prompt:
Chapter: Enter the Duke of Norfolke, Duke of Suffolke, Lord Surrey, and
Lord
Chamberlaine.

Norf. If you will now vnite in your Complaints,
    And force them with a Constancy, the Cardinall
    Cannot stand vnder them. If you omit
    The offer of this time, I cannot promise,
    But that you shall sustaine moe new disgraces,
    With these you beare alreadie

    Sur. I am ioyfull
    To meete the least occasion, that may giue me
    Remembrance of my Father-in-Law, the Duke,
    To be reueng'd on him

    Suf. Which of the Peeres
    Haue vncontemn'd gone by him, or at least
    Strangely neglected? When did he regard
    The stampe of Noblenesse in any person
    Out of himselfe?
    Cham. My Lords, you speake your pleasures:
    What he deserues of you and me, I know:
    What we can do to him (though now the time
            Giues way to vs) I much feare. If you cannot
    Barre his accesse to'th' King, neuer attempt
    Any thing on him: for he hath a Witchcraft
    Ouer the King in's Tongue

    Nor. O feare him not,
    His spell in that is out: the King hath found
    Matter against him, that for euer marres
    The Hony of his Language. No, he's setled
    (Not to come off) in his displeasure

    Sur. Sir,
    I should be glad to heare such Newes as this
    Once euery houre

    Nor. Beleeue it, this is true.
    In the Diuorce, his contrarie proceedings
    Are all vnfolded: wherein he appeares,
    As I would wish mine Enemy

    Sur. How came
    His practises to light?
    Suf. Most strangely

    Sur. O how? how?
    Suf. The Cardinals Letters to the Pope miscarried,
    And came to th' eye o'th' King, wherein was read
    How that the Cardinall did intreat his Holinesse
    To stay the Iudgement o'th' Diuorce; for if
    It did take place, I do (quoth he) perceiue
    My King is tangled in affection, to
    A Creature of the Queenes, Lady Anne Bullen

    Sur. Ha's the King this?
    Suf. Beleeue it

    Sur. Will this worke?
    Cham. The King in this perceiues him, how he coasts
    And hedges his owne way. But in this point
    All his trickes founder, and he brings his Physicke
    After his Patients death; the King already
    Hath married the faire Lady

    Sur. Would he had

    Suf. May you be happy in your wish my Lord,
    For I professe you haue it

    Sur. Now all my ioy
    Trace the Coniunction

    Suf. My Amen too't

    Nor. All mens

    Suf. There's order giuen for her Coronation:
    Marry this is yet but yong, and may be left
    To some eares vnrecounted. But my Lords
    She is a gallant Creature, and compleate
    In minde and feature. I perswade me, from her
    Will fall some blessing to this Land, which shall
    In it be memoriz'd

    Sur. But will the King
    Digest this Letter of the Cardinals?
    The Lord forbid

    Nor. Marry Amen

    Suf. No, no:
    There be moe Waspes that buz about his Nose,
    Will make this sting the sooner. Cardinall Campeius,
    Is stolne away to Rome, hath 'tane no leaue,
    Ha's left the cause o'th' King vnhandled, and
    Is posted as the Agent of our Cardinall,
    To second all his plot. I do assure you,
    The King cry'de Ha, at this

    Cham. Now God incense him,
    And let him cry Ha, lowder

    Norf. But my Lord
    When returnes Cranmer?
    Suf. He is return'd in his Opinions, which
    Haue satisfied the King for his Diuorce,
    Together with all famous Colledges
    Almost in Christendome: shortly (I beleeue)
    His second Marriage shall be publishd, and
    Her Coronation. Katherine no more
    Shall be call'd Queene, but Princesse Dowager,
    And Widdow to Prince Arthur

    Nor. This same Cranmer's
    A worthy Fellow, and hath tane much paine
    In the Kings businesse

    Suff. He ha's, and we shall see him
    For it, an Arch-byshop

    Nor. So I heare

    Suf. 'Tis so.
    Enter Wolsey and Cromwell.

    The Cardinall

    Nor. Obserue, obserue, hee's moody

    Car. The Packet Cromwell,
    Gau't you the King?
    Crom. To his owne hand, in's Bed-chamber

    Card. Look'd he o'th' inside of the Paper?
    Crom. Presently
    He did vnseale them, and the first he view'd,
    He did it with a Serious minde: a heede
    Was in his countenance. You he bad
    Attend him heere this Morning

    Card. Is he ready to come abroad?
    Crom. I thinke by this he is

    Card. Leaue me a while.

    Exit Cromwell.

    It shall be to the Dutches of Alanson,
    The French Kings Sister; He shall marry her.
    Anne Bullen? No: Ile no Anne Bullens for him,
    There's more in't then faire Visage. Bullen?
    No, wee'l no Bullens: Speedily I wish
    To heare from Rome. The Marchionesse of Penbroke?
    Nor. He's discontented

    Suf. Maybe he heares the King
    Does whet his Anger to him

    Sur. Sharpe enough,
    Lord for thy Iustice

    Car. The late Queenes Gentlewoman?
    A Knights Daughter
    To be her Mistris Mistris? The Queenes, Queene?
    This Candle burnes not cleere, 'tis I must snuffe it,
    Then out it goes. What though I know her vertuous
    And well deseruing? yet I know her for
    A spleeny Lutheran, and not wholsome to
    Our cause, that she should lye i'th' bosome of
    Our hard rul'd King. Againe, there is sprung vp
    An Heretique, an Arch-one; Cranmer, one
    Hath crawl'd into the fauour of the King,
    And is his Oracle

    Nor. He is vex'd at something.
    Enter King, reading of a Scedule.

    Sur. I would 'twer somthing y would fret the string,
    The Master-cord on's heart

    Suf. The King, the King

    King. What piles of wealth hath he accumulated
    To his owne portion? And what expence by'th' houre
    Seemes to flow from him? How, i'th' name of Thrift
    Does he rake this together? Now my Lords,
    Saw you the Cardinall?
    Nor. My Lord, we haue
    Stood heere obseruing him. Some strange Commotion
    Is in his braine: He bites his lip, and starts,
    Stops on a sodaine, lookes vpon the ground,
    Then layes his finger on his Temple: straight
    Springs out into fast gate, then stops againe,
    Strikes his brest hard, and anon, he casts
    His eye against the Moone: in most strange Postures
    We haue seene him set himselfe

    King. It may well be,
    There is a mutiny in's minde. This morning,
    Papers of State he sent me, to peruse
    As I requir'd: and wot you what I found
There (on my Conscience put vnwittingly)
    Forsooth an Inuentory, thus importing
    The seuerall parcels of his Plate, his Treasure,
    Rich Stuffes and Ornaments of Houshold, which
    I finde at such proud Rate, that it out-speakes
    Possession of a Subiect

    Nor. It's Heauens will,
    Some Spirit put this paper in the Packet,
    To blesse your eye withall

    King. If we did thinke
    His Contemplation were aboue the earth,
    And fixt on Spirituall obiect, he should still
    Dwell in his Musings, but I am affraid
    His Thinkings are below the Moone, not worth
    His serious considering.

    King takes his Seat, whispers Louell, who goes to the Cardinall.

    Car. Heauen forgiue me,
    Euer God blesse your Highnesse

    King. Good my Lord,
    You are full of Heauenly stuffe, and beare the Inuentory
    Of your best Graces, in your minde; the which
    You were now running o're: you haue scarse time
    To steale from Spirituall leysure, a briefe span
    To keepe your earthly Audit, sure in that
    I deeme you an ill Husband, and am glad
    To haue you therein my Companion

    Car. Sir,
    For Holy Offices I haue a time; a time
    To thinke vpon the part of businesse, which
    I beare i'th' State: and Nature does require
    Her times of preseruation, which perforce
    I her fraile sonne, among'st my Brethren mortall,
    Must giue my tendance to

    King. You haue said well

    Car. And euer may your Highnesse yoake together,
    (As I will lend you cause) my doing well,
    With my well saying

    King. 'Tis well said agen,
    And 'tis a kinde of good deede to say well,
    And yet words are no deeds. My Father lou'd you,
    He said he did, and with his deed did Crowne
    His word vpon you. Since I had my Office,
    I haue kept you next my Heart, haue not alone
    Imploy'd you where high Profits might come home,
    But par'd my present Hauings, to bestow
    My Bounties vpon you

    Car. What should this meane?
    Sur. The Lord increase this businesse

    King. Haue I not made you
    The prime man of the State? I pray you tell me,
    If what I now pronounce, you haue found true:
    And if you may confesse it, say withall
    If you are bound to vs, or no. What say you?
    Car. My Soueraigne, I confesse your Royall graces
    Showr'd on me daily, haue bene more then could
    My studied purposes requite, which went
    Beyond all mans endeauors. My endeauors,
    Haue euer come too short of my Desires,
    Yet fill'd with my Abilities: Mine owne ends
    Haue beene mine so, that euermore they pointed
    To'th' good of your most Sacred Person, and
    The profit of the State. For your great Graces
    Heap'd vpon me (poore Vndeseruer) I
    Can nothing render but Allegiant thankes,
    My Prayres to heauen for you; my Loyaltie
    Which euer ha's, and euer shall be growing,
    Till death (that Winter) kill it

    King. Fairely answer'd:
    A Loyall, and obedient Subiect is
    Therein illustrated, the Honor of it
    Does pay the Act of it, as i'th' contrary
    The fowlenesse is the punishment. I presume,
    That as my hand ha's open'd Bounty to you,
    My heart drop'd Loue, my powre rain'd Honor, more
    On you, then any: So your Hand, and Heart,
    Your Braine, and euery Function of your power,
    Should, notwithstanding that your bond of duty,
    As 'twer in Loues particular, be more
    To me your Friend, then any

    Car. I do professe,
    That for your Highnesse good, I euer labour'd
    More then mine owne: that am, haue, and will be
    (Though all the world should cracke their duty to you,
     And throw it from their Soule, though perils did
     Abound, as thicke as thought could make 'em, and
     Appeare in formes more horrid) yet my Duty,
    As doth a Rocke against the chiding Flood,
    Should the approach of this wilde Riuer breake,
    And stand vnshaken yours

    King. 'Tis Nobly spoken:
    Take notice Lords, he ha's a Loyall brest,
    For you haue seene him open't. Read o're this,
    And after this, and then to Breakfast with
    What appetite you haue.

    Exit King, frowning vpon the Cardinall, the Nobles throng after
    him
    smiling, and whispering.

