prompt:
Chapter: Scene IV.
Eastcheap. The Boar's Head Tavern.

Enter Prince and Poins.

  Prince. Ned, prithee come out of that fat-room and lend me thy
hand
    to laugh a little.
  Poins. Where hast been, Hal?
    Prince. With three or four loggerheads amongst three or
    fourscore hogsheads. I have sounded the very bass-string of
    humility. Sirrah, I am sworn brother to a leash of drawers
and
    can call them all by their christen names, as Tom, Dick, and
    Francis. They take it already upon their salvation that,
though
    I be but Prince of Wales, yet I am the king of courtesy; and
tell
    me flatly I am no proud Jack like Falstaff, but a Corinthian,
a
    lad of mettle, a good boy (by the Lord, so they call me!),
and
    when I am King of England I shall command all the good lads
    Eastcheap. They call drinking deep, dying scarlet; and when
    you breathe in your watering, they cry 'hem!' and bid you
play it
    off. To conclude, I am so good a proficient in one quarter of
an
    hour that I can drink with any tinker in his own language
during
    my life. I tell thee, Ned, thou hast lost much honour that
thou
    wert not with me in this action. But, sweet Ned- to sweeten
which
    name of Ned, I give thee this pennyworth of sugar, clapp'd
even
    now into my hand by an under-skinker, one that never spake
other
    English in his life than 'Eight shillings and sixpence,' and
'You
    are welcome,' with this shrill addition, 'Anon, anon, sir!
Score
    a pint of bastard in the Half-moon,' or so- but, Ned, to
drive
    away the time till Falstaff come, I prithee do thou stand in
some
    by-room while I question my puny drawer to what end he gave
me
    the sugar; and do thou never leave calling 'Francis!' that
his
    tale to me may be nothing but 'Anon!' Step aside, and I'll
show
    thee a precedent.
  Poins. Francis!
  Prince. Thou art perfect.
  Poins. Francis!                                  [Exit Poins.]

                    Enter [Francis, a] Drawer.

  Fran. Anon, anon, sir.- Look down into the Pomgarnet, Ralph.
  Prince. Come hither, Francis.
  Fran. My lord?
  Prince. How long hast thou to serve, Francis?
  Fran. Forsooth, five years, and as much as to-
  Poins. [within] Francis!
  Fran. Anon, anon, sir.
  Prince. Five year! by'r Lady, a long lease for the clinking of
    pewter. But, Francis, darest thou be so valiant as to play
the
    coward with thy indenture and show it a fair pair of heels
and
    run from it?
  Fran. O Lord, sir, I'll be sworn upon all the books in England
I
    could find in my heart-
  Poins. [within] Francis!
  Fran. Anon, sir.
  Prince. How old art thou, Francis?
  Fran. Let me see. About Michaelmas next I shall be-
  Poins. [within] Francis!
  Fran. Anon, sir. Pray stay a little, my lord.
  Prince. Nay, but hark you, Francis. For the sugar thou gavest
me-
    'twas a pennyworth, wast not?
  Fran. O Lord! I would it had been two!
  Prince. I will give thee for it a thousand pound. Ask me when
thou
    wilt, and, thou shalt have it.
  Poins. [within] Francis!
  Fran. Anon, anon.
  Prince. Anon, Francis? No, Francis; but to-morrow, Francis; or,
    Francis, a Thursday; or indeed, Francis, when thou wilt. But
    Francis-
  Fran. My lord?
  Prince. Wilt thou rob this leathern-jerkin, crystal-button,
    not-pated, agate-ring, puke-stocking, caddis-garter,
    smooth-tongue, Spanish-pouch-
  Fran. O Lord, sir, who do you mean?
  Prince. Why then, your brown bastard is your only drink; for
look
    you, Francis, your white canvas doublet will sully. In
Barbary,
    sir, it cannot come to so much.
  Fran. What, sir?
  Poins. [within] Francis!
  Prince. Away, you rogue! Dost thou not hear them call?
              Here they both call him. The Drawer stands amazed,
                                    not knowing which way to go.

                         Enter Vintner.

  Vint. What, stand'st thou still, and hear'st such a calling?
Look
    to the guests within. [Exit Francis.] My lord, old Sir John,
with
    half-a-dozen more, are at the door. Shall I let them in?
  Prince. Let them alone awhile, and then open the door.
                                                  [Exit Vintner.]
    Poins!
  Poins. [within] Anon, anon, sir.

                          Enter Poins.

  Prince. Sirrah, Falstaff and the rest of the thieves are at the
    door. Shall we be merry?
  Poins. As merry as crickets, my lad. But hark ye; what cunning
    match have you made with this jest of the drawer? Come,
what's
    the issue?
  Prince. I am now of all humours that have showed themselves
humours
    since the old days of goodman Adam to the pupil age of this
    present this twelve o'clock at midnight.

                         [Enter Francis.]

    What's o'clock, Francis?
  Fran. Anon, anon, sir.                                 [Exit.]
  Prince. That ever this fellow should have fewer words than a
    parrot, and yet the son of a woman! His industry is upstairs
and
    downstairs, his eloquence the parcel of a reckoning. I am not
yet
    of Percy's mind, the Hotspur of the North; he that kills me
some
    six or seven dozen of Scots at a breakfast, washes his hands,
and
    says to his wife, 'Fie upon this quiet life! I want work.' 'O
my
    sweet Harry,' says she, 'how many hast thou  kill'd to-day?'
    'Give my roan horse a drench,' says he, and answers 'Some
    fourteen,' an hour after, 'a trifle, a trifle.' I prithee
call in
    Falstaff. I'll play Percy, and that damn'd brawn shall play
Dame
    Mortimer his wife. 'Rivo!' says the drunkard. Call in ribs,
call
    in tallow.

           Enter Falstaff, [Gadshill, Bardolph, and Peto;
                   Francis follows with wine].

