, and all are Bullingbrookes,
And nothing can we call our owne, but Death,
And that small Modell of the barren Earth,
Which serues as Paste, and Couer to our Bones:
For Heauens sake let vs sit vpon the ground,
And tell sad stories of the death of Kings:
How some haue been depos'd, some slaine in warre,
Some haunted by the Ghosts they haue depos'd,
Some poyson'd by their Wiues, some sleeping kill'd,
All murther'd. For within the hollow Crowne
That rounds the mortall Temples of a King,
Keepes Death his Court, and there the Antique sits
Scoffing his State, and grinning at his Pompe,
Allowing him a breath, a little Scene,
To Monarchize, be fear'd, and kill with lookes,
Infusing him with selfe and vaine conceit,
As if this Flesh, which walls about our Life,
Were Brasse impregnable: and humor'd thus,
Comes at the last, and with a little Pinne
Bores through his Castle Walls, and farwell King.
Couer your heads, and mock not flesh and blood
With solemne Reuerence: throw away Respect,
Tradition, Forme, and Ceremonious dutie,
For you haue but mistooke me all this while:
I liue with Bread like you, feele Want,
Taste Griefe, need Friends: subiected thus,
How can you say to me, I am a King?
  Carl. My Lord, wise men ne're waile their present woes,
But presently preuent the wayes to waile:
To feare the Foe, since feare oppresseth strength,
Giues in your weakenesse, strength vnto your Foe;
Feare, and be slaine, no worse can come to sight,
And fight and die, is death destroying death,
Where fearing, dying, payes death seruile breath

   Aum. My Father hath a Power, enquire of him;
And learne to make a Body of a Limbe

   Rich. Thou chid'st me well: proud Bullingbrooke I come
To change Blowes with thee, for our day of Doome:
This ague fit of feare is ouer-blowne,
An easie taske it is to winne our owne.
Say Scroope, where lyes our Vnckle with his Power?
Speake sweetly man, although thy lookes be sowre

   Scroope. Men iudge by the complexion of the Skie
The state and inclination of the day;
So may you by my dull and heauie Eye:
My Tongue hath but a heauier Tale to say:
I play the Torturer, by small and small
To lengthen out the worst, that must be spoken.
Your Vnckle Yorke is ioyn'd with Bullingbrooke,
And all your Northerne Castles yeelded vp,
And all your Southerne Gentlemen in Armes
Vpon his Faction

   Rich. Thou hast said enough.
Beshrew thee Cousin, which didst lead me forth
Of that sweet way I was in, to despaire:
What say you now? What comfort haue we now?
By Heauen Ile hate him euerlastingly,
That bids me be of comfort any more.
Goe to Flint Castle, there Ile pine away,
A King, Woes slaue, shall Kingly Woe obey:
That Power I haue, discharge, and let 'em goe
To eare the Land, that hath some hope to grow,
For I haue none. Let no man speake againe
To alter this, for counsaile is but vaine

   Aum. My Liege, one word

   Rich. He does me double wrong,
That wounds me with the flatteries of his tongue.
Discharge my followers: let them hence away,
From Richards Night, to Bullingbrookes faire Day.

Exeunt.

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: Meanwhile, Richard and his crew have arrived at Harlech Castle, on the coast of Wales. Richard is grateful to be back on British soil. So grateful, in fact, that he bends down, picks up some dirt, and starts to sweet-talk the soil: "Dear earth, I do salute thee with my hand." Then Richard asks the earth not to help the rebels - in fact, he hopes the earth will poison them with toads, spiders, and adders or make them march through "stinging nettles." Carlisle reassures Richard that everything will be okay. Aumerle is less optimistic. He says Bolingbroke is growing stronger by the minute. Richard tells Aumerle that he's wrong and should pipe down. Richard says God gave him a right to rule England, so God will protect him. Salisbury comes in with some bad news: the group of Welsh soldiers that were supposed to meet Richard at Harlech Castle decided to leave and go home. Apparently they heard a rumor that Richard was dead. If Richard had arrived one day sooner, he would have had an army to back him up. Richard is shocked at the news, but not for long. He declares he is a king, gosh darn it, and a king's name is the same as forty thousand names! Scrope comes in to deliver more bad news. Richard says he's prepared to hear the worst. Scrope tells him the entire kingdom has turned against him. Richard wants to know where his allies are so he can chop off their heads for letting this happen. Scrope tells him it's too late: they've already been beheaded by Henry Bolingbroke. Richard decides to give up. He gives a big speech about death and then sits down in the dirt and says it's time to "tell sad stories of the death of kings." The Bishop of Carlisle tells Richard wise men don't whine. He needs to get his butt off the ground and fight! Richard seems like he's ready to take action, but then he hears that York has also joined Team Henry Bolingbroke. Hopeless, Richard decides to run away to Flint Castle, where he'll spend all his time moping around. He tells his advisors his mind is made up and forbids them to speak. Aumerle asks if he can just say one little thing. Richard says no.