    Car. What should this meane?
    What sodaine Anger's this? How haue I reap'd it?
    He parted Frowning from me, as if Ruine
    Leap'd from his Eyes. So lookes the chafed Lyon
    Vpon the daring Huntsman that has gall'd him:
    Then makes him nothing. I must reade this paper:
    I feare the Story of his Anger. 'Tis so:
    This paper ha's vndone me: 'Tis th' Accompt
    Of all that world of Wealth I haue drawne together
    For mine owne ends, (Indeed to gaine the Popedome,
            And fee my Friends in Rome.) O Negligence!
    Fit for a Foole to fall by: What crosse Diuell
    Made me put this maine Secret in the Packet
    I sent the King? Is there no way to cure this?
    No new deuice to beate this from his Braines?
    I know 'twill stirre him strongly; yet I know
    A way, if it take right, in spight of Fortune
    Will bring me off againe. What's this? To th' Pope?
    The Letter (as I liue) with all the Businesse
    I writ too's Holinesse. Nay then, farewell:
    I haue touch'd the highest point of all my Greatnesse,
    And from that full Meridian of my Glory,
    I haste now to my Setting. I shall fall
    Like a bright exhalation in the Euening,
    And no man see me more.
    Enter to Woolsey, the Dukes of Norfolke and Suffolke, the Earle
    of Surrey,
    and the Lord Chamberlaine.

    Nor. Heare the Kings pleasure Cardinall,
    Who commands you
    To render vp the Great Seale presently
    Into our hands, and to Confine your selfe
    To Asher-house, my Lord of Winchesters,
    Till you heare further from his Highnesse

    Car. Stay:
    Where's your Commission? Lords, words cannot carrie
    Authority so weighty

    Suf. Who dare crosse 'em,
    Bearing the Kings will from his mouth expressely?
    Car. Till I finde more then will, or words to do it,
    (I meane your malice) know, Officious Lords,
    I dare, and must deny it. Now I feele
    Of what course Mettle ye are molded, Enuy,
    How eagerly ye follow my Disgraces
    As if it fed ye, and how sleeke and wanton
    Ye appeare in euery thing may bring my ruine?
    Follow your enuious courses, men of Malice;
    You haue Christian warrant for 'em, and no doubt
    In time will finde their fit Rewards. That Seale
    You aske with such a Violence, the King
    (Mine, and your Master) with his owne hand, gaue me:
    Bad me enioy it, with the Place, and Honors
    During my life; and to confirme his Goodnesse,
    Ti'de it by Letters Patents. Now, who'll take it?
    Sur. The King that gaue it

    Car. It must be himselfe then

    Sur. Thou art a proud Traitor, Priest

    Car. Proud Lord, thou lyest:
    Within these fortie houres, Surrey durst better
    Haue burnt that Tongue, then saide so

    Sur. Thy Ambition
    (Thou Scarlet sinne) robb'd this bewailing Land
    Of Noble Buckingham, my Father-in-Law,
    The heads of all thy Brother-Cardinals,
    (With thee, and all thy best parts bound together)
    Weigh'd not a haire of his. Plague of your policie,
    You sent me Deputie for Ireland,
    Farre from his succour; from the King, from all
    That might haue mercie on the fault, thou gau'st him:
    Whil'st your great Goodnesse, out of holy pitty,
    Absolu'd him with an Axe

    Wol. This, and all else
    This talking Lord can lay vpon my credit,
    I answer, is most false. The Duke by Law
    Found his deserts. How innocent I was
    From any priuate malice in his end,
    His Noble Iurie, and foule Cause can witnesse.
    If I lou'd many words, Lord, I should tell you,
    You haue as little Honestie, as Honor,
    That in the way of Loyaltie, and Truth,
    Toward the King, my euer Roiall Master,
    Dare mate a sounder man then Surrie can be,
    And all that loue his follies

    Sur. By my Soule,
    Your long Coat (Priest) protects you,
    Thou should'st feele
    My Sword i'th' life blood of thee else. My Lords,
    Can ye endure to heare this Arrogance?
    And from this Fellow? If we liue thus tamely,
    To be thus Iaded by a peece of Scarlet,
    Farewell Nobilitie: let his Grace go forward,
    And dare vs with his Cap, like Larkes

    Card. All Goodnesse
    Is poyson to thy Stomacke

    Sur. Yes, that goodnesse
    Of gleaning all the Lands wealth into one,
    Into your owne hands (Card'nall) by Extortion:
    The goodnesse of your intercepted Packets
    You writ to'th Pope, against the King: your goodnesse
    Since you prouoke me, shall be most notorious.
    My Lord of Norfolke, as you are truly Noble,
    As you respect the common good, the State
    Of our despis'd Nobilitie, our Issues,
    (Whom if he liue, will scarse be Gentlemen)
    Produce the grand summe of his sinnes, the Articles
    Collected from his life. Ile startle you
    Worse then the Sacring Bell, when the browne Wench
    Lay kissing in your Armes, Lord Cardinall

    Car. How much me thinkes, I could despise this man,
    But that I am bound in Charitie against it

    Nor. Those Articles, my Lord, are in the Kings hand:
    But thus much, they are foule ones

    Wol. So much fairer
    And spotlesse, shall mine Innocence arise,
    When the King knowes my Truth

    Sur. This cannot saue you:
    I thanke my Memorie, I yet remember
    Some of these Articles, and out they shall.
    Now, if you can blush, and crie guiltie Cardinall,
    You'l shew a little Honestie

    Wol. Speake on Sir,
    I dare your worst Obiections: If I blush,
    It is to see a Nobleman want manners

    Sur. I had rather want those, then my head;
    Haue at you.
    First, that without the Kings assent or knowledge,
    You wrought to be a Legate, by which power
    You maim'd the Iurisdiction of all Bishops

    Nor. Then, That in all you writ to Rome, or else
    To Forraigne Princes, Ego & Rex meus
    Was still inscrib'd: in which you brought the King
    To be your Seruant

    Suf. Then, that without the knowledge
    Either of King or Councell, when you went
    Ambassador to the Emperor, you made bold
    To carry into Flanders, the Great Seale

    Sur. Item, You sent a large Commission
    To Gregory de Cassado, to conclude
    Without the Kings will, or the States allowance,
    A League betweene his Highnesse, and Ferrara

    Suf. That out of meere Ambition, you haue caus'd
    Your holy-Hat to be stampt on the Kings Coine

    Sur. Then, That you haue sent inumerable substance,
    (By what meanes got, I leaue to your owne conscience)
    To furnish Rome, and to prepare the wayes
    You haue for Dignities, to the meere vndooing
    Of all the Kingdome. Many more there are,
    Which since they are of you, and odious,
    I will not taint my mouth with

    Cham. O my Lord,
    Presse not a falling man too farre: 'tis Vertue:
    His faults lye open to the Lawes, let them
    (Not you) correct him. My heart weepes to see him
    So little, of his great Selfe

    Sur. I forgiue him

    Suf. Lord Cardinall, the Kings further pleasure is,
    Because all those things you haue done of late
    By your power Legatine within this Kingdome,
    Fall into 'th' compasse of a Premunire;
That therefore such a Writ be sued against you,
     To forfeit all your Goods, Lands, Tenements,
     Castles, and whatsoeuer, and to be
     Out of the Kings protection. This is my Charge

     Nor. And so wee'l leaue you to your Meditations
     How to liue better. For your stubborne answer
     About the giuing backe the Great Seale to vs,
     The King shall know it, and (no doubt) shal thanke you.
     So fare you well, my little good Lord Cardinall.

     Exeunt. all but Wolsey.

     Wol. So farewell, to the little good you beare me.
     Farewell? A long farewell to all my Greatnesse.
     This is the state of Man; to day he puts forth
     The tender Leaues of hopes, to morrow Blossomes,
     And beares his blushing Honors thicke vpon him:
     The third day, comes a Frost; a killing Frost,
     And when he thinkes, good easie man, full surely
     His Greatnesse is a ripening, nippes his roote,
     And then he fals as I do. I haue ventur'd
     Like little wanton Boyes that swim on bladders:
     This many Summers in a Sea of Glory,
     But farre beyond my depth: my high-blowne Pride
     At length broke vnder me, and now ha's left me
     Weary, and old with Seruice, to the mercy
     Of a rude streame, that must for euer hide me.
     Vaine pompe, and glory of this World, I hate ye,
     I feele my heart new open'd. Oh how wretched
     Is that poore man, that hangs on Princes fauours?
     There is betwixt that smile we would aspire too,
     That sweet Aspect of Princes, and their ruine,
     More pangs, and feares then warres, or women haue;
And when he falles, he falles like Lucifer,
    Neuer to hope againe.
    Enter Cromwell, standing amazed.

    Why how now Cromwell?
    Crom. I haue no power to speake Sir

    Car. What, amaz'd
    At my misfortunes? Can thy Spirit wonder
    A great man should decline. Nay, and you weep
    I am falne indeed

    Crom. How does your Grace

    Card. Why well:
    Neuer so truly happy, my good Cromwell,
    I know my selfe now, and I feele within me,
    A peace aboue all earthly Dignities,
    A still, and quiet Conscience. The King ha's cur'd me,
    I humbly thanke his Grace: and from these shoulders
    These ruin'd Pillers, out of pitty, taken
A loade, would sinke a Nauy, (too much Honor.)
    O 'tis a burden Cromwel, 'tis a burden
    Too heauy for a man, that hopes for Heauen

    Crom. I am glad your Grace,
    Ha's made that right vse of it

    Card. I hope I haue:
    I am able now (me thinkes)
(Out of a Fortitude of Soule, I feele)
    To endure more Miseries, and greater farre
    Then my Weake-hearted Enemies, dare offer.
    What Newes abroad?
    Crom. The heauiest, and the worst,
    Is your displeasure with the King

    Card. God blesse him

    Crom. The next is, that Sir Thomas Moore is chosen
    Lord Chancellor, in your place

    Card. That's somewhat sodain.
    But he's a Learned man. May he continue
    Long in his Highnesse fauour, and do Iustice
    For Truths-sake, and his Conscience; that his bones,
    When he ha's run his course, and sleepes in Blessings,
    May haue a Tombe of Orphants teares wept on him.
    What more?
    Crom. That Cranmer is return'd with welcome;
    Install'd Lord Arch-byshop of Canterbury