  Poins. Welcome, Jack. Where hast thou been?
  Fal. A plague of all cowards, I say, and a vengeance too! Marry
and
    amen! Give me a cup of sack, boy. Ere I lead this life long,
I'll
    sew nether-stocks, and mend them and foot them too. A plague
of
    all cowards! Give me a cup of sack, rogue. Is there no virtue
    extant?
                                                    He drinketh.
  Prince. Didst thou never see Titan kiss a dish of butter?
    Pitiful-hearted butter, that melted at the sweet tale of the
sun!
    If thou didst, then behold that compound.
  Fal. You rogue, here's lime in this sack too! There is nothing
but
    roguery to be found in villanous man. Yet a coward is worse
than
    a cup of sack with lime in it- a villanous coward! Go thy
ways,
    old Jack, die when thou wilt; if manhood, good manhood, be
not
    forgot upon the face of the earth, then am I a shotten
herring.
    There lives not three good men unhang'd in England; and one
of
    them is fat, and grows old. God help the while! A bad world,
I
    say. I would I were a weaver; I could sing psalms or
anything. A
    plague of all cowards I say still!
  Prince. How now, woolsack? What mutter you?
  Fal. A king's son! If I do not beat thee out of thy kingdom
with a
    dagger of lath and drive all thy subjects afore thee like a
flock
    of wild geese, I'll never wear hair on my face more. You
Prince
    of Wales?
  Prince. Why, you whoreson round man, what's the matter?
  Fal. Are not you a coward? Answer me to that- and Poins there?
  Poins. Zounds, ye fat paunch, an ye call me coward, by the
    Lord, I'll stab thee.
  Fal. I call thee coward? I'll see thee damn'd ere I call thee
    coward, but I would give a thousand pound I could run as fast
as
    thou canst. You are straight enough in the shoulders; you
care
    not who sees Your back. Call you that backing of your
friends? A
    plague upon such backing! Give me them that will face me.
Give me
    a cup of sack. I am a rogue if I drunk to-day.
  Prince. O villain! thy lips are scarce wip'd since thou
drunk'st
    last.
  Fal. All is one for that. (He drinketh.) A plague of all
cowards
    still say I.
  Prince. What's the matter?
  Fal. What's the matter? There be four of us here have ta'en a
    thousand pound this day morning.
  Prince. Where is it, Jack? Where is it?
  Fal. Where is it, Taken from us it is. A hundred upon poor four
of
    us!
  Prince. What, a hundred, man?
  Fal. I am a rogue if I were not at half-sword with a dozen of
them
    two hours together. I have scap'd by miracle. I am eight
times
    thrust through the doublet, four through the hose; my buckler
cut
    through and through; my sword hack'd like a handsaw- ecce
signum!
    I never dealt better since I was a man. All would not do. A
    plague of all cowards! Let them speak, If they speak more or
less
    than truth, they are villains and the sons of darkness.
  Prince. Speak, sirs. How was it?
  Gads. We four set upon some dozen-
  Fal. Sixteen at least, my lord.
  Gads. And bound them.
  Peto. No, no, they were not bound.
  Fal. You rogue, they were bound, every man of them, or I am a
Jew
    else- an Ebrew Jew.
  Gads. As we were sharing, some six or seven fresh men sea upon
us-
  Fal. And unbound the rest, and then come in the other.
  Prince. What, fought you with them all?
  Fal. All? I know not what you call all, but if I fought not
with
    fifty of them, I am a bunch of radish! If there were not two
or
    three and fifty upon poor old Jack, then am I no two-legg'd
    creature.
  Prince. Pray God you have not murd'red some of them.
  Fal. Nay, that's past praying for. I have pepper'd two of them.
Two
    I am sure I have paid, two rogues in buckram suits. I tell
thee
    what, Hal- if I tell thee a lie, spit in my face, call me
horse.
    Thou knowest my old ward. Here I lay, and thus I bore my
point.
    Four rogues in buckram let drive at me.
  Prince. What, four? Thou saidst but two even now.
  Fal. Four, Hal. I told thee four.
  Poins. Ay, ay, he said four.
  Fal. These four came all afront and mainly thrust at me. I made
me
    no more ado but took all their seven points in my target,
thus.
  Prince. Seven? Why, there were but four even now.
  Fal. In buckram?
  Poins. Ay, four, in buckram suits.
  Fal. Seven, by these hilts, or I am a villain else.
  Prince. [aside to Poins] Prithee let him alone. We shall have
more
    anon.
  Fal. Dost thou hear me, Hal?
  Prince. Ay, and mark thee too, Jack.
  Fal. Do so, for it is worth the list'ning to. These nine in
buckram
    that I told thee of-
  Prince. So, two more already.
  Fal. Their points being broken-
  Poins. Down fell their hose.
  Fal. Began to give me ground; but I followed me close, came in,
    foot and hand, and with a thought seven of the eleven I paid.
  Prince. O monstrous! Eleven buckram men grown out of two!
  Fal. But, as the devil would have it, three misbegotten knaves
in
    Kendal green came at my back and let drive at me; for it was
so
    dark, Hal, that thou couldst not see thy hand.
  Prince. These lies are like their father that begets them-
gross as
    a mountain, open, palpable. Why, thou clay-brain'd guts, thou
    knotty-pated fool, thou whoreson obscene greasy tallow-catch-
  Fal. What, art thou mad? art thou mad? Is not the truth the
truth?
  Prince. Why, how couldst thou know these men in Kendal green
when
    it was so dark thou couldst not see thy hand? Come, tell us
your
    reason. What sayest thou to this?
  Poins. Come, your reason, Jack, your reason.
  Fal. What, upon compulsion? Zounds, an I were at the strappado
or
    all the racks in the world, I would not tell you on
compulsion.
    Give you a reason on compulsion? If reasons were as plentiful
as
    blackberries, I would give no man a reason upon compulsion,
I.
  Prince. I'll be no longer guilty, of this sin; this sanguine
    coward, this bed-presser, this horseback-breaker, this huge
hill
    of flesh-
  Fal. 'Sblood, you starveling, you elf-skin, you dried
    neat's-tongue, you bull's sizzle, you stockfish- O for breath
to
    utter what is like thee!- you tailor's yard, you sheath, you
    bowcase, you vile standing tuck!
  Prince. Well, breathe awhile, and then to it again; and when
thou
    hast tired thyself in base comparisons, hear me speak but
this.
  Poins. Mark, Jack.
  Prince. We two saw you four set on four, and bound them and
were
    masters of their wealth. Mark now how a plain tale shall put
you
    down. Then did we two set on you four and, with a word,
outfac'd
    you from your prize, and have it; yea, and can show it you
here
    in the house. And, Falstaff, you carried your guts away as
    nimbly, with as quick dexterity, and roar'd for mercy, and
still
    run and roar'd, as ever I heard bullcalf. What a slave art
thou
    to hack thy sword as thou hast done, and then say it was in
    fight! What trick, what device, what starting hole canst thou
now
    find out to hide thee from this open and apparent shame?
  Poins. Come, let's hear, Jack. What trick hast thou now?
  Fal. By the Lord, I knew ye as well as he that made ye. Why,
hear
    you, my masters. Was it for me to kill the heir apparent?
Should
    I turn upon the true prince? Why, thou knowest I am as
valiant as
    Hercules; but beware instinct. The lion will not touch the
true
    prince. Instinct is a great matter. I was now a coward on
    instinct. I shall think the better of myself, and thee,
during my
    life- I for a valiant lion, and thou for a true prince. But,
by
    the Lord, lads, I am glad you have the money. Hostess, clap
to
    the doors. Watch to-night, pray to-morrow. Gallants, lads,
boys,
    hearts of gold, all the titles of good fellowship come to
you!
    What, shall we be merry? Shall we have a play extempore?
  Prince. Content- and the argument shall be thy running away.
  Fal. Ah, no more of that, Hal, an thou lovest me!

                             Enter Hostess.

  Host. O Jesu, my lord the Prince!
  Prince. How now, my lady the hostess? What say'st thou to me?
  Host. Marry, my lord, there is a nobleman of the court at door
    would speak with you. He says he comes from your father.
  Prince. Give him as much as will make him a royal man, and send
him
    back again to my mother.
  Fal. What manner of man is he?
  Host. An old man.
  Fal. What doth gravity out of his bed at midnight? Shall I give
him
    his answer?
  Prince. Prithee do, Jack.
  Fal. Faith, and I'll send him packing.
Exit.
  Prince. Now, sirs. By'r Lady, you fought fair; so did you,
Peto; so
    did you, Bardolph. You are lions too, you ran away upon
instinct,
    you will not touch the true prince; no- fie!
  Bard. Faith, I ran when I saw others run.
  Prince. Tell me now in earnest, how came Falstaff's sword so
    hack'd?
  Peto. Why, he hack'd it with his dagger, and said he would
swear
    truth out of England but he would make you believe it was
done in
    fight, and persuaded us to do the like.
  Bard. Yea, and to tickle our noses with speargrass to make them
    bleed, and then to beslubber our garments with it and swear
it
    was the blood of true men. I did that I did not this seven
year
    before- I blush'd to hear his monstrous devices.
  Prince. O villain! thou stolest a cup of sack eighteen years
ago
    and wert taken with the manner, and ever since thou hast
blush'd
    extempore. Thou hadst fire and sword on thy side, and yet
thou
    ran'st away. What instinct hadst thou for it?
  Bard. My lord, do you see these meteors? Do you behold these
    exhalations?
  Prince. I do.
  Bard. What think you they portend?
  Prince. Hot livers and cold purses.
  Bard. Choler, my lord, if rightly taken.
  Prince. No, if rightly taken, halter.

                         Enter Falstaff.

    Here comes lean Jack; here comes bare-bone. How now, my sweet
    creature of bombast? How long is't ago, Jack, since thou
sawest
    thine own knee?
  Fal. My own knee? When I was about thy years, Hal, I was not an
    eagle's talent in the waist; I could have crept into any
    alderman's thumb-ring. A plague of sighing and grief! It
blows a
    man up like a bladder. There's villanous news abroad. Here
was
    Sir John Bracy from your father. You must to the court in the
    morning. That same mad fellow of the North, Percy, and he of
    Wales that gave Amamon the bastinado, and made Lucifer
cuckold,
    and swore the devil his true liegeman upon the cross of a
Welsh
    hook- what a plague call you him?
  Poins. O, Glendower.
  Fal. Owen, Owen- the same; and his son-in-law Mortimer, and old
    Northumberland, and that sprightly Scot of Scots, Douglas,
that
    runs a-horseback up a hill perpendicular-
  Prince. He that rides at high speed and with his pistol kills a
    sparrow flying.
  Fal. You have hit it.
  Prince. So did he never the sparrow.
  Fal. Well, that rascal hath good metal in him; he will not run.
  Prince. Why, what a rascal art thou then, to praise him so for
    running!
  Fal. A-horseback, ye cuckoo! but afoot he will not budge a
foot.
  Prince. Yes, Jack, upon instinct.
  Fal. I grant ye, upon instinct. Well, he is there too, and one
    Mordake, and a thousand bluecaps more. Worcester is stol'n
away
    to-night; thy father's beard is turn'd white with the news;
you
    may buy land now as cheap as stinking mack'rel.
  Prince. Why then, it is like, if there come a hot June, and
this
    civil buffeting hold, we shall buy maidenheads as they buy
    hobnails, by the hundreds.
  Fal. By the mass, lad, thou sayest true; it is like we shall
have
    good trading that way. But tell me, Hal, art not thou
horrible
    afeard? Thou being heir apparent, could the world pick thee
out
    three such enemies again as that fiend Douglas, that spirit
    Percy, and that devil Glendower? Art thou not horribly
afraid?
    Doth not thy blood thrill at it?
  Prince. Not a whit, i' faith. I lack some of thy instinct.
  Fal. Well, thou wilt be horribly chid to-morrow when thou
comest to
    thy father. If thou love file, practise an answer.
  Prince. Do thou stand for my father and examine me upon the
    particulars of my life.
  Fal. Shall I? Content. This chair shall be my state, this
dagger my
    sceptre, and this cushion my, crown.
  Prince. Thy state is taken for a join'd-stool, thy golden
sceptre
    for a leaden dagger, and thy precious rich crown for a
pitiful
    bald crown.
  Fal. Well, an the fire of grace be not quite out of thee, now
shalt
    thou be moved. Give me a cup of sack to make my eyes look
red,
    that it may be thought I have wept; for I must speak in
passion,
    and I will do it in King Cambyses' vein.
  Prince. Well, here is my leg.
  Fal. And here is my speech. Stand aside, nobility.
  Host. O Jesu, this is excellent sport, i' faith!
  Fal. Weep not, sweet queen, for trickling tears are vain.
  Host. O, the Father, how he holds his countenance!
  Fal. For God's sake, lords, convey my tristful queen!
    For tears do stop the floodgates of her eyes.
  Host. O Jesu, he doth it as like one of these harlotry players
as
    ever I see!
  Fal. Peace, good pintpot. Peace, good tickle-brain.- Harry, I
do
    not only marvel where thou spendest thy time, but also how
thou
    art accompanied. For though the camomile, the more it is
trodden
    on, the faster it grows, yet youth, the more it is wasted,
the
    sooner it wears. That thou art my son I have partly thy
mother's
    word, partly my own opinion, but chiefly a villanous trick of
    thine eye and a foolish hanging of thy nether lip that doth
    warrant me. If then thou be son to me, here lies the point:
why,
    being son to me, art thou so pointed at? Shall the blessed
sun of
    heaven prove a micher and eat blackberries? A question not to
be
    ask'd. Shall the son of England prove a thief and take
purses? A
    question to be ask'd. There is a thing, Harry, which thou
hast
    often heard of, and it is known to many in our land by the
name
    of pitch. This pitch, as ancient writers do report, doth
defile;
    so doth the company thou keepest. For, Harry, now I do not
speak
    to thee in drink, but in tears; not in pleasure, but in
passion;
    not in words only, but in woes also: and yet there is a
virtuous
    man whom I have often noted in thy company, but I know not
his
    name.
  Prince. What manner of man, an it like your Majesty?
  Fal. A goodly portly man, i' faith, and a corpulent; of a
cheerful
    look, a pleasing eye, and a most noble carriage; and, as I
think,
    his age some fifty, or, by'r Lady, inclining to threescore;
and
    now I remember me, his name is Falstaff. If that man should
be
    lewdly, given, he deceiveth me; for, Harry, I see virtue in
his
    looks. If then the tree may be known by the fruit, as the
fruit
    by the tree, then, peremptorily I speak it, there is virtue
in
    that Falstaff. Him keep with, the rest banish. And tell me
now,
    thou naughty varlet, tell me where hast thou been this month?
  Prince. Dost thou speak like a king? Do thou stand for me, and
I'll
    play my father.
  Fal. Depose me? If thou dost it half so gravely, so
majestically,
    both in word and matter, hang me up by the heels for a
    rabbit-sucker or a poulter's hare.
  Prince. Well, here I am set.
  Fal. And here I stand. Judge, my masters.
  Prince. Now, Harry, whence come you?
  Fal. My noble lord, from Eastcheap.
  Prince. The complaints I hear of thee are grievous.
  Fal. 'Sblood, my lord, they are false! Nay, I'll tickle ye for
a
    young prince, i' faith.
  Prince. Swearest thou, ungracious boy? Henceforth ne'er look on
me.
    Thou art violently carried away from grace. There is a devil
    haunts thee in the likeness of an old fat man; a tun of man
is
    thy companion. Why dost thou converse with that trunk of
humours,
    that bolting hutch of beastliness, that swoll'n parcel of
    dropsies, that huge bombard of sack, that stuff'd cloakbag of
    guts, that roasted Manningtree ox with the pudding in his
belly,
    that reverend vice, that grey iniquity, that father ruffian,
that
    vanity in years? Wherein is he good, but to taste sack and
drink
    it? wherein neat and cleanly, but to carve a capon and eat
it?
    wherein cunning, but in craft? wherein crafty, but in
villany?
    wherein villanous, but in all things? wherein worthy, but in
    nothing?
  Fal. I would your Grace would take me with you. Whom means your
    Grace?
  Prince. That villanous abominable misleader of youth, Falstaff,
    that old white-bearded Satan.
  Fal. My lord, the man I know.
  Prince. I know thou dost.
  Fal. But to say I know more harm in him than in myself were to
say
    more than I know. That he is old (the more the pity) his
white
    hairs do witness it; but that he is (saving your reverence) a
    whoremaster, that I utterly deny. If sack and sugar be a
fault,
    God help the wicked! If to be old and merry be a sin, then
many
    an old host that I know is damn'd. If to be fat be to be
hated,
    then Pharaoh's lean kine are to be loved. No, my good lord.
    Banish Peto, banish Bardolph, banish Poins; but for sweet
Jack
    Falstaff, kind Jack Falstaff, true Jack Falstaff, valiant
Jack
    Falstaff, and therefore more valiant being, as he is, old
Jack
    Falstaff, banish not him thy Harry's company, banish not him
thy
    Harry's company. Banish plump Jack, and banish all the world!
  Prince. I do, I will.                      [A knocking heard.]
                        [Exeunt Hostess, Francis, and Bardolph.]

                     Enter Bardolph, running.

  Bard. O, my lord, my lord! the sheriff with a most monstrous
watch
    is at the door.
  Fal. Out, ye rogue! Play out the play. I have much to say in
the
    behalf of that Falstaff.

                       Enter the Hostess.

  Host. O Jesu, my lord, my lord!
  Prince. Heigh, heigh, the devil rides upon a fiddlestick!
    What's the matter?
  Host. The sheriff and all the watch are at the door. They are
come
    to search the house. Shall I let them in?
  Fal. Dost thou hear, Hal? Never call a true piece of gold a
    counterfeit. Thou art essentially mad without seeming so.
  Prince. And thou a natural coward without instinct.
  Fal. I deny your major. If you will deny the sheriff, so; if
not,
    let him enter. If I become not a cart as well as another man,
a
    plague on my bringing up! I hope I shall as soon be strangled
    with a halter as another.
  Prince. Go hide thee behind the arras. The rest walk, up above.
    Now, my masters, for a true face and good conscience.
  Fal. Both which I have had; but their date is out, and
therefore
    I'll hide me.                                          Exit.
  Prince. Call in the sheriff.
                            [Exeunt Manent the Prince and Peto.]

                    Enter Sheriff and the Carrier.

    Now, Master Sheriff, what is your will with me?
  Sher. First, pardon me, my lord. A hue and cry
    Hath followed certain men unto this house.
  Prince. What men?
  Sher. One of them is well known, my gracious lord-
    A gross fat man.
  Carrier. As fat as butter.
  Prince. The man, I do assure you, is not here,
    For I myself at this time have employ'd him.
    And, sheriff, I will engage my word to thee
    That I will by to-morrow dinner time
    Send him to answer thee, or any man,
    For anything he shall be charg'd withal;
    And so let me entreat you leave the house.
  Sher. I will, my lord. There are two gentlemen
    Have in this robbery lost three hundred marks.
  Prince. It may be so. If he have robb'd these men,
    He shall be answerable; and so farewell.
  Sher. Good night, my noble lord.
  Prince. I think it is good morrow, is it not?
  Sher. Indeed, my lord, I think it be two o'clock.
                                            Exit [with Carrier].
  Prince. This oily rascal is known as well as Paul's. Go call
him
    forth.
  Peto. Falstaff! Fast asleep behind the arras, and snorting like
a
    horse.
  Prince. Hark how hard he fetches breath. Search his pockets.
            He searcheth his pockets and findeth certain papers.
    What hast thou found?
  Peto. Nothing but papers, my lord.
  Prince. Let's see whit they be. Read them.

  Peto. [reads] 'Item. A capon. . . . . . . . . . . . .  ii s. ii
d.
                 Item, Sauce. . . . . . . . . . . . . .      iiii
d.
                 Item, Sack two gallons . . . . . . . . v s. viii
d.
                 Item, Anchovies and sack after supper.  ii s. vi
d.
                 Item, Bread. . . . . . . . . . . . . .
ob.'

  Prince. O monstrous! but one halfpennyworth of bread to this
    intolerable deal of sack! What there is else, keep close;
we'll
    read it at more advantage. There let him sleep till day. I'll
to
    the court in the morning. We must all to the wars. and thy
place
    shall be honourable. I'll procure this fat rogue a charge of
    foot; and I know, his death will be a march of twelve score.
The
    money shall be paid back again with advantage. Be with me
betimes
    in the morning, and so good morrow, Peto.
  Peto. Good morrow, good my lord.
                                                         Exeunt.