    Card. That's Newes indeed

    Crom. Last, that the Lady Anne,
    Whom the King hath in secrecie long married,
    This day was view'd in open, as his Queene,
    Going to Chappell: and the voyce is now
    Onely about her Corronation

    Card. There was the waight that pull'd me downe.
    O Cromwell,
    The King ha's gone beyond me: All my Glories
    In that one woman, I haue lost for euer.
    No Sun, shall euer vsher forth mine Honors,
    Or gilde againe the Noble Troopes that waighted
    Vpon my smiles. Go get thee from me Cromwel,
    I am a poore falne man, vnworthy now
    To be thy Lord, and Master. Seeke the King
    (That Sun, I pray may neuer set) I haue told him,
    What, and how true thou art; he will aduance thee:
    Some little memory of me, will stirre him
    (I know his Noble Nature) not to let
    Thy hopefull seruice perish too. Good Cromwell
    Neglect him not; make vse now, and prouide
    For thine owne future safety

    Crom. O my Lord,
    Must I then leaue you? Must I needes forgo
    So good, so Noble, and so true a Master?
    Beare witnesse, all that haue not hearts of Iron,
    With what a sorrow Cromwel leaues his Lord.
    The King shall haue my seruice; but my prayres
    For euer, and for euer shall be yours

    Card. Cromwel, I did not thinke to shed a teare
    In all my Miseries: But thou hast forc'd me
    (Out of thy honest truth) to play the Woman.
    Let's dry our eyes: And thus farre heare me Cromwel,
    And when I am forgotten, as I shall be,
    And sleepe in dull cold Marble, where no mention
    Of me, more must be heard of: Say I taught thee;
    Say Wolsey, that once trod the wayes of Glory,
    And sounded all the Depths, and Shoales of Honor,
    Found thee a way (out of his wracke) to rise in:
    A sure, and safe one, though thy Master mist it.
    Marke but my Fall, and that that Ruin'd me:
    Cromwel, I charge thee, fling away Ambition,
    By that sinne fell the Angels: how can man then
    (The Image of his Maker) hope to win by it?
    Loue thy selfe last, cherish those hearts that hate thee;
    Corruption wins not more then Honesty.
    Still in thy right hand, carry gentle Peace
    To silence enuious Tongues. Be iust, and feare not;
    Let all the ends thou aym'st at, be thy Countries,
    Thy Gods, and Truths. Then if thou fall'st (O Cromwell)
    Thou fall'st a blessed Martyr.
    Serue the King: And prythee leade me in:
    There take an Inuentory of all I haue,
    To the last peny, 'tis the Kings. My Robe,
    And my Integrity to Heauen, is all,
    I dare now call mine owne. O Cromwel, Cromwel,
    Had I but seru'd my God, with halfe the Zeale
    I seru'd my King: he would not in mine Age
    Haue left me naked to mine Enemies

    Crom. Good Sir, haue patience

    Card. So I haue. Farewell
    The Hopes of Court, my Hopes in Heauen do dwell.

    Exeunt.

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

completion: Norfolk, Suffolk, Surrey and the Lord Chamberlain are discussing the problem of Wolsey. Norfolk believes that if they all unite against Wolsey, he cannot survive. The alternative, he says, is more disgrace. The Lord Chamberlain says that they must bar Wolsey's access to the king if they want to make any sort of attack on him, since he has the king as if under his spell. Norfolk says that the king is already displeased with Wolsey, as he has evidence of his double-dealing in the divorce. Wolsey had written letters to the Pope asking him to delay his decision on the divorce until the king had got over his infatuation with Anne. Wolsey's letters were intercepted by the king. The Lord Chamberlain reveals that the king has already married Anne. Suffolk confirms that her coronation as queen has been arranged. Suffolk praises Anne and says that he believes she will bring blessings to England. He adds that Campeius has displeased the king by leaving for Rome without the king's permission and without having assisted in the divorce. He says that Cranmer is about to return from his tour of the famous colleges, where he has been collecting churchmen's opinions on the divorce. These opinions have supported the king. Soon, news of the king's marriage to Anne will be published. Katherine will lose her title of queen and will be called the princess dowager, and Prince Arthur's widow. Norfolk praises Cranmer for having taken such pains with the king's business. Suffolk predicts that Cranmer will be promoted to Archbishop. Wolsey enters with his servant, Cromwell. The Lords observe them, unseen by Wolsey. Wolsey asks Cromwell if his letters have been given to the king. Cromwell confirms that they have, and the king read them with a serious air. Cromwell leaves, and Wolsey muses that the king must marry the French king's sister, not Anne Bullen. Anne is a passionate Lutheran , and will obstruct Wolsey. Wolsey worries too about the growing influence of Cranmer, another Protestant, over the king. The king and Lovell enter. The king is reading a document that reveals the enormous wealth that Wolsey has accumulated. The king asks the Lords whether they have seen Wolsey. They say that they have been observing him, and that he seems very agitated. The king says this may be because an inventory of Wolsey's possessions has, probably mistakenly, been included in some state papers he had sent to the king. The king is amazed that a subject could accumulate such wealth. He suspects that Wolsey right now is musing on worldly, rather than spiritual, matters. Lovell summons Wolsey to the king. The king says to Wolsey that his mind must be so full of spiritual matters that he has no time to look after worldly responsibilities. Wolsey says that he allots some time to spiritual matters, some to affairs of state, and some to the demands of the body . The king says that Wolsey speaks well. He goes on to say that his father, Henry VII, thought highly of Wolsey, and he himself has employed him as his closest aide. Wolsey, unnerved at where this conversation might be heading, points out that he has worked only for the good of the king and the state, and that the king's favor has been payment enough for his labors. The king says Wolsey has answered well, though it is clear that he doubts his integrity. The king says that a loyal subject is rewarded with honor, and a disloyal one with dishonor. Wolsey repeats that he has always worked for the king's good, not his own. Again, the king commends Wolsey's reply. He gives Wolsey the papers he has intercepted and leaves, followed by the Lords, who are smiling happily at these developments. Left alone, Wolsey examines the papers. When he finds the inventory of his wealth, he realizes that this has caused the king's anger. He admits that he has built up wealth for his own ends, specifically, to bribe his friends in Rome to gain the position of Pope. Then he finds his letter to the Pope, asking him to delay his decision on the divorce. He knows that he is ruined. Norfolk, Suffolk, Surrey and the Lord Chamberlain enter. Norfolk has been sent by the king to order Wolsey to hand back his seal of office and confine himself to his house. But Wolsey is unwilling to obey without a written warrant from the king. He accuses the Lords of envy and refuses to give up the seal except into the king's own hands. Surrey accuses Wolsey of having brought about the death of his father-in-law, Buckingham, and having sent him, Surrey, to Ireland, so that he could not seek justice. Wolsey protests that he is innocent of the death of Buckingham, who was convicted under the law by a jury. Surrey angrily replies that if Wolsey were not protected by his churchman's office, he would kill him. Surrey reminds Wolsey that he has gained wealth by extortion from the nobles, and dealt with the Pope against the king's interests. Norfolk tells Wolsey that he has a list of articles, written by the king, enumerating Wolsey's misdeeds. Wolsey insists that he will be able to prove his innocence to the king. Suffolk says he remembers some of the king's complaints against Wolsey, and Wolsey will not be able to save himself. The Lords begin to read out the list of articles against Wolsey drawn up by the king. First, Wolsey made himself the Pope's representative without the king's consent. Second, in letters to Rome and foreign monarchs, he wrote, "I and my king," implying that the king was his servant. The Lords read out other crimes that Wolsey is guilty of, including having his cardinal's hat stamped on the king's coins and bribing the Pope. The Lord Chamberlain, feeling sorry for Wolsey, stops the Lords from reading any further, saying that they must leave him to the law. Surrey says he forgives Wolsey. Suffolk tells Wolsey that the king has ordered that all Wolsey's property should be forfeited and that he is no longer under the king's protection. Norfolk tells Wolsey that the king will be informed about his unwillingness to give up his seal of office, and the Lords leave him on his own to ponder on "how to live better." . Wolsey reflects that his life has been like that of a plant, which grows, blooms, and then is killed by a sudden frost. He also compares himself to little boys who swim out of their depth, using swim bladders to keep them afloat. His pride has burst, just as swim bladders can burst, and has now left him at the mercy of the "rude stream"  of events. He denounces the vain glories of this world, and feels that his heart has been "new open'd." Those who depend on royal favors are in a precarious position, and when they fall, it is as Lucifer fell from heaven, "Never to hope again" . Cromwell enters and weeps at Wolsey's fate. But Wolsey tells him he is now at peace and has never been happier. He knows himself now. The king has cured him , for which he is thankful. He feels strong enough to endure even more miseries, and certainly more than his enemies could offer. Cromwell reports to Wolsey that Sir Thomas More is to replace him as Lord Chancellor, and that Cranmer has been welcomed home, and made Archbishop of Canterbury. Lastly, he reports that Anne Bullen, who has been secretly married to the king for some time, has appeared in public for the first time as queen and that her coronation is expected soon. Wolsey realizes that Anne has been his downfall. He tells Cromwell to leave him, as he is "a poor fall'n man," and to go to the king, who will promote him. Cromwell cannot bear to leave his master. He tells him that though the king shall have his service, Wolsey shall have his prayers. Wolsey is moved to tears. He tells Cromwell that when he is dead and forgotten, he must tell the world that Wolsey showed him an honorable route to success - one that Wolsey himself had missed. He advises Cromwell to reject ambition, to love himself last, to value his enemies, and to remember that honesty will serve him better than corruption. He must serve his country, God, and truth. If he does all this and still falls, then "Thou fall'st a blessed martyr." He asks Cromwell to take the inventory of his possessions to the king, who now owns them all. He ends by saying that if he had served God with half the zeal with which he served his king, God would not have abandoned him to his enemies. His hopes now are fixed on heaven.


prompt:
Chapter: Enter Gardiner Bishop of Winchester, a Page with a Torch before
him, met
by Sir Thomas Louell.