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

completion: At the Boar's-Head Tavern, Prince Hal and Poins are entertaining themselves. Hal tells his companion that he has won much honor by being accepted as "sworn brother" to the lowly tavern servants. He engages Francis, one of them, in a bewildering game with Poins' help. First the prince, then Poins, calls for poor Francis, who, striving to please both, runs up and down stairs in a ridiculous manner, answering each call with "Anon , sir." Hal makes the newly-arrived Falstaff and the rest of the thieves wait at the door while he comments on the significance of Francis' behavior, curiously shifting to a comparison of himself with "the Hotspur of the North." Falstaff and his companions enter, the fat knight complaining bitterly about the prevalence of cowardice and calling for sack. He then tells how courageously he fought at Gadshill against enemies who, first said to number one hundred, are successively reduced to six or seven; and, as he testifies, two particular ones in buckram suits become successively four, seven, nine, and finally eleven. Hal and Falstaff exchange derogatory epithets. At last the prince gives the true account of what happened and challenges Falstaff to explain away the fact that he has proved himself to be a coward and liar. Falstaff, in his special way, does exactly that. Valiant though he is, never would he be one to kill the heir-apparent, whom he recognized immediately by instinct. His spirits are uplifted, for he now knows that Hal has the money taken from the travelers. Let all be merry, he exclaims and suggests a "play extempore" -- a bit of amateur play acting -- as a source of amusement. A messenger from the king is announced. At Hal's request, Falstaff leaves to "send him packing." During Sir John's absence, Bardolph and Peto tell how the old knight coached them to back up his preposterous story. When Falstaff returns with news of the revolt of the Percies, the prince seems almost totally unconcerned. The names of renowned Hotspur , Mortimer, Douglas, and "that devil Glendower" leave him unperturbed; unlike Sir John, he cannot be a coward. But Hal must appear before his royal father, and this provides the subject for the play extempore, a kind of rehearsal, in which the prince and Falstaff play alternate roles. The arrival of the sheriff and "all the watch" at the tavern door interrupts this merriment. At Hal's request, Falstaff hides behind the arras and the others go upstairs, leaving the prince with Peto to face the law. The carrier who accompanies the sheriff into the tavern identifies one of the thieves as a gross fat man -- "as fat as butter." Hal assures them that the man is not present and that he will answer personally for any charges made. After the sheriff and the carrier have left, Falstaff is discovered fast asleep and snoring behind the arras. "Search his pockets," says Hal to Peto, who finds only a tavern bill for a bit of food and vast quantities of sack. On inspiration, Hal decides to pester Falstaff by giving him a command of foot troops which he will have to lead against the rebels. Hal himself will report to his father in the morning and will see that the stolen money is returned.


prompt:
Chapter: ACT III. Scene I.
Bangor. The Archdeacon's house.

Enter Hotspur, Worcester, Lord Mortimer, Owen Glendower.

  Mort. These promises are fair, the parties sure,
    And our induction full of prosperous hope.
  Hot. Lord Mortimer, and cousin Glendower,
    Will you sit down?
    And uncle Worcester. A plague upon it!
    I have forgot the map.
  Glend. No, here it is.
    Sit, cousin Percy; sit, good cousin Hotspur,
    For by that name as oft as Lancaster
    Doth speak of you, his cheek looks pale, and with
    A rising sigh he wisheth you in heaven.
  Hot. And you in hell, as oft as he hears
    Owen Glendower spoke of.
  Glend. I cannot blame him. At my nativity
    The front of heaven was full of fiery shapes
    Of burning cressets, and at my birth
    The frame and huge foundation of the earth
    Shak'd like a coward.
  Hot. Why, so it would have done at the same season, if your
    mother's cat had but kitten'd, though yourself had never been
    born.
  Glend. I say the earth did shake when I was born.
  Hot. And I say the earth was not of my mind,
    If you suppose as fearing you it shook.
  Glend. The heavens were all on fire, the earth did tremble.
  Hot. O, then the earth shook to see the heavens on fire,
    And not in fear of your nativity.
    Diseased nature oftentimes breaks forth
    In strange eruptions; oft the teeming earth
    Is with a kind of colic pinch'd and vex'd
    By the imprisoning of unruly wind
    Within her womb, which, for enlargement striving,
    Shakes the old beldame earth and topples down
    Steeples and mossgrown towers. At your birth
    Our grandam earth, having this distemp'rature,
    In passion shook.
  Glend. Cousin, of many men
    I do not bear these crossings. Give me leave
    To tell you once again that at my birth
    The front of heaven was full of fiery shapes,
    The goats ran from the mountains, and the herds
    Were strangely clamorous to the frighted fields.
    These signs have mark'd me extraordinary,
    And all the courses of my life do show
    I am not in the roll of common men.
    Where is he living, clipp'd in with the sea
    That chides the banks of England, Scotland, Wales,
    Which calls me pupil or hath read to me?
    And bring him out that is but woman's son
    Can trace me in the tedious ways of art
    And hold me pace in deep experiments.
  Hot. I think there's no man speaks better Welsh. I'll to
dinner.
  Mort. Peace, cousin Percy; you will make him mad.
  Glend. I can call spirits from the vasty deep.
  Hot. Why, so can I, or so can any man;
    But will they come when you do call for them?
  Glend. Why, I can teach you, cousin, to command the devil.
  Hot. And I can teach thee, coz, to shame the devil-
    By telling truth. Tell truth and shame the devil.
    If thou have power to raise him, bring him hither,
    And I'll be sworn I have power to shame him hence.
    O, while you live, tell truth and shame the devil!
  Mort. Come, come, no more of this unprofitable chat.
  Glend. Three times hath Henry Bolingbroke made head
    Against my power; thrice from the banks of Wye
    And sandy-bottom'd Severn have I sent him
    Bootless home and weather-beaten back.
  Hot. Home without boots, and in foul weather too?
    How scapes he agues, in the devil's name
  Glend. Come, here's the map. Shall we divide our right
    According to our threefold order ta'en?
  Mort. The Archdeacon hath divided it
    Into three limits very equally.
    England, from Trent and Severn hitherto,
    By south and east is to my part assign'd;
    All westward, Wales beyond the Severn shore,
    And all the fertile land within that bound,
    To Owen Glendower; and, dear coz, to you
    The remnant northward lying off from Trent.
    And our indentures tripartite are drawn;
    Which being sealed interchangeably
    (A business that this night may execute),
    To-morrow, cousin Percy, you and I
    And my good Lord of Worcester will set forth
    To meet your father and the Scottish bower,
    As is appointed us, at Shrewsbury.
    My father Glendower is not ready yet,
    Nor shall we need his help these fourteen days.
    [To Glend.] Within that space you may have drawn together
    Your tenants, friends, and neighbouring gentlemen.
  Glend. A shorter time shall send me to you, lords;
    And in my conduct shall your ladies come,
    From whom you now must steal and take no leave,
    For there will be a world of water shed
    Upon the parting of your wives and you.
  Hot. Methinks my moiety, north from Burton here,
    In quantity equals not one of yours.
    See how this river comes me cranking in
    And cuts me from the best of all my land
    A huge half-moon, a monstrous cantle out.
    I'll have the current ill this place damm'd up,
    And here the smug and sliver Trent shall run
    In a new channel fair and evenly.
    It shall not wind with such a deep indent
    To rob me of so rich a bottom here.
  Glend. Not wind? It shall, it must! You see it doth.
  Mort. Yea, but
    Mark how he bears his course, and runs me up
    With like advantage on the other side,
    Gelding the opposed continent as much
    As on the other side it takes from you.
  Wor. Yea, but a little charge will trench him here
    And on this north side win this cape of land;
    And then he runs straight and even.
  Hot. I'll have it so. A little charge will do it.
  Glend. I will not have it alt'red.
  Hot. Will not you?
  Glend. No, nor you shall not.
  Hot. Who shall say me nay?
  Glend. No, that will I.
  Hot. Let me not understand you then; speak it in Welsh.
  Glend. I can speak English, lord, as well as you;
    For I was train'd up in the English court,
    Where, being but young, I framed to the harp
    Many an English ditty lovely well,
    And gave the tongue a helpful ornament-
    A virtue that was never seen in you.
  Hot. Marry,
    And I am glad of it with all my heart!
    I had rather be a kitten and cry mew
    Than one of these same metre ballet-mongers.
    I had rather hear a brazen canstick turn'd
    Or a dry wheel grate on the axletree,
    And that would set my teeth nothing on edge,
    Nothing so much as mincing poetry.
    'Tis like the forc'd gait of a shuffling nag,
  Glend. Come, you shall have Trent turn'd.
  Hot. I do not care. I'll give thrice so much land
    To any well-deserving friend;
    But in the way of bargain, mark ye me,
    I'll cavil on the ninth part of a hair
    Are the indentures drawn? Shall we be gone?
  Glend. The moon shines fair; you may away by night.
    I'll haste the writer, and withal
    Break with your wives of your departure hence.
    I am afraid my daughter will run mad,
    So much she doteth on her Mortimer.                    Exit.
  Mort. Fie, cousin Percy! how you cross my father!
  Hot. I cannot choose. Sometimes he angers me
    With telling me of the moldwarp and the ant,
    Of the dreamer Merlin and his prophecies,
    And of a dragon and a finless fish,
    A clip-wing'd griffin and a moulten raven,
    A couching lion and a ramping cat,
    And such a deal of skimble-skamble stuff
    As puts me from my faith. I tell you what-
    He held me last night at least nine hours
    In reckoning up the several devils' names
    That were his lackeys. I cried 'hum,' and 'Well, go to!'
    But mark'd him not a word. O, he is as tedious
    As a tired horse, a railing wife;
    Worse than a smoky house. I had rather live
    With cheese and garlic in a windmill far
    Than feed on cates and have him talk to me
    In any summer house in Christendom.
  Mort. In faith, he is a worthy gentleman,
    Exceedingly well read, and profited
    In strange concealments, valiant as a lion,
    And wondrous affable, and as bountiful
    As mines of India. Shall I tell you, cousin?
    He holds your temper in a high respect
    And curbs himself even of his natural scope
    When you come 'cross his humour. Faith, he does.
    I warrant you that man is not alive
    Might so have tempted him as you have done
    Without the taste of danger and reproof.
    But do not use it oft, let me entreat you.
  Wor. In faith, my lord, you are too wilful-blame,
    And since your coming hither have done enough
    To put him quite besides his patience.
    You must needs learn, lord, to amend this fault.
    Though sometimes it show greatness, courage, blood-
    And that's the dearest grace it renders you-
    Yet oftentimes it doth present harsh rage,
    Defect of manners, want of government,
    Pride, haughtiness, opinion, and disdain;
    The least of which haunting a nobleman
    Loseth men's hearts, and leaves behind a stain
    Upon the beauty of all parts besides,
    Beguiling them of commendation.
  Hot. Well, I am school'd. Good manners be your speed!
    Here come our wives, and let us take our leave.

            Enter Glendower with the Ladies.

  Mort. This is the deadly spite that angers me-
    My wife can speak no English, I no Welsh.
  Glend. My daughter weeps; she will not part with you;
    She'll be a soldier too, she'll to the wars.
  Mort. Good father, tell her that she and my aunt Percy
    Shall follow in your conduct speedily.
               Glendower speaks to her in Welsh, and she answers
                                                him in the same.
  Glend. She is desperate here. A peevish self-will'd harlotry,
    One that no persuasion can do good upon.
                                       The Lady speaks in Welsh.
  Mort. I understand thy looks. That pretty Welsh
    Which thou pourest down from these swelling heavens
    I am too perfect in; and, but for shame,
    In such a Barley should I answer thee.
                                        The Lady again in Welsh.
    I understand thy kisses, and thou mine,
    And that's a feeling disputation.
    But I will never be a truant, love,
    Till I have learnt thy language: for thy tongue
    Makes Welsh as sweet as ditties highly penn'd,
    Sung by a fair queen in a summer's bow'r,
    With ravishing division, to her lute.
  Glend. Nay, if you melt, then will she run mad.
                                 The Lady speaks again in Welsh.
  Mort. O, I am ignorance itself in this!
  Glend. She bids you on the wanton rushes lay you down
    And rest your gentle head upon her lap,
    And she will sing the song that pleaseth you
    And on your eyelids crown the god of sleep,
    Charming your blood with pleasing heaviness,
    Making such difference 'twixt wake and sleep
    As is the difference betwixt day and night
    The hour before the heavenly-harness'd team
    Begins his golden progress in the East.
  Mort. With all my heart I'll sit and hear her sing.
    By that time will our book, I think, be drawn.
  Glend. Do so,
    And those musicians that shall play to you
    Hang in the air a thousand leagues from hence,
    And straight they shall be here. Sit, and attend.
  Hot. Come, Kate, thou art perfect in lying down. Come, quick,
    quick, that I may lay my head in thy lap.
  Lady P. Go, ye giddy goose.
                                                The music plays.
  Hot. Now I perceive the devil understands Welsh;
    And 'tis no marvel, be is so humorous.
    By'r Lady, he is a good musician.
  Lady P. Then should you be nothing but musical; for you are
    altogether govern'd by humours. Lie still, ye thief, and hear
the
    lady sing in Welsh.
  Hot. I had rather hear Lady, my brach, howl in Irish.
  Lady P. Wouldst thou have thy head broken?
  Hot. No.
  Lady P. Then be still.
  Hot. Neither! 'Tis a woman's fault.
  Lady P. Now God help thee!
  Hot. To the Welsh lady's bed.
  Lady P. What's that?
  Hot. Peace! she sings.
                               Here the Lady sings a Welsh song.
    Come, Kate, I'll have your song too.
  Lady P. Not mine, in good sooth.
  Hot. Not yours, in good sooth? Heart! you swear like a
    comfit-maker's wife. 'Not you, in good sooth!' and 'as true
as I
    live!' and 'as God shall mend me!' and 'as sure as day!'
    And givest such sarcenet surety for thy oaths
    As if thou ne'er walk'st further than Finsbury.
    Swear me, Kate, like a lady as thou art,
    A good mouth-filling oath; and leave 'in sooth'
    And such protest of pepper gingerbread
    To velvet guards and Sunday citizens. Come, sing.
  Lady P. I will not sing.
  Hot. 'Tis the next way to turn tailor or be redbreast-teacher.
An
    the indentures be drawn, I'll away within these two hours;
and so
    come in when ye will.                                  Exit.
  Glend. Come, come, Lord Mortimer. You are as slow
    As hot Lord Percy is on fire to go.
    By this our book is drawn; we'll but seal,
    And then to horse immediately.
  Mort. With all my heart.
                                                         Exeunt.

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

completion: In Bangor, Wales, Hotspur and Worcester confer with Glendower, their host, and Mortimer. Young Percy and the Welsh leader, after exchanging compliments, engage in a personal dispute and are interrupted by Mortimer. A map is produced, whereupon the rebel leaders proceed to divide England into three parts -- the north going to the Percies, the west to Glendower, and the south to Mortimer. It is Mortimer who explains the immediate action to be taken. He will set forth with Hotspur and Worcester to meet Northumberland and the Scottish forces at Shrewsbury; Glendower, who will need time to muster his forces, will join them later. Hotspur expresses his dissatisfaction with the division, insisting that the course of the River Trent be changed so as to enlarge his share. Glendower protests, but the two reach an accord. Mortimer's wife is desolate because her husband must leave her. The couple tries to communicate, although neither speaks the other's language. She then sings a Welsh song to the accompaniment of music invoked by Glendower's magic. Hotspur promptly urges his wife to join him in an amorous interlude, and they exchange witty remarks devoid of sentimentality. In short order, however, Hotspur puts an end to this interlude. He will sign the articles of partition and depart for Shrewsbury within two hours.


prompt:
Chapter: Scene II.
London. The Palace.

Enter the King, Prince of Wales, and others.

  King. Lords, give us leave. The Prince of Wales and I
    Must have some private conference; but be near at hand,
    For we shall presently have need of you.
                                                   Exeunt Lords.
    I know not whether God will have it so,
    For some displeasing service I have done,
    That, in his secret doom, out of my blood
    He'll breed revengement and a scourge for me;
    But thou dost in thy passages of life
    Make me believe that thou art only mark'd
    For the hot vengeance and the rod of heaven
    To punish my mistreadings. Tell me else,
    Could such inordinate and low desires,
    Such poor, such bare, such lewd, such mean attempts,
    Such barren pleasures, rude society,
    As thou art match'd withal and grafted to,
    Accompany the greatness of thy blood
    And hold their level with thy princely heart?
  Prince. So please your Majesty, I would I could
    Quit all offences with as clear excuse
    As well as I am doubtless I can purge
    Myself of many I am charged withal.
    Yet such extenuation let me beg
    As, in reproof of many tales devis'd,
    Which oft the ear of greatness needs must bear
    By, smiling pickthanks and base newsmongers,
    I may, for some things true wherein my youth
    Hath faulty wand'red and irregular,
    And pardon on lily true submission.
  King. God pardon thee! Yet let me wonder, Harry,
    At thy affections, which do hold a wing,
    Quite from the flight of all thy ancestors.
    Thy place in Council thou hast rudely lost,
    Which by thy younger brother is supplied,
    And art almost an alien to the hearts
    Of all the court and princes of my blood.
    The hope and expectation of thy time
    Is ruin'd, and the soul of every man
    Prophetically do forethink thy fall.
    Had I so lavish of my presence been,
    So common-hackney'd in the eyes of men,
    So stale and cheap to vulgar company,
    Opinion, that did help me to the crown,
    Had still kept loyal to possession
    And left me in reputeless banishment,
    A fellow of no mark nor likelihood.
    By being seldom seen, I could not stir
    But, like a comet, I was wond'red at;
    That men would tell their children, 'This is he!'
    Others would say, 'Where? Which is Bolingbroke?'
    And then I stole all courtesy from heaven,
    And dress'd myself in such humility
    That I did pluck allegiance from men's hearts,
    Loud shouts and salutations from their mouths
    Even in the presence of the crowned King.
    Thus did I keep my person fresh and new,
    My presence, like a robe pontifical,
    Ne'er seen but wond'red at; and so my state,
    Seldom but sumptuous, show'd like a feast
    And won by rareness such solemnity.
    The skipping King, he ambled up and down
    With shallow jesters and rash bavin wits,
    Soon kindled and soon burnt; carded his state;
    Mingled his royalty with cap'ring fools;
    Had his great name profaned with their scorns
    And gave his countenance, against his name,
    To laugh at gibing boys and stand the push
    Of every beardless vain comparative;
    Grew a companion to the common streets,
    Enfeoff'd himself to popularity;
    That, being dally swallowed by men's eyes,
    They surfeited with honey and began
    To loathe the taste of sweetness, whereof a little
    More than a little is by much too much.
    So, when he had occasion to be seen,
    He was but as the cuckoo is in June,
    Heard, not regarded- seen, but with such eyes
    As, sick and blunted with community,
    Afford no extraordinary gaze,
    Such as is bent on unlike majesty
    When it shines seldom in admiring eyes;
    But rather drows'd and hung their eyelids down,
    Slept in his face, and rend'red such aspect
    As cloudy men use to their adversaries,
    Being with his presence glutted, gorg'd, and full.
    And in that very line, Harry, standest thou;
    For thou hast lost thy princely privilege
    With vile participation. Not an eye
    But is aweary of thy common sight,
    Save mine, which hath desir'd to see thee more;
    Which now doth that I would not have it do-
    Make blind itself with foolish tenderness.
  Prince. I shall hereafter, my thrice-gracious lord,
    Be more myself.
  King. For all the world,
    As thou art to this hour, was Richard then
    When I from France set foot at Ravenspurgh;
    And even as I was then is Percy now.
    Now, by my sceptre, and my soul to boot,
    He hath more worthy interest to the state
    Than thou, the shadow of succession;
    For of no right, nor colour like to right,
    He doth fill fields with harness in the realm,
    Turns head against the lion's armed jaws,
    And, Being no more in debt to years than thou,
    Leads ancient lords and reverend Bishops on
    To bloody battles and to bruising arms.
    What never-dying honour hath he got
    Against renowmed Douglas! whose high deeds,
    Whose hot incursions and great name in arms
    Holds from all soldiers chief majority
    And military title capital
    Through all the kingdoms that acknowledge Christ.
    Thrice hath this Hotspur, Mars in swathling clothes,
    This infant warrior, in his enterprises
    Discomfited great Douglas; ta'en him once,
    Enlarged him, and made a friend of him,
    To fill the mouth of deep defiance up
    And shake the peace and safety of our throne.
    And what say you to this? Percy, Northumberland,
    The Archbishop's Grace of York, Douglas, Mortimer
    Capitulate against us and are up.
    But wherefore do I tell these news to thee
    Why, Harry, do I tell thee of my foes,
    Which art my nearest and dearest enemy'
    Thou that art like enough, through vassal fear,
    Base inclination, and the start of spleen,
    To fight against me under Percy's pay,
    To dog his heels and curtsy at his frowns,
    To show how much thou art degenerate.
  Prince. Do not think so. You shall not find it so.
    And God forgive them that so much have sway'd
    Your Majesty's good thoughts away from me!
    I will redeem all this on Percy's head
    And, in the closing of some glorious day,
    Be bold to tell you that I am your son,
    When I will wear a garment all of blood,
    And stain my favours in a bloody mask,
    Which, wash'd away, shall scour my shame with it.
    And that shall be the day, whene'er it lights,
    That this same child of honour and renown,
    This gallant Hotspur, this all-praised knight,
    And your unthought of Harry chance to meet.
    For every honour sitting on his helm,
    Would they were multitudes, and on my head
    My shames redoubled! For the time will come
    That I shall make this Northern youth exchange
    His glorious deeds for my indignities.
    Percy is but my factor, good my lord,
    To engross up glorious deeds on my behalf;
    And I will call hall to so strict account
    That he shall render every glory up,
    Yea, even the slightest worship of his time,
    Or I will tear the reckoning from his heart.
    This in the name of God I promise here;
    The which if he be pleas'd I shall perform,
    I do beseech your Majesty may salve
    The long-grown wounds of my intemperance.
    If not, the end of life cancels all bands,
    And I will die a hundred thousand deaths
    Ere break the smallest parcel of this vow.
  King. A hundred thousand rebels die in this!
    Thou shalt have charge and sovereign trust herein.