Gard. It's one a clocke Boy, is't not

Boy. It hath strooke

Gard. These should be houres for necessities,
    Not for delights: Times to repayre our Nature
    With comforting repose, and not for vs
    To waste these times. Good houre of night Sir Thomas:
    Whether so late?
    Lou. Came you from the King, my Lord?
    Gar. I did Sir Thomas, and left him at Primero
    With the Duke of Suffolke

    Lou. I must to him too
    Before he go to bed. Ile take my leaue

    Gard. Not yet Sir Thomas Louell: what's the matter?
    It seemes you are in hast: and if there be
    No great offence belongs too't, giue your Friend
    Some touch of your late businesse: Affaires that walke
    (As they say Spirits do) at midnight, haue
    In them a wilder Nature, then the businesse
    That seekes dispatch by day

    Lou. My Lord, I loue you;
    And durst commend a secret to your eare
    Much waightier then this worke. The Queens in Labor
    They say in great Extremity, and fear'd
    Shee'l with the Labour, end

    Gard. The fruite she goes with
    I pray for heartily, that it may finde
    Good time, and liue: but for the Stocke Sir Thomas,
    I wish it grubb'd vp now

    Lou. Me thinkes I could
    Cry the Amen, and yet my Conscience sayes
    Shee's a good Creature, and sweet-Ladie do's
    Deserue our better wishes

    Gard. But Sir, Sir,
    Heare me Sir Thomas, y'are a Gentleman
    Of mine owne way. I know you Wise, Religious,
    And let me tell you, it will ne're be well,
    'Twill not Sir Thomas Louell, tak't of me,
    Till Cranmer, Cromwel, her two hands, and shee
    Sleepe in their Graues

    Louell. Now Sir, you speake of two
    The most remark'd i'th' Kingdome: as for Cromwell,
    Beside that of the Iewell-House, is made Master
    O'th' Rolles, and the Kings Secretary. Further Sir,
    Stands in the gap and Trade of moe Preferments,
    With which the Lime will loade him. Th' Archbyshop
    Is the Kings hand, and tongue, and who dare speak
    One syllable against him?
    Gard. Yes, yes, Sir Thomas,
    There are that Dare, and I my selfe haue ventur'd
    To speake my minde of him: and indeed this day,
    Sir (I may tell it you) I thinke I haue
    Incenst the Lords o'th' Councell, that he is
(For so I know he is, they know he is)
    A most Arch-Heretique, a Pestilence
    That does infect the Land: with which, they moued
    Haue broken with the King, who hath so farre
    Giuen eare to our Complaint, of his great Grace,
    And Princely Care, fore-seeing those fell Mischiefes,
    Our Reasons layd before him, hath commanded
    To morrow Morning to the Councell Boord
    He be conuented. He's a ranke weed Sir Thomas,
    And we must root him out. From your Affaires
    I hinder you too long: Good night, Sir Thomas.

    Exit Gardiner and Page.

    Lou. Many good nights, my Lord, I rest your seruant.
    Enter King and Suffolke.

    King. Charles, I will play no more to night,
    My mindes not on't, you are too hard for me

    Suff. Sir, I did neuer win of you before

    King. But little Charles,
    Nor shall not when my Fancies on my play.
    Now Louel, from the Queene what is the Newes

    Lou. I could not personally deliuer to her
    What you commanded me, but by her woman,
    I sent your Message, who return'd her thankes
    In the great'st humblenesse, and desir'd your Highnesse
    Most heartily to pray for her

    King. What say'st thou? Ha?
    To pray for her? What is she crying out?
    Lou. So said her woman, and that her suffrance made
    Almost each pang, a death

    King. Alas good Lady

    Suf. God safely quit her of her Burthen, and
    With gentle Trauaile, to the gladding of
    Your Highnesse with an Heire

    King. 'Tis midnight Charles,
    Prythee to bed, and in thy Prayres remember
    Th' estate of my poore Queene. Leaue me alone,
    For I must thinke of that, which company
    Would not be friendly too

    Suf. I wish your Highnesse
    A quiet night, and my good Mistris will
    Remember in my Prayers

    King. Charles good night.

    Exit Suffolke.

    Well Sir, what followes?
    Enter Sir Anthony Denny.

    Den. Sir, I haue brought my Lord the Arch-byshop,
    As you commanded me

    King. Ha? Canterbury?
    Den. I my good Lord

    King. 'Tis true: where is he Denny?
    Den. He attends your Highnesse pleasure

    King. Bring him to Vs

    Lou. This is about that, which the Byshop spake,
    I am happily come hither.
    Enter Cranmer and Denny.

    King. Auoyd the Gallery.

    Louel seemes to stay.

    Ha? I haue said. Be gone.
    What?

    Exeunt. Louell and Denny.

    Cran. I am fearefull: Wherefore frownes he thus?
    'Tis his Aspect of Terror. All's not well

    King. How now my Lord?
    You do desire to know wherefore
    I sent for you

    Cran. It is my dutie
    T' attend your Highnesse pleasure

    King. Pray you arise
    My good and gracious Lord of Canterburie:
    Come, you and I must walke a turne together:
    I haue Newes to tell you.
    Come, come, giue me your hand.
    Ah my good Lord, I greeue at what I speake,
    And am right sorrie to repeat what followes.
    I haue, and most vnwillingly of late
    Heard many greeuous, I do say my Lord
    Greeuous complaints of you; which being consider'd,
    Haue mou'd Vs, and our Councell, that you shall
    This Morning come before vs, where I know
    You cannot with such freedome purge your selfe,
    But that till further Triall, in those Charges
    Which will require your Answer, you must take
    Your patience to you, and be well contented
    To make your house our Towre: you, a Brother of vs
    It fits we thus proceed, or else no witnesse
    Would come against you

    Cran. I humbly thanke your Highnesse,
    And am right glad to catch this good occasion
    Most throughly to be winnowed, where my Chaffe
    And Corne shall flye asunder. For I know
    There's none stands vnder more calumnious tongues,
    Then I my selfe, poore man

    King. Stand vp, good Canterbury,
    Thy Truth, and thy Integrity is rooted
    In vs thy Friend. Giue me thy hand, stand vp,
    Prythee let's walke. Now by my Holydame,
    What manner of man are you? My Lord, I look'd
    You would haue giuen me your Petition, that
    I should haue tane some paines, to bring together
    Your selfe, and your Accusers, and to haue heard you
    Without indurance further

    Cran. Most dread Liege,
    The good I stand on, is my Truth and Honestie:
    If they shall faile, I with mine Enemies
    Will triumph o're my person, which I waigh not,
    Being of those Vertues vacant. I feare nothing
    What can be said against me

    King. Know you not
    How your state stands i'th' world, with the whole world?
    Your Enemies are many, and not small; their practises
    Must beare the same proportion, and not euer
    The Iustice and the Truth o'th' question carries
    The dew o'th' Verdict with it; at what ease
    Might corrupt mindes procure, Knaues as corrupt
    To sweare against you: Such things haue bene done.
    You are Potently oppos'd, and with a Malice
    Of as great Size. Weene you of better lucke,
    I meane in periur'd Witnesse, then your Master,
    Whose Minister you are, whiles heere he liu'd
    Vpon this naughty Earth? Go too, go too,
    You take a Precepit for no leape of danger,
    And woe your owne destruction

    Cran. God, and your Maiesty
    Protect mine innocence, or I fall into
    The trap is laid for me

    King. Be of good cheere,
    They shall no more preuaile, then we giue way too:
    Keepe comfort to you, and this Morning see
    You do appeare before them. If they shall chance
    In charging you with matters, to commit you:
    The best perswasions to the contrary
    Faile not to vse, and with what vehemencie
    Th' occasion shall instruct you. If intreaties
    Will render you no remedy, this Ring
    Deliuer them, and your Appeale to vs
    There make before them. Looke, the goodman weeps:
    He's honest on mine Honor. Gods blest Mother,
    I sweare he is true-hearted, and a soule
    None better in my Kingdome. Get you gone,
    And do as I haue bid you.

    Exit Cranmer.

    He ha's strangled his Language in his teares.
    Enter Olde Lady.

    Gent. within. Come backe: what meane you?
    Lady. Ile not come backe, the tydings that I bring
    Will make my boldnesse, manners. Now good Angels
    Fly o're thy Royall head, and shade thy person
    Vnder their blessed wings

    King. Now by thy lookes
    I gesse thy Message. Is the Queene deliuer'd?
    Say I, and of a boy

    Lady. I, I my Liege,
    And of a louely Boy: the God of heauen
    Both now, and euer blesse her: 'Tis a Gyrle
    Promises Boyes heereafter. Sir, your Queen
    Desires your Visitation, and to be
    Acquainted with this stranger; 'tis as like you,
    As Cherry, is to Cherry

    King. Louell

    Lou. Sir

    King. Giue her an hundred Markes.
    Ile to the Queene.

    Exit King.

    Lady. An hundred Markes? By this light, Ile ha more.
    An ordinary Groome is for such payment.
    I will haue more, or scold it out of him.
    Said I for this, the Gyrle was like to him? Ile
    Haue more, or else vnsay't: and now, while 'tis hot,
    Ile put it to the issue.

    Exit Ladie.

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

completion: It is one o'clock at night. Bishop Gardiner enters with his Page. Lovell rushes in. Gardiner asks why he is in haste, and Lovell reveals that Queen Anne is in labor, and it is feared that she may not survive. Gardiner says that he prays for the baby, but believes that Anne is not of good enough stock to provide the heir to the throne. He says that things will not go well for England until Anne and her two allies, Cranmer and Cromwell, are dead. Lovell points out that Cranmer and Cromwell are the two men most favored by the king. But Gardiner says that he has already told the council that Cranmer is a heretic, and the king has ordered the council to convene tomorrow morning to examine him. Gardiner says that Cranmer is a "rank weed," " And we must root him out" . The king and Suffolk enter. The king asks Lovell how Anne's labor is progressing. Lovell delivers a message from Anne asking the king to pray for her. The king is concerned and asks to be left alone. Suffolk leaves. Sir Anthony Denny brings in Cranmer, who is worried by the king's frown. The king tells Cranmer that he has heard some serious complaints about him, and that he must come before the council tomorrow morning to answer them. The king warns Cranmer that he will not be able to prove his innocence instantly, and so while the complaints are being investigated he may have to be patient and accept imprisonment in the Tower of London. Cranmer thanks the king for the warning, and says he knows he is subject to many malicious rumors. He says he does not fear anything that can be said against him, and will rely upon his truth and honesty. But the king warns him that he has powerful enemies and it is possible that corrupt witnesses will be brought to testify against him. Cranmer hopes that God and the king will protect him, or he will certainly fall into the trap that is laid for him. The king advises Cranmer to use his persuasive powers to avoid imprisonment. He gives Cranmer a ring and tells him to show it to the council if they try to imprison him. The council will then have to allow Cranmer's appeal to be heard by the king himself. Cranmer is overcome with gratitude, and weeps. The king swears he is honest and says there is not a better soul in his kingdom. Cranmer leaves. An Old Lady enters with the news that Anne has given birth. He demands to be told that it is a boy, so the Old Lady agrees that it is a boy. She quickly adds that it is, in fact, a girl who "promises boys hereafter" , and who looks exactly like him.


prompt:
Chapter: Enter Cranmer, Archbyshop of Canterbury.