                        Enter Blunt.

    How now, good Blunt? Thy looks are full of speed.
  Blunt. So hath the business that I come to speak of.
    Lord Mortimer of Scotland hath sent word
    That Douglas and the English rebels met
    The eleventh of this month at Shrewsbury.
    A mighty and a fearful head they are,
    If promises be kept oil every hand,
    As ever off'red foul play in a state.
  King. The Earl of Westmoreland set forth to-day;
    With him my son, Lord John of Lancaster;
    For this advertisement is five days old.
    On Wednesday next, Harry, you shall set forward;
    On Thursday we ourselves will march. Our meeting
    Is Bridgenorth; and, Harry, you shall march
    Through Gloucestershire; by which account,
    Our business valued, some twelve days hence
    Our general forces at Bridgenorth shall meet.
    Our hands are full of business. Let's away.
    Advantage feeds him fat while men delay.            Exeunt.

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

completion: At the palace in London, Prince Hal appears before his father, who dismisses members of his court so that he can speak alone to his son. He passionately censures the heir-apparent for "inordinate and low desires" and for indulging in "such barren pleasures" in the company of such "rude" individuals , ignoring his status and obligations as a prince. The king seems to believe that Hal's dereliction may be evidence of God's punishment for "some displeasing service" he has done. Hal does not claim to be blameless, but he states that busybodies and scandalmongers have exaggerated accounts of his behavior. The king voices his deep concern at considerable length. Hal has absented himself from councils of state, letting his younger brother take his place. If the king himself had chosen, as Hal has done, to cheapen himself in "vulgar company," he never would have won the allegiance of Englishmen. He especially sees in his son the same fatal weaknesses which led to Richard II's downfall. At that time, the king himself was like young Percy, who, no older than Prince Hal, commands "ancient lords and reverend bishops" into battle and has won "never-dying honour" by capturing the renowned Douglas. To Henry IV it seems that Hal is his greatest enemy, not the Northern rebels and Mortimer. Chagrined by this strong reproof, Prince Hal urges his father not to believe those who have led the king to misjudge him. He solemnly promises to "redeem all this on Percy's head" ; that is, he will prove his loyalty and worth by performing glorious deeds in opposition to the valiant Hotspur. Overjoyed, the king declares that Hal will be placed in command of royal forces. The king himself, joined by Westmoreland and Prince John, will lead another army which will join Hal's in the North. Sir Walter Blunt arrives with the news that Douglas and the English rebels even now have assembled their troops at Shrewsbury.


prompt:
Chapter: Scene III.
Eastcheap. The Boar's Head Tavern.

Enter Falstaff and Bardolph.

  Fal. Bardolph, am I not fall'n away vilely since this last
action?
    Do I not bate? Do I not dwindle? Why, my skin hangs about me
like
    an old lady's loose gown! I am withered like an old apple
John.
    Well, I'll repent, and that suddenly, while I am in some
liking.
    I shall be out of heart shortly, and then I shall have no
    strength to repent. An I have not forgotten what the inside
of a
    church is made of, I am a peppercorn, a brewer's horse. The
    inside of a church! Company, villanous company, hath been the
    spoil of me.
  Bard. Sir John, you are so fretful you cannot live long.
  Fal. Why, there is it! Come, sing me a bawdy song; make me
merry. I
    was as virtuously given as a gentleman need to be, virtuous
    enough: swore little, dic'd not above seven times a week,
went to
    a bawdy house not above once in a quarter- of an hour, paid
money
    that I borrowed- three or four times, lived well, and in good
    compass; and now I live out of all order, out of all compass.
  Bard. Why, you are so fat, Sir John, that you must needs be out
of
    all compass- out of all reasonable compass, Sir John.
  Fal. Do thou amend thy face, and I'll amend my life. Thou art
our
    admiral, thou bearest the lantern in the poop- but 'tis in
the
    nose of thee. Thou art the Knight of the Burning Lamp.
  Bard. Why, Sir John, my face does you no harm.
  Fal. No, I'll be sworn. I make as good use of it as many a man
doth
    of a death's-head or a memento mori. I never see thy face but
I
    think upon hellfire and Dives that lived in purple; for there
he
    is in his robes, burning, burning. if thou wert any way given
to
    virtue, I would swear by thy face; my oath should be 'By this
    fire, that's God's angel.' But thou art altogether given
over,
    and wert indeed, but for the light in thy face, the son of
utter
    darkness. When thou ran'st up Gadshill in the night to catch
my
    horse, if I did not think thou hadst been an ignis fatuus or
a
    ball of wildfire, there's no purchase in money. O, thou art a
    perpetual triumph, an everlasting bonfire-light! Thou hast
saved
    me a thousand marks in links and torches, walking with thee
in
    the night betwixt tavern and tavern; but the sack that thou
hast
    drunk me would have bought me lights as good cheap at the
dearest
    chandler's in Europe. I have maintained that salamander of
yours
    with fire any time this two-and-thirty years. God reward me
for
    it!
  Bard. 'Sblood, I would my face were in your belly!
  Fal. God-a-mercy! so should I be sure to be heart-burn'd.

                          Enter Hostess.