Cran. I hope I am not too late, and yet the Gentleman
That was sent to me from the Councell, pray'd me
To make great hast. All fast? What meanes this? Hoa?
Who waites there? Sure you know me?
Enter Keeper.

Keep. Yes, my Lord:
But yet I cannot helpe you

Cran. Why?
Keep. Your Grace must waight till you be call'd for.
Enter Doctor Buts.

Cran. So

Buts. This is a Peere of Malice: I am glad
I came this way so happily. The King
Shall vnderstand it presently.

Exit Buts

Cran. 'Tis Buts.
The Kings Physitian, as he past along
How earnestly he cast his eyes vpon me:
Pray heauen he found not my disgrace: for certaine
This is of purpose laid by some that hate me,
     (God turne their hearts, I neuer sought their malice)
    To quench mine Honor; they would shame to make me
    Wait else at doore: a fellow Councellor
    'Mong Boyes, Groomes, and Lackeyes.
    But their pleasures
    Must be fulfill'd, and I attend with patience.
    Enter the King, and Buts, at a Windowe aboue.

    Buts. Ile shew your Grace the strangest sight

    King. What's that Buts?
    Butts. I thinke your Highnesse saw this many a day

    Kin. Body a me: where is it?
    Butts. There my Lord:
    The high promotion of his Grace of Canterbury,
    Who holds his State at dore 'mongst Purseuants,
    Pages, and Foot-boyes

    Kin. Ha? 'Tis he indeed.
    Is this the Honour they doe one another?
    'Tis well there's one aboue 'em yet; I had thought
    They had parted so much honesty among 'em,
    At least good manners; as not thus to suffer
    A man of his Place, and so neere our fauour
    To dance attendance on their Lordships pleasures,
    And at the dore too, like a Post with Packets:
    By holy Mary (Butts) there's knauery;
    Let 'em alone, and draw the Curtaine close:
    We shall heare more anon.

    A Councell Table brought in with Chayres and Stooles, and placed
    vnder
    the State. Enter Lord Chancellour, places himselfe at the vpper end
    of the
    Table, on the left hand: A Seate being left void aboue him, as for
    Canterburies Seate. Duke of Suffolke, Duke of Norfolke, Surrey,
    Lord
    Chamberlaine, Gardiner, seat themselues in Order on each side.
    Cromwell at
    lower end, as Secretary.

    Chan. Speake to the businesse, M[aster]. Secretary;
    Why are we met in Councell?
    Crom. Please your Honours,
    The chiefe cause concernes his Grace of Canterbury

    Gard. Ha's he had knowledge of it?
    Crom. Yes

    Norf. Who waits there?
    Keep. Without my Noble Lords?
    Gard. Yes

    Keep. My Lord Archbishop:
    And ha's done halfe an houre to know your pleasures

    Chan. Let him come in

    Keep. Your Grace may enter now.

    Cranmer approches the Councell Table.

    Chan. My good Lord Archbishop, I'm very sorry
    To sit heere at this present, and behold
    That Chayre stand empty: But we all are men
    In our owne natures fraile, and capable
    Of our flesh, few are Angels; out of which frailty
    And want of wisedome, you that best should teach vs,
    Haue misdemean'd your selfe, and not a little:
    Toward the King first, then his Lawes, in filling
    The whole Realme, by your teaching & your Chaplaines
    (For so we are inform'd) with new opinions,
    Diuers and dangerous; which are Heresies;
And not reform'd, may proue pernicious

Gard. Which Reformation must be sodaine too
My Noble Lords; for those that tame wild Horses,
   Pace 'em not in their hands to make 'em gentle;
But stop their mouthes with stubborn Bits & spurre 'em,
    Till they obey the mannage. If we suffer
    Out of our easinesse and childish pitty
    To one mans Honour, this contagious sicknesse;
    Farewell all Physicke: and what followes then?
    Commotions, vprores, with a generall Taint
    Of the whole State; as of late dayes our neighbours,
    The vpper Germany can deerely witnesse:
    Yet freshly pittied in our memories

    Cran. My good Lords; Hitherto, in all the Progresse
    Both of my Life and Office, I haue labour'd,
    And with no little study, that my teaching
    And the strong course of my Authority,
    Might goe one way, and safely; and the end
    Was euer to doe well: nor is there liuing,
    (I speake it with a single heart, my Lords)
    A man that more detests, more stirres against,
    Both in his priuate Conscience, and his place,
    Defacers of a publique peace then I doe:
    Pray Heauen the King may neuer find a heart
    With lesse Allegeance in it. Men that make
    Enuy, and crooked malice, nourishment;
    Dare bite the best. I doe beseech your, Lordships,
    That in this case of Iustice, my Accusers,
    Be what they will, may stand forth face to face,
    And freely vrge against me

    Suff. Nay, my Lord,
    That cannot be; you are a Counsellor,
    And by that vertue no man dare accuse you

    Gard. My Lord, because we haue busines of more moment,
    We will be short with you. 'Tis his Highnesse pleasure
    And our consent, for better tryall of you,
    From hence you be committed to the Tower,
    Where being but a priuate man againe,
    You shall know many dare accuse you boldly,
    More then (I feare) you are prouided for

    Cran. Ah my good Lord of Winchester: I thanke you,
    You are alwayes my good Friend, if your will passe,
    I shall both finde your Lordship, Iudge and Iuror,
    You are so mercifull. I see your end,
    'Tis my vndoing. Loue and meekenesse, Lord
    Become a Churchman, better then Ambition:
    Win straying Soules with modesty againe,
    Cast none away: That I shall cleere my selfe,
    Lay all the weight ye can vpon my patience,
    I make as little doubt as you doe conscience,
    In doing dayly wrongs. I could say more,
    But reuerence to your calling, makes me modest

    Gard. My Lord, my Lord, you are a Sectary,
    That's the plaine truth; your painted glosse discouers
    To men that vnderstand you, words and weaknesse

    Crom. My Lord of Winchester, y'are a little,
    By your good fauour, too sharpe; Men so Noble,
    How euer faulty, yet should finde respect
    For what they haue beene: 'tis a cruelty,
    To load a falling man

    Gard. Good M[aster]. Secretary,
    I cry your Honour mercie; you may worst
    Of all this Table say so

    Crom. Why my Lord?
    Gard. Doe not I know you for a Fauourer
    Of this new Sect? ye are not sound

    Crom. Not sound?
    Gard. Not sound I say

    Crom. Would you were halfe so honest:
    Mens prayers then would seeke you, not their feares

    Gard. I shall remember this bold Language

    Crom. Doe.
    Remember your bold life too

    Cham. This is too much;
    Forbeare for shame my Lords

    Gard. I haue done

    Crom. And I

    Cham. Then thus for you my Lord, it stands agreed
    I take it, by all voyces: That forthwith,
    You be conuaid to th' Tower a Prisoner;
There to remaine till the Kings further pleasure
Be knowne vnto vs: are you all agreed Lords

All. We are

Cran. Is there no other way of mercy,
    But I must needs to th' Tower my Lords?
    Gard. What other,
    Would you expect? You are strangely troublesome:
    Let some o'th' Guard be ready there.
    Enter the Guard.

    Cran. For me?
    Must I goe like a Traytor thither?
    Gard. Receiue him,
    And see him safe i'th' Tower

    Cran. Stay good my Lords,
    I haue a little yet to say. Looke there my Lords,
    By vertue of that Ring, I take my cause
    Out of the gripes of cruell men, and giue it
    To a most Noble Iudge, the King my Maister

    Cham. This is the Kings Ring

    Sur. 'Tis no counterfeit

    Suff. 'Ts the right Ring, by Heau'n: I told ye all,
    When we first put this dangerous stone a rowling,
    'Twold fall vpon our selues

    Norf. Doe you thinke my Lords
    The King will suffer but the little finger
    Of this man to be vex'd?
    Cham. Tis now too certaine;
    How much more is his Life in value with him?
    Would I were fairely out on't

    Crom. My mind gaue me,
    In seeking tales and Informations
    Against this man, whose honesty the Diuell
    And his Disciples onely enuy at,
    Ye blew the fire that burnes ye: now haue at ye.
    Enter King frowning on them, takes his Seate.

    Gard. Dread Soueraigne,
    How much are we bound to Heauen,
    In dayly thankes, that gaue vs such a Prince;
Not onely good and wise, but most religious:
One that in all obedience, makes the Church
The cheefe ayme of his Honour, and to strengthen
That holy duty out of deare respect,
     His Royall selfe in Iudgement comes to heare
     The cause betwixt her, and this great offender

     Kin. You were euer good at sodaine Commendations,
     Bishop of Winchester. But know I come not
     To heare such flattery now, and in my presence
     They are too thin, and base to hide offences,
     To me you cannot reach. You play the Spaniell,
     And thinke with wagging of your tongue to win me:
     But whatsoere thou tak'st me for; I'm sure
     Thou hast a cruell Nature and a bloody.
     Good man sit downe: Now let me see the proudest
     Hee, that dares most, but wag his finger at thee.
     By all that's holy, he had better starue,
     Then but once thinke his place becomes thee not

     Sur. May it please your Grace; -
     Kin. No Sir, it doe's not please me,
     I had thought, I had had men of some vnderstanding,
     And wisedome of my Councell; but I finde none:
     Was it discretion Lords, to let this man,
     This good man (few of you deserue that Title)
    This honest man, wait like a lowsie Foot-boy
    At Chamber dore? and one, as great as you are?
    Why, what a shame was this? Did my Commission
    Bid ye so farre forget your selues? I gaue ye
    Power, as he was a Counsellour to try him,
    Not as a Groome: There's some of ye, I see,
    More out of Malice then Integrity,
    Would trye him to the vtmost, had ye meane,
    Which ye shall neuer haue while I liue

    Chan. Thus farre
    My most dread Soueraigne, may it like your Grace,
    To let my tongue excuse all. What was purpos'd
    Concerning his Imprisonment, was rather
    (If there be faith in men) meant for his Tryall,
    And faire purgation to the world then malice,
    I'm sure in me

    Kin. Well, well my Lords respect him,
    Take him, and vse him well; hee's worthy of it.
    I will say thus much for him, if a Prince
    May be beholding to a Subiect; I
    Am for his loue and seruice, so to him.
    Make me no more adoe, but all embrace him;
    Be friends for shame my Lords: My Lord of Canterbury
    I haue a Suite which you must not deny mee.
    That is, a faire young Maid that yet wants Baptisme,
    You must be Godfather, and answere for her

    Cran. The greatest Monarch now aliue may glory
    In such an honour: how may I deserue it,
    That am a poore and humble Subiect to you?
    Kin. Come, come my Lord, you'd spare your spoones;
    You shall haue two noble Partners with you: the old
    Duchesse of Norfolke, and Lady Marquesse Dorset? will
    these please you?
    Once more my Lord of Winchester, I charge you
    Embrace, and loue this man

    Gard. With a true heart,
    And Brother; loue I doe it

    Cran. And let Heauen
    Witnesse how deare, I hold this Confirmation

    Kin. Good Man, those ioyfull teares shew thy true hearts,
    The common voyce I see is verified
    Of thee, which sayes thus: Doe my Lord of Canterbury
    A shrewd turne, and hee's your friend for euer:
    Come Lords, we trifle time away: I long
    To haue this young one made a Christian.
    As I haue made ye one Lords, one remaine:
    So I grow stronger, you more Honour gaine.

    Exeunt.

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

completion: Cranmer arrives at the council chamber, hoping he is not late. But the doorkeeper will not let him in, saying he must wait outside the door until he is called. Dr Butts, the king's physician, sees how Cranmer is being treated, and condemns it as malice, since Cranmer is himself a member of the council. Butts leaves to tell the king what has happened. Cranmer is unnerved by Butts' concerned look; he hopes it does not mean he is about to be disgraced. He is now certain that this is a trap set for him by his enemies. Butts leads the king to a window from where they can observe events, and shows him how Cranmer, the Archbishop of Canterbury, is being kept waiting outside the door with the servants. The king is surprised that one so much favored by him should be humiliated in this way. He says that it is a good thing that his authority exceeds that of the council. The Lord Chancellor leads in the nobles who constitute the council. Cranmer is finally allowed in. The Lord Chancellor tells Cranmer that he is here because he has been teaching dangerous and heretical new ideas around the kingdom. Gardiner goes further, alleging that Cranmer must be stopped from spreading such ideas immediately or revolutions and riots will break out, as has already happened in continental Europe. Cranmer says that he has been careful not to stir up trouble with his teachings, and has always opposed those who do. He believes he is the victim of envy and malice, and asks to be brought face-to-face with his accusers so that he can debate them openly. But Suffolk points out that because Cranmer is a council member, no one can accuse him of anything. Gardiner breaks in, saying that they have more important business to get on with, and so he will be brief. The king and the council wish Cranmer to be imprisoned in the Tower, which will reduce to the status of a common man once more, so that his accusers can charge him openly. Cranmer sarcastically thanks Gardiner for his kindness, and says that he sees that Gardiner is out to ruin him. He counsels Gardiner that love and humility are more fitting for a churchman than ambition. He says he has no doubt that he can clear himself. Gardiner accuses Cranmer of being an adherent of a sect . Cromwell rebukes Gardiner for being too sharp to "a falling man." Gardiner turns his attack on Cromwell, accusing him of favoring the same "new sect" as Cranmer. The Lord Chancellor silences the men and gives the order for Cranmer to be taken to the Tower. Gardiner calls in the Guard. Cranmer is shocked that he is being taken away like a traitor. He asks to speak first, and shows them the king's ring, saying that it gives him the right to be heard by the king himself. The council members see that they underestimated how much Cranmer enjoyed the king's favor. Suffolk confirms that the ring is the king's and reminds the others that he told them, when they first moved against Cranmer, that it would rebound on them. Norfolk agrees that the king will not allow Cranmer to be harmed. Cromwell says he suspected that no good would come of trying to build a case against Cranmer, whose honesty is renowned. At that moment, the king, who has left the window from which he was observing the council meeting, enters. Gardiner greets the king in a flattering speech, but the king is not impressed, saying that this is no time for flattery. The king says that Gardiner cannot hide his misdeeds and his cruel nature. He had thought that the council members were men of wisdom, but now he sees that they are not. He says they were wrong to make Cranmer wait outside the door like a servant. He gave the council authority to try Cranmer as an equal, not an inferior, but he sees that some of them are pursuing him out of malice. The Lord Chancellor protests that they were only planning to imprison Cranmer in order to give him a fair trial. The king says that he himself owes much to Cranmer, and orders the council members to embrace him and be friends. Then he asks Cranmer to baptize his daughter, Elizabeth. Gardiner does not immediately embrace Cranmer, so the king asks him again. Gardiner does so, "with a true heart." Cranmer weeps and gives thanks. The king says that what everyone says about Cranmer is true: a man may do him an injury, and he is his friend forever. The king urges the council members to remain unified and leads them all off to the baptism.


prompt:
Chapter: The Time Traveller (for so it will be convenient to speak of him)
was expounding a recondite matter to us. His grey eyes shone and
twinkled, and his usually pale face was flushed and animated. The
fire burned brightly, and the soft radiance of the incandescent
lights in the lilies of silver caught the bubbles that flashed and
passed in our glasses. Our chairs, being his patents, embraced and
caressed us rather than submitted to be sat upon, and there was that
luxurious after-dinner atmosphere when thought roams gracefully
free of the trammels of precision. And he put it to us in this
way--marking the points with a lean forefinger--as we sat and lazily
admired his earnestness over this new paradox (as we thought it)
and his fecundity.

'You must follow me carefully. I shall have to controvert one or two
ideas that are almost universally accepted. The geometry, for
instance, they taught you at school is founded on a misconception.'

'Is not that rather a large thing to expect us to begin upon?'
said Filby, an argumentative person with red hair.

'I do not mean to ask you to accept anything without reasonable
ground for it. You will soon admit as much as I need from you. You
know of course that a mathematical line, a line of thickness _nil_,
has no real existence. They taught you that? Neither has a
mathematical plane. These things are mere abstractions.'

'That is all right,' said the Psychologist.

'Nor, having only length, breadth, and thickness, can a cube have a
real existence.'

'There I object,' said Filby. 'Of course a solid body may exist. All
real things--'

'So most people think. But wait a moment. Can an _instantaneous_
cube exist?'

'Don't follow you,' said Filby.

'Can a cube that does not last for any time at all, have a real
existence?'

Filby became pensive. 'Clearly,' the Time Traveller proceeded, 'any
real body must have extension in _four_ directions: it must have
Length, Breadth, Thickness, and--Duration. But through a natural
infirmity of the flesh, which I will explain to you in a moment, we
incline to overlook this fact. There are really four dimensions,
three which we call the three planes of Space, and a fourth, Time.
There is, however, a tendency to draw an unreal distinction between
the former three dimensions and the latter, because it happens that
our consciousness moves intermittently in one direction along the
latter from the beginning to the end of our lives.'

'That,' said a very young man, making spasmodic efforts to relight
his cigar over the lamp; 'that ... very clear indeed.'

'Now, it is very remarkable that this is so extensively overlooked,'
continued the Time Traveller, with a slight accession of
cheerfulness. 'Really this is what is meant by the Fourth Dimension,
though some people who talk about the Fourth Dimension do not know
they mean it. It is only another way of looking at Time. _There is
no difference between Time and any of the three dimensions of Space
except that our consciousness moves along it_. But some foolish
people have got hold of the wrong side of that idea. You have all
heard what they have to say about this Fourth Dimension?'

'_I_ have not,' said the Provincial Mayor.

'It is simply this. That Space, as our mathematicians have it, is
spoken of as having three dimensions, which one may call Length,
Breadth, and Thickness, and is always definable by reference to
three planes, each at right angles to the others. But some
philosophical people have been asking why _three_ dimensions
particularly--why not another direction at right angles to the other
three?--and have even tried to construct a Four-Dimension geometry.
Professor Simon Newcomb was expounding this to the New York
Mathematical Society only a month or so ago. You know how on a flat
surface, which has only two dimensions, we can represent a figure of
a three-dimensional solid, and similarly they think that by models
of three dimensions they could represent one of four--if they could
master the perspective of the thing. See?'

'I think so,' murmured the Provincial Mayor; and, knitting his
brows, he lapsed into an introspective state, his lips moving as one
who repeats mystic words. 'Yes, I think I see it now,' he said after
some time, brightening in a quite transitory manner.

'Well, I do not mind telling you I have been at work upon this
geometry of Four Dimensions for some time. Some of my results
are curious. For instance, here is a portrait of a man at eight
years old, another at fifteen, another at seventeen, another at
twenty-three, and so on. All these are evidently sections, as it
were, Three-Dimensional representations of his Four-Dimensioned
being, which is a fixed and unalterable thing.

'Scientific people,' proceeded the Time Traveller, after the pause
required for the proper assimilation of this, 'know very well that
Time is only a kind of Space. Here is a popular scientific diagram,
a weather record. This line I trace with my finger shows the
movement of the barometer. Yesterday it was so high, yesterday night
it fell, then this morning it rose again, and so gently upward to
here. Surely the mercury did not trace this line in any of the
dimensions of Space generally recognized? But certainly it traced
such a line, and that line, therefore, we must conclude was along
the Time-Dimension.'

'But,' said the Medical Man, staring hard at a coal in the fire, 'if
Time is really only a fourth dimension of Space, why is it, and why
has it always been, regarded as something different? And why cannot
we move in Time as we move about in the other dimensions of Space?'

The Time Traveller smiled. 'Are you sure we can move freely in
Space? Right and left we can go, backward and forward freely enough,
and men always have done so. I admit we move freely in two
dimensions. But how about up and down? Gravitation limits us there.'

'Not exactly,' said the Medical Man. 'There are balloons.'

'But before the balloons, save for spasmodic jumping and the
inequalities of the surface, man had no freedom of vertical
movement.'

'Still they could move a little up and down,' said the Medical Man.

'Easier, far easier down than up.'

'And you cannot move at all in Time, you cannot get away from the
present moment.'

'My dear sir, that is just where you are wrong. That is just where
the whole world has gone wrong. We are always getting away from the
present moment. Our mental existences, which are immaterial and have
no dimensions, are passing along the Time-Dimension with a uniform
velocity from the cradle to the grave. Just as we should travel _down_
if we began our existence fifty miles above the earth's surface.'