    How now, Dame Partlet the hen? Have you enquir'd yet who
pick'd
    my pocket?
  Host. Why, Sir John, what do you think, Sir John? Do you think
I
    keep thieves in my house? I have search'd, I have enquired,
so
    has my husband, man by man, boy by boy, servant by servant.
The
    tithe of a hair was never lost in my house before.
  Fal. Ye lie, hostess. Bardolph was shav'd and lost many a hair,
and
    I'll be sworn my pocket was pick'd. Go to, you are a woman,
go!
  Host. Who, I? No; I defy thee! God's light, I was never call'd
so
    in mine own house before!
  Fal. Go to, I know you well enough.
  Host. No, Sir John; you do not know me, Sir John. I know you,
Sir
    John. You owe me money, Sir John, and now you pick a quarrel
to
    beguile me of it. I bought you a dozen of shirts to your
back.
  Fal. Dowlas, filthy dowlas! I have given them away to bakers'
    wives; they have made bolters of them.
  Host. Now, as I am a true woman, holland of eight shillings an
ell.
    You owe money here besides, Sir John, for your diet and
    by-drinkings, and money lent you, four-and-twenty pound.
  Fal. He had his part of it; let him pay.
  Host. He? Alas, he is poor; he hath nothing.
  Fal. How? Poor? Look upon his face. What call you rich? Let
them
    coin his nose, let them coin his cheeks. I'll not pay a
denier.
    What, will you make a younker of me? Shall I not take mine
ease
    in mine inn but I shall have my pocket pick'd? I have lost a
    seal-ring of my grandfather's worth forty mark.
  Host. O Jesu, I have heard the Prince tell him, I know not how
oft,
    that that ring was copper!
  Fal. How? the Prince is a Jack, a sneak-cup. 'Sblood, an he
were
    here, I would cudgel him like a dog if he would say so.

      Enter the Prince [and Poins], marching; and Falstaff meets
          them, playing upon his truncheon like a fife.

    How now, lad? Is the wind in that door, i' faith? Must we all
    march?
  Bard. Yea, two and two, Newgate fashion.
  Host. My lord, I pray you hear me.
  Prince. What say'st thou, Mistress Quickly? How doth thy
husband?
    I love him well; he is an honest man.
  Host. Good my lord, hear me.
  Fal. Prithee let her alone and list to me.
  Prince. What say'st thou, Jack?
  Fal. The other night I fell asleep here behind the arras and
had my
    pocket pick'd. This house is turn'd bawdy house; they pick
    pockets.
  Prince. What didst thou lose, Jack?
  Fal. Wilt thou believe me, Hal? Three or four bonds of forty
pound
    apiece and a seal-ring of my grandfather's.
  Prince. A trifle, some eightpenny matter.
  Host. So I told him, my lord, and I said I heard your Grace say
so;
    and, my lord, he speaks most vilely of you, like a
foul-mouth'd
    man as he is, and said he would cudgel you.
  Prince. What! he did not?
  Host. There's neither faith, truth, nor womanhood in me else.
  Fal. There's no more faith in thee than in a stewed prune, nor
no
    more truth in thee than in a drawn fox; and for woman-hood,
Maid
    Marian may be the deputy's wife of the ward to thee. Go, you
    thing, go!
  Host. Say, what thing? what thing?
  Fal. What thing? Why, a thing to thank God on.
  Host. I am no thing to thank God on, I would thou shouldst know
it!
    I am an honest man's wife, and, setting thy knight-hood
aside,
    thou art a knave to call me so.
  Fal. Setting thy womanhood aside, thou art a beast to say
    otherwise.
  Host. Say, what beast, thou knave, thou?
  Fal. What beast? Why, an otter.
  Prince. An otter, Sir John? Why an otter?
  Fal. Why, she's neither fish nor flesh; a man knows not where
to
    have her.
  Host. Thou art an unjust man in saying so. Thou or any man
knows
    where to have me, thou knave, thou!
  Prince. Thou say'st true, hostess, and he slanders thee most
    grossly.
  Host. So he doth you, my lord, and said this other day you
ought
    him a thousand pound.
  Prince. Sirrah, do I owe you a thousand pound?
  Fal. A thousand pound, Hal? A million! Thy love is worth a
million;
    thou owest me thy love.
  Host. Nay, my lord, he call'd you Jack and said he would cudgel
    you.
  Fal. Did I, Bardolph?
  Bard. Indeed, Sir John, you said so.
  Fal. Yea. if he said my ring was copper.
  Prince. I say, 'tis copper. Darest thou be as good as thy word
now?
  Fal. Why, Hal, thou knowest, as thou art but man, I dare; but
as
    thou art Prince, I fear thee as I fear the roaring of the
lion's
    whelp.
  Prince. And why not as the lion?
  Fal. The King himself is to be feared as the lion. Dost thou
think
    I'll fear thee as I fear thy father? Nay, an I do, I pray God
my
    girdle break.
  Prince. O, if it should, how would thy guts fall about thy
knees!
    But, sirrah, there's no room for faith, truth, nor honesty in
    this bosom of thine. It is all fill'd up with guts and
midriff.
    Charge an honest woman with picking thy pocket? Why, thou
    whoreson, impudent, emboss'd rascal, if there were anything
in
    thy pocket but tavern reckonings, memorandums of bawdy
houses,
    and one poor pennyworth of sugar candy to make thee
long-winded-
    if thy pocket were enrich'd with any other injuries but
these, I
    am a villain. And yet you will stand to it; you will not
pocket
    up wrong. Art thou not ashamed?
  Fal. Dost thou hear, Hal? Thou knowest in the state of
innocency
    Adam fell; and what should poor Jack Falstaff do in the days
of
    villany? Thou seest I have more flesh than another man, and
    therefore more frailty. You confess then, you pick'd my
pocket?
  Prince. It appears so by the story.
  Fal. Hostess, I forgive thee. Go make ready breakfast. Love thy
    husband, look to thy servants, cherish thy guests. Thou shalt
    find me tractable to any honest reason. Thou seest I am
pacified.
    -Still?- Nay, prithee be gone. [Exit Hostess.] Now, Hal, to
the
    news at court. For the robbery, lad- how is that answered?
  Prince. O my sweet beef, I must still be good angel to thee.
    The money is paid back again.
  Fal. O, I do not like that paying back! 'Tis a double labour.
  Prince. I am good friends with my father, and may do anything.
  Fal. Rob me the exchequer the first thing thou doest, and do it
    with unwash'd hands too.
  Bard. Do, my lord.
  Prince. I have procured thee, Jack, a charge of foot.
  Fal. I would it had been of horse. Where shall I find one that
can
    steal well? O for a fine thief of the age of two-and-twenty
or
    thereabouts! I am heinously unprovided. Well, God be thanked
for
    these rebels. They offend none but the virtuous. I laud them,
I
    praise them.
  Prince. Bardolph!
  Bard. My lord?
  Prince. Go bear this letter to Lord John of Lancaster,
    To my brother John; this to my Lord of Westmoreland.
                                                [Exit Bardolph.]
    Go, Poins, to horse, to horse; for thou and I
    Have thirty miles to ride yet ere dinner time.
                                                   [Exit Poins.]
    Jack, meet me to-morrow in the Temple Hall
    At two o'clock in the afternoon.
    There shalt thou know thy charge. and there receive
    Money and order for their furniture.
    The land is burning; Percy stands on high;
    And either they or we must lower lie.                [Exit.]
  Fal. Rare words! brave world! Hostess, my breakfast, come.
    O, I could wish this tavern were my drum!
Exit.

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

completion: Falstaff deplores his alleged physical decline resulting from lack of activity since the Gadshill "action." Bardolph's frank comment on the knight's corpulence leads him to a rhetorical exercise, the subject of which is Bardolph's flaming nose. When Mistress Quickly enters, Sir John accuses her of having picked his pockets and he refuses to pay his bill for wine, food, and even items of clothing. The hostess has occasion to mention the prince, whereupon Falstaff calls him a "Jack" and declares that he would cudgel him if he were present. The prince enters, marching with Peto. Falstaff joins them, playing on his truncheon as if it were a fife. Falstaff then renews his altercation with the hostess, but when Hal tells him that he directed the search of Sir John's pockets, the old knight magnanimously forgives her. Falstaff is much relieved to learn that all matters relating to the robbery have been settled. Yet the news of Hal's reconciliation with the king hardly elates him, particularly when he is told that he is to command foot soldiers. A serious Prince Hal then gives orders to Bardolph, Peto, and Falstaff, all relating to their services in opposing the rebels.


prompt:
Chapter: ACT IV. Scene I.
The rebel camp near Shrewsbury.

Enter Harry Hotspur, Worcester, and Douglas.

  Hot. Well said, my noble Scot. If speaking truth
    In this fine age were not thought flattery,
    Such attribution should the Douglas have
    As not a soldier of this season's stamp
    Should go so general current through the world.
    By God, I cannot flatter, I defy
    The tongues of soothers! but a braver place
    In my heart's love hath no man than yourself.
    Nay, task me to my word; approve me, lord.
  Doug. Thou art the king of honour.
    No man so potent breathes upon the ground
    But I will beard him.

                     Enter one with letters.