'But the great difficulty is this,' interrupted the Psychologist.
'You _can_ move about in all directions of Space, but you cannot
move about in Time.'

'That is the germ of my great discovery. But you are wrong to say
that we cannot move about in Time. For instance, if I am recalling
an incident very vividly I go back to the instant of its occurrence:
I become absent-minded, as you say. I jump back for a moment. Of
course we have no means of staying back for any length of Time, any
more than a savage or an animal has of staying six feet above the
ground. But a civilized man is better off than the savage in this
respect. He can go up against gravitation in a balloon, and why
should he not hope that ultimately he may be able to stop or
accelerate his drift along the Time-Dimension, or even turn about
and travel the other way?'

'Oh, _this_,' began Filby, 'is all--'

'Why not?' said the Time Traveller.

'It's against reason,' said Filby.

'What reason?' said the Time Traveller.

'You can show black is white by argument,' said Filby, 'but you will
never convince me.'

'Possibly not,' said the Time Traveller. 'But now you begin to see
the object of my investigations into the geometry of Four
Dimensions. Long ago I had a vague inkling of a machine--'

'To travel through Time!' exclaimed the Very Young Man.

'That shall travel indifferently in any direction of Space and Time,
as the driver determines.'

Filby contented himself with laughter.

'But I have experimental verification,' said the Time Traveller.

'It would be remarkably convenient for the historian,' the
Psychologist suggested. 'One might travel back and verify the
accepted account of the Battle of Hastings, for instance!'

'Don't you think you would attract attention?' said the Medical Man.
'Our ancestors had no great tolerance for anachronisms.'

'One might get one's Greek from the very lips of Homer and Plato,'
the Very Young Man thought.

'In which case they would certainly plough you for the Little-go.
The German scholars have improved Greek so much.'

'Then there is the future,' said the Very Young Man. 'Just think!
One might invest all one's money, leave it to accumulate at
interest, and hurry on ahead!'

'To discover a society,' said I, 'erected on a strictly communistic
basis.'

'Of all the wild extravagant theories!' began the Psychologist.

'Yes, so it seemed to me, and so I never talked of it until--'

'Experimental verification!' cried I. 'You are going to verify
_that_?'

'The experiment!' cried Filby, who was getting brain-weary.

'Let's see your experiment anyhow,' said the Psychologist, 'though
it's all humbug, you know.'

The Time Traveller smiled round at us. Then, still smiling faintly,
and with his hands deep in his trousers pockets, he walked slowly
out of the room, and we heard his slippers shuffling down the long
passage to his laboratory.

The Psychologist looked at us. 'I wonder what he's got?'

'Some sleight-of-hand trick or other,' said the Medical Man, and
Filby tried to tell us about a conjurer he had seen at Burslem; but
before he had finished his preface the Time Traveller came back, and
Filby's anecdote collapsed.

The thing the Time Traveller held in his hand was a glittering
metallic framework, scarcely larger than a small clock, and very
delicately made. There was ivory in it, and some transparent
crystalline substance. And now I must be explicit, for this that
follows--unless his explanation is to be accepted--is an absolutely
unaccountable thing. He took one of the small octagonal tables that
were scattered about the room, and set it in front of the fire, with
two legs on the hearthrug. On this table he placed the mechanism.
Then he drew up a chair, and sat down. The only other object on the
table was a small shaded lamp, the bright light of which fell upon
the model. There were also perhaps a dozen candles about, two in
brass candlesticks upon the mantel and several in sconces, so that
the room was brilliantly illuminated. I sat in a low arm-chair
nearest the fire, and I drew this forward so as to be almost between
the Time Traveller and the fireplace. Filby sat behind him, looking
over his shoulder. The Medical Man and the Provincial Mayor watched
him in profile from the right, the Psychologist from the left. The
Very Young Man stood behind the Psychologist. We were all on the
alert. It appears incredible to me that any kind of trick, however
subtly conceived and however adroitly done, could have been played
upon us under these conditions.

The Time Traveller looked at us, and then at the mechanism. 'Well?'
said the Psychologist.

'This little affair,' said the Time Traveller, resting his elbows
upon the table and pressing his hands together above the apparatus,
'is only a model. It is my plan for a machine to travel through
time. You will notice that it looks singularly askew, and that there
is an odd twinkling appearance about this bar, as though it was in
some way unreal.' He pointed to the part with his finger. 'Also,
here is one little white lever, and here is another.'

The Medical Man got up out of his chair and peered into the thing.
'It's beautifully made,' he said.

'It took two years to make,' retorted the Time Traveller. Then, when
we had all imitated the action of the Medical Man, he said: 'Now I
want you clearly to understand that this lever, being pressed over,
sends the machine gliding into the future, and this other reverses
the motion. This saddle represents the seat of a time traveller.
Presently I am going to press the lever, and off the machine will
go. It will vanish, pass into future Time, and disappear. Have a
good look at the thing. Look at the table too, and satisfy
yourselves there is no trickery. I don't want to waste this model,
and then be told I'm a quack.'

There was a minute's pause perhaps. The Psychologist seemed about to
speak to me, but changed his mind. Then the Time Traveller put forth
his finger towards the lever. 'No,' he said suddenly. 'Lend me your
hand.' And turning to the Psychologist, he took that individual's
hand in his own and told him to put out his forefinger. So that it
was the Psychologist himself who sent forth the model Time Machine
on its interminable voyage. We all saw the lever turn. I am
absolutely certain there was no trickery. There was a breath of
wind, and the lamp flame jumped. One of the candles on the mantel
was blown out, and the little machine suddenly swung round, became
indistinct, was seen as a ghost for a second perhaps, as an eddy of
faintly glittering brass and ivory; and it was gone--vanished! Save
for the lamp the table was bare.

Everyone was silent for a minute. Then Filby said he was damned.

The Psychologist recovered from his stupor, and suddenly looked
under the table. At that the Time Traveller laughed cheerfully.
'Well?' he said, with a reminiscence of the Psychologist. Then,
getting up, he went to the tobacco jar on the mantel, and with his
back to us began to fill his pipe.

We stared at each other. 'Look here,' said the Medical Man, 'are you
in earnest about this? Do you seriously believe that that machine
has travelled into time?'

'Certainly,' said the Time Traveller, stooping to light a spill at
the fire. Then he turned, lighting his pipe, to look at the
Psychologist's face. (The Psychologist, to show that he was not
unhinged, helped himself to a cigar and tried to light it uncut.)
'What is more, I have a big machine nearly finished in there'--he
indicated the laboratory--'and when that is put together I mean to
have a journey on my own account.'

'You mean to say that that machine has travelled into the future?'
said Filby.

'Into the future or the past--I don't, for certain, know which.'

After an interval the Psychologist had an inspiration. 'It must have
gone into the past if it has gone anywhere,' he said.

'Why?' said the Time Traveller.

'Because I presume that it has not moved in space, and if it
travelled into the future it would still be here all this time,
since it must have travelled through this time.'

'But,' I said, 'If it travelled into the past it would have been
visible when we came first into this room; and last Thursday when we
were here; and the Thursday before that; and so forth!'

'Serious objections,' remarked the Provincial Mayor, with an air of
impartiality, turning towards the Time Traveller.

'Not a bit,' said the Time Traveller, and, to the Psychologist: 'You
think. You can explain that. It's presentation below the threshold,
you know, diluted presentation.'

'Of course,' said the Psychologist, and reassured us. 'That's a
simple point of psychology. I should have thought of it. It's plain
enough, and helps the paradox delightfully. We cannot see it, nor
can we appreciate this machine, any more than we can the spoke of
a wheel spinning, or a bullet flying through the air. If it is
travelling through time fifty times or a hundred times faster than
we are, if it gets through a minute while we get through a second,
the impression it creates will of course be only one-fiftieth or
one-hundredth of what it would make if it were not travelling in
time. That's plain enough.' He passed his hand through the space in
which the machine had been. 'You see?' he said, laughing.

We sat and stared at the vacant table for a minute or so. Then the
Time Traveller asked us what we thought of it all.

'It sounds plausible enough to-night,' said the Medical Man; 'but
wait until to-morrow. Wait for the common sense of the morning.'

'Would you like to see the Time Machine itself?' asked the Time
Traveller. And therewith, taking the lamp in his hand, he led the
way down the long, draughty corridor to his laboratory. I remember
vividly the flickering light, his queer, broad head in silhouette,
the dance of the shadows, how we all followed him, puzzled but
incredulous, and how there in the laboratory we beheld a larger
edition of the little mechanism which we had seen vanish from before
our eyes. Parts were of nickel, parts of ivory, parts had certainly
been filed or sawn out of rock crystal. The thing was generally
complete, but the twisted crystalline bars lay unfinished upon the
bench beside some sheets of drawings, and I took one up for a better
look at it. Quartz it seemed to be.

'Look here,' said the Medical Man, 'are you perfectly serious?
Or is this a trick--like that ghost you showed us last Christmas?'

'Upon that machine,' said the Time Traveller, holding the lamp
aloft, 'I intend to explore time. Is that plain? I was never more
serious in my life.'

None of us quite knew how to take it.

I caught Filby's eye over the shoulder of the Medical Man, and he
winked at me solemnly.

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

completion: The narrator recounts the explanation of two difficult ideas by a man he refers to as the Time Traveler to an after-dinner group. The group includes a Psychologist, a Medical Man, a Provincial Mayor, and a few other men. The TT explains that Time adds a fourth dimension to the three dimensions of space. We overlook the fourth dimension because "our consciousness moves along it. He argues that Time, therefore, is a dimension of space. The Medical Man believes the difference between Space and Time is that one cannot move in Time and "get away from the present moment. The TT counters that we are always doing just that, "passing along the Time-Dimension with a uniform velocity. He tells them he has invented a Time Machine and has "experimental verification" of it. The audience speculates on what one might find with this machine in the future, such as a "communistic society. The TT leaves and returns with a small device. He sets it on the table and says it is only a model for a full Time Machine. He explains that its two levers move the traveler forward or backward in time. He says he will send the machine off into the future, and has the Psychologist perform the act. The machine disappears. The men are astounded. The TT says he has nearly completed a larger machine, with which he intends to travel through time himself. When asked, he admits he does not know if the model has gone into the past or the future. The men reason that it would have been visible to them when they first came in or it would be visible now. The TT asks the Psychologist to explain why this is not true; the Psychologist argues that the machine travels through time too quickly for them to appreciate it. The men are willing to believe this, at least for now. The TT shows them his larger machine, made of several metals and substances, in the his laboratory.


prompt:
Chapter: I think that at that time none of us quite believed in the Time
Machine. The fact is, the Time Traveller was one of those men who
are too clever to be believed: you never felt that you saw all round
him; you always suspected some subtle reserve, some ingenuity in
ambush, behind his lucid frankness. Had Filby shown the model and
explained the matter in the Time Traveller's words, we should have
shown _him_ far less scepticism. For we should have perceived his
motives; a pork butcher could understand Filby. But the Time
Traveller had more than a touch of whim among his elements, and we
distrusted him. Things that would have made the frame of a less
clever man seemed tricks in his hands. It is a mistake to do things
too easily. The serious people who took him seriously never felt
quite sure of his deportment; they were somehow aware that trusting
their reputations for judgment with him was like furnishing a
nursery with egg-shell china. So I don't think any of us said very
much about time travelling in the interval between that Thursday and
the next, though its odd potentialities ran, no doubt, in most of
our minds: its plausibility, that is, its practical incredibleness,
the curious possibilities of anachronism and of utter confusion it
suggested. For my own part, I was particularly preoccupied with the
trick of the model. That I remember discussing with the Medical Man,
whom I met on Friday at the Linnaean. He said he had seen a similar
thing at Tubingen, and laid considerable stress on the blowing out
of the candle. But how the trick was done he could not explain.

The next Thursday I went again to Richmond--I suppose I was one of
the Time Traveller's most constant guests--and, arriving late, found
four or five men already assembled in his drawing-room. The Medical
Man was standing before the fire with a sheet of paper in one hand
and his watch in the other. I looked round for the Time Traveller,
and--'It's half-past seven now,' said the Medical Man. 'I suppose
we'd better have dinner?'

'Where's----?' said I, naming our host.

'You've just come? It's rather odd. He's unavoidably detained. He
asks me in this note to lead off with dinner at seven if he's not
back. Says he'll explain when he comes.'

'It seems a pity to let the dinner spoil,' said the Editor of a
well-known daily paper; and thereupon the Doctor rang the bell.

The Psychologist was the only person besides the Doctor and myself
who had attended the previous dinner. The other men were Blank, the
Editor aforementioned, a certain journalist, and another--a quiet,
shy man with a beard--whom I didn't know, and who, as far as my
observation went, never opened his mouth all the evening. There was
some speculation at the dinner-table about the Time Traveller's
absence, and I suggested time travelling, in a half-jocular spirit.
The Editor wanted that explained to him, and the Psychologist
volunteered a wooden account of the 'ingenious paradox and trick' we
had witnessed that day week. He was in the midst of his exposition
when the door from the corridor opened slowly and without noise. I
was facing the door, and saw it first. 'Hallo!' I said. 'At last!'
And the door opened wider, and the Time Traveller stood before us.
I gave a cry of surprise. 'Good heavens! man, what's the matter?'
cried the Medical Man, who saw him next. And the whole tableful
turned towards the door.

He was in an amazing plight. His coat was dusty and dirty, and
smeared with green down the sleeves; his hair disordered, and as it
seemed to me greyer--either with dust and dirt or because its colour
had actually faded. His face was ghastly pale; his chin had a brown
cut on it--a cut half healed; his expression was haggard and drawn,
as by intense suffering. For a moment he hesitated in the doorway,
as if he had been dazzled by the light. Then he came into the room.
He walked with just such a limp as I have seen in footsore tramps.
We stared at him in silence, expecting him to speak.

He said not a word, but came painfully to the table, and made a
motion towards the wine. The Editor filled a glass of champagne, and
pushed it towards him. He drained it, and it seemed to do him good:
for he looked round the table, and the ghost of his old smile
flickered across his face. 'What on earth have you been up to, man?'
said the Doctor. The Time Traveller did not seem to hear. 'Don't let
me disturb you,' he said, with a certain faltering articulation.
'I'm all right.' He stopped, held out his glass for more, and took
it off at a draught. 'That's good,' he said. His eyes grew brighter,
and a faint colour came into his cheeks. His glance flickered over
our faces with a certain dull approval, and then went round the warm
and comfortable room. Then he spoke again, still as it were feeling
his way among his words. 'I'm going to wash and dress, and then I'll
come down and explain things ... Save me some of that mutton. I'm
starving for a bit of meat.'

He looked across at the Editor, who was a rare visitor, and hoped he
was all right. The Editor began a question. 'Tell you presently,'
said the Time Traveller. 'I'm--funny! Be all right in a minute.'

He put down his glass, and walked towards the staircase door. Again
I remarked his lameness and the soft padding sound of his footfall,
and standing up in my place, I saw his feet as he went out. He had
nothing on them but a pair of tattered, blood-stained socks. Then the
door closed upon him. I had half a mind to follow, till I remembered
how he detested any fuss about himself. For a minute, perhaps, my
mind was wool-gathering. Then, 'Remarkable Behaviour of an Eminent
Scientist,' I heard the Editor say, thinking (after his wont) in
headlines. And this brought my attention back to the bright
dinner-table.

'What's the game?' said the Journalist. 'Has he been doing the
Amateur Cadger? I don't follow.' I met the eye of the Psychologist,
and read my own interpretation in his face. I thought of the Time
Traveller limping painfully upstairs. I don't think any one else had
noticed his lameness.

The first to recover completely from this surprise was the Medical
Man, who rang the bell--the Time Traveller hated to have servants
waiting at dinner--for a hot plate. At that the Editor turned to his
knife and fork with a grunt, and the Silent Man followed suit. The
dinner was resumed. Conversation was exclamatory for a little while,
with gaps of wonderment; and then the Editor got fervent in his
curiosity. 'Does our friend eke out his modest income with a
crossing? or has he his Nebuchadnezzar phases?' he inquired. 'I feel
assured it's this business of the Time Machine,' I said, and took up
the Psychologist's account of our previous meeting. The new guests
were frankly incredulous. The Editor raised objections. 'What _was_
this time travelling? A man couldn't cover himself with dust by
rolling in a paradox, could he?' And then, as the idea came home to
him, he resorted to caricature. Hadn't they any clothes-brushes in
the Future? The Journalist too, would not believe at any price, and
joined the Editor in the easy work of heaping ridicule on the whole
thing. They were both the new kind of journalist--very joyous,
irreverent young men. 'Our Special Correspondent in the Day
after To-morrow reports,' the Journalist was saying--or rather
shouting--when the Time Traveller came back. He was dressed in
ordinary evening clothes, and nothing save his haggard look remained
of the change that had startled me.

'I say,' said the Editor hilariously, 'these chaps here say you have
been travelling into the middle of next week! Tell us all about
little Rosebery, will you? What will you take for the lot?'

The Time Traveller came to the place reserved for him without a
word. He smiled quietly, in his old way. 'Where's my mutton?' he
said. 'What a treat it is to stick a fork into meat again!'

'Story!' cried the Editor.

'Story be damned!' said the Time Traveller. 'I want something to
eat. I won't say a word until I get some peptone into my arteries.
Thanks. And the salt.'

'One word,' said I. 'Have you been time travelling?'

'Yes,' said the Time Traveller, with his mouth full, nodding his
head.

'I'd give a shilling a line for a verbatim note,' said the Editor.
The Time Traveller pushed his glass towards the Silent Man and rang
it with his fingernail; at which the Silent Man, who had been
staring at his face, started convulsively, and poured him wine.
The rest of the dinner was uncomfortable. For my own part, sudden
questions kept on rising to my lips, and I dare say it was the same
with the others. The Journalist tried to relieve the tension by
telling anecdotes of Hettie Potter. The Time Traveller devoted his
attention to his dinner, and displayed the appetite of a tramp.
The Medical Man smoked a cigarette, and watched the Time Traveller
through his eyelashes. The Silent Man seemed even more clumsy than
usual, and drank champagne with regularity and determination out of
sheer nervousness. At last the Time Traveller pushed his plate away,
and looked round us. 'I suppose I must apologize,' he said. 'I was
simply starving. I've had a most amazing time.' He reached out his
hand for a cigar, and cut the end. 'But come into the smoking-room.
It's too long a story to tell over greasy plates.' And ringing the
bell in passing, he led the way into the adjoining room.

'You have told Blank, and Dash, and Chose about the machine?' he
said to me, leaning back in his easy-chair and naming the three new
guests.

'But the thing's a mere paradox,' said the Editor.

'I can't argue to-night. I don't mind telling you the story, but
I can't argue. I will,' he went on, 'tell you the story of what
has happened to me, if you like, but you must refrain from
interruptions. I want to tell it. Badly. Most of it will sound like
lying. So be it! It's true--every word of it, all the same. I was in
my laboratory at four o'clock, and since then ... I've lived eight
days ... such days as no human being ever lived before! I'm nearly
worn out, but I shan't sleep till I've told this thing over to you.
Then I shall go to bed. But no interruptions! Is it agreed?'

'Agreed,' said the Editor, and the rest of us echoed 'Agreed.' And
with that the Time Traveller began his story as I have set it forth.
He sat back in his chair at first, and spoke like a weary man.
Afterwards he got more animated. In writing it down I feel with only
too much keenness the inadequacy of pen and ink--and, above all, my
own inadequacy--to express its quality. You read, I will suppose,
attentively enough; but you cannot see the speaker's white,
sincere face in the bright circle of the little lamp, nor hear the
intonation of his voice. You cannot know how his expression followed
the turns of his story! Most of us hearers were in shadow, for the
candles in the smoking-room had not been lighted, and only the face
of the Journalist and the legs of the Silent Man from the knees
downward were illuminated. At first we glanced now and again at each
other. After a time we ceased to do that, and looked only at the
Time Traveller's face.

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

completion: The narrator says the TT's audience remained skeptical of the TT, who always seems too clever and mysterious. They do not discuss time traveling until they reconvene next Thursday. But the TT is absent, having left a note for the men to have dinner without him if he is not back by seven. The new group consists of the Psychologist, the Medical Man, an Editor, a Journalist, and a Silent Man. As they discuss time travel, the TT enters, dirty, disheveled, and limping. He leaves to clean up, then returns and devours mutton, grateful to be eating meat again. He admits he has been time traveling, but reveals little else until he's finished eating, when he says he will tell the story of his eight futuristic days. The narrator feels he is unable to communicate adequately the TT's storytelling ability, though he transcribes his words verbatim.