  Hot. Do so, and 'tis well.-
    What letters hast thou there?- I can but thank you.
  Messenger. These letters come from your father.
  Hot. Letters from him? Why comes he not himself?
  Mess. He cannot come, my lord; he is grievous sick.
  Hot. Zounds! how has he the leisure to be sick
    In such a justling time? Who leads his power?
    Under whose government come they along?
  Mess. His letters bears his mind, not I, my lord.
  Wor. I prithee tell me, doth he keep his bed?
  Mess. He did, my lord, four days ere I set forth,
    And at the time of my departure thence
    He was much fear'd by his physicians.
  Wor. I would the state of time had first been whole
    Ere he by sickness had been visited.
    His health was never better worth than now.
  Hot. Sick now? droop now? This sickness doth infect
    The very lifeblood of our enterprise.
    'Tis catching hither, even to our camp.
    He writes me here that inward sickness-
    And that his friends by deputation could not
    So soon be drawn; no did he think it meet
    To lay so dangerous and dear a trust
    On any soul remov'd but on his own.
    Yet doth he give us bold advertisement,
    That with our small conjunction we should on,
    To see how fortune is dispos'd to us;
    For, as he writes, there is no quailing now,
    Because the King is certainly possess'd
    Of all our purposes. What say you to it?
  Wor. Your father's sickness is a maim to us.
  Hot. A perilous gash, a very limb lopp'd off.
    And yet, in faith, it is not! His present want
    Seems more than we shall find it. Were it good
    To set the exact wealth of all our states
    All at one cast? to set so rich a man
    On the nice hazard of one doubtful hour?
    It were not good; for therein should we read
    The very bottom and the soul of hope,
    The very list, the very utmost bound
    Of all our fortunes.
  Doug. Faith, and so we should;
    Where now remains a sweet reversion.
    We may boldly spend upon the hope of what
    Is to come in.
    A comfort of retirement lives in this.
  Hot. A rendezvous, a home to fly unto,
    If that the devil and mischance look big
    Upon the maidenhead of our affairs.
  Wor. But yet I would your father had been here.
    The quality and hair of our attempt
    Brooks no division. It will be thought
    By some that know not why he is away,
    That wisdom, loyalty, and mere dislike
    Of our proceedings kept the Earl from hence.
    And think how such an apprehension
    May turn the tide of fearful faction
    And breed a kind of question in our cause.
    For well you know we of the off'ring side
    Must keep aloof from strict arbitrement,
    And stop all sight-holes, every loop from whence
    The eye of reason may pry in upon us.
    This absence of your father's draws a curtain
    That shows the ignorant a kind of fear
    Before not dreamt of.
  Hot. You strain too far.
    I rather of his absence make this use:
    It lends a lustre and more great opinion,
    A larger dare to our great enterprise,
    Than if the Earl were here; for men must think,
    If we, without his help, can make a head
    To push against a kingdom, with his help
    We shall o'erturn it topsy-turvy down.
    Yet all goes well; yet all our joints are whole.
  Doug. As heart can think. There is not such a word
    Spoke of in Scotland as this term of fear.

                 Enter Sir Richard Vernon.

  Hot. My cousin Vernon! welcome, by my soul.
  Ver. Pray God my news be worth a welcome, lord.
    The Earl of Westmoreland, seven thousand strong,
    Is marching hitherwards; with him Prince John.
  Hot. No harm. What more?
  Ver. And further, I have learn'd
    The King himself in person is set forth,
    Or hitherwards intended speedily,
    With strong and mighty preparation.
  Hot. He shall be welcome too. Where is his son,
    The nimble-footed madcap Prince of Wales,
    And his comrades, that daff'd the world aside
    And bid it pass?
  Ver. All furnish'd, all in arms;
    All plum'd like estridges that with the wind
    Bated like eagles having lately bath'd;
    Glittering in golden coats like images;
    As full of spirit as the month of May
    And gorgeous as the sun at midsummer;
    Wanton as youthful goats, wild as young bulls.
    I saw young Harry with his beaver on
    His cushes on his thighs, gallantly arm'd,
    Rise from the ground like feathered Mercury,
    And vaulted with such ease into his seat
    As if an angel dropp'd down from the clouds
    To turn and wind a fiery Pegasus
    And witch the world with noble horsemanship.
  Hot. No more, no more! Worse than the sun in March,
    This praise doth nourish agues. Let them come.
    They come like sacrifices in their trim,
    And to the fire-ey'd maid of smoky war
    All hot and bleeding Will we offer them.
    The mailed Mars Shall on his altar sit
    Up to the ears in blood. I am on fire
    To hear this rich reprisal is so nigh,
    And yet not ours. Come, let me taste my horse,
    Who is to bear me like a thunderbolt
    Against the bosom of the Prince of Wales.
    Harry to Harry shall, hot horse to horse,
    Meet, and ne'er part till one drop down a corse.
    that Glendower were come!
  Ver. There is more news.
    I learn'd in Worcester, as I rode along,
    He cannot draw his power this fourteen days.
  Doug. That's the worst tidings that I hear of yet.
  Wor. Ay, by my faith, that bears a frosty sound.
  Hot. What may the King's whole battle reach unto?
  Ver. To thirty thousand.
  Hot. Forty let it be.
    My father and Glendower being both away,
    The powers of us may serve so great a day.
    Come, let us take a muster speedily.
    Doomsday is near. Die all, die merrily.
  Doug. Talk not of dying. I am out of fear
    Of death or death's hand for this one half-year.
                                                         Exeunt.

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

completion: The scene now shifts to the rebel camp near Shrewsbury, where Hotspur, Worcester, and Douglas appear. Young Percy and the Scottish warrior exchange compliments. A messenger arrives with news from the Earl of Northumberland. It seems that Hotspur's father is ill and cannot lead his followers to Shrewsbury. Shocked to hear this, Hotspur quickly recovers himself and finds reasons to remain confident: It would be bad strategy to risk his strength in a single encounter; moreover, a victory by the reduced rebel army will redound all the more to their credit, helping to convince the populace at large that the revolt will be successful. Douglas readily endorses these opinions. Sir Richard Vernon brings news concerning the royal forces. The Earl of Westmoreland and Prince John lead seven thousand soldiers toward Shrewsbury, and the king himself has set forth with another army. Hotspur remains undaunted; he welcomes the opportunity of opposing the royal power. But what, he asks, of Prince Hal? Where is he? Vernon then describes the young heir-apparent "all furnish'd, all in arms," also headed toward the field of battle. Hotspur interrupts Vernon; he cannot bear to hear such words of praise about his royal contemporary. Nevertheless, he now can hardly restrain himself, so anxious is he for the conflict to begin. There is more news. Vernon reports that Glendower needs more time to muster his power. Worcester and even the fearless Douglas concede that this is the worst news of all. Not Hotspur. When Vernon tells him that the royal forces number 30,000, he exclaims: "Forty let it be!" Douglas joins him in challenging death itself.


prompt:
Chapter: Scene II.
A public road near Coventry.

Enter Falstaff and Bardolph.

  Fal. Bardolph, get thee before to Coventry; fill me a bottle of
    sack. Our soldiers shall march through. We'll to Sutton
Co'fil'
    to-night.
  Bard. Will you give me money, Captain?
  Fal. Lay out, lay out.
  Bard. This bottle makes an angel.
  Fal. An if it do, take it for thy labour; an if it make twenty,
    take them all; I'll answer the coinage. Bid my lieutenant
Peto
    meet me at town's end.
  Bard. I will, Captain. Farewell.                         Exit.
  Fal. If I be not ashamed of my soldiers, I am a sous'd gurnet.
I
    have misused the King's press damnably. I have got in
exchange of
    a hundred and fifty soldiers, three hundred and odd pounds. I
    press me none but good householders, yeomen's sons; inquire
me
    out contracted bachelors, such as had been ask'd twice on the
    banes- such a commodity of warm slaves as had as lieve hear
the
    devil as a drum; such as fear the report of a caliver worse
than
    a struck fowl or a hurt wild duck. I press'd me none but such
    toasts-and-butter, with hearts in their bellies no bigger
than
    pins' heads, and they have bought out their services; and now
my
    whole charge consists of ancients, corporals, lieutenants,
    gentlemen of companies- slaves as ragged as Lazarus in the
    painted cloth, where the glutton's dogs licked his sores; and
    such as indeed were never soldiers, but discarded unjust
    serving-men, younger sons to Younger brothers, revolted
tapsters,
    and ostlers trade-fall'n; the cankers of a calm world and a
long
    peace; ten times more dishonourable ragged than an old fac'd
    ancient; and such have I to fill up the rooms of them that
have
    bought out their services that you would think that I had a
    hundred and fifty tattered Prodigals lately come from
    swine-keeping, from eating draff and husks. A mad fellow met
me
    on the way, and told me I had unloaded all the gibbets and
    press'd the dead bodies. No eye hath seen such scarecrows.
I'll
    not march through Coventry with them, that's flat. Nay, and
the
    villains march wide betwixt the legs, as if they had gyves
on;
    for indeed I had the most of them out of prison. There's but
a
    shirt and a half in all my company; and the half-shirt is two

    napkins tack'd together and thrown over the shoulders like a
    herald's coat without sleeves; and the shirt, to say the
truth,
    stol'n from my host at Saint Alban's, or the red-nose
innkeeper
    of Daventry. But that's all one; they'll find linen enough on
    every hedge.

              Enter the Prince and the Lord of Westmoreland.

  Prince. How now, blown Jack? How now, quilt?
  Fal. What, Hal? How now, mad wag? What a devil dost thou in
    Warwickshire? My good Lord of Westmoreland, I cry you mercy.
I
    thought your honour had already been at Shrewsbury.
  West. Faith, Sir John, 'tis more than time that I were there,
and
    you too; but my powers are there already. The King, I can
tell
    you, looks for us all. We must away all, to-night.
  Fal. Tut, never fear me. I am as vigilant as a cat to steal
cream.
  Prince. I think, to steal cream indeed, for thy theft hath
already
    made thee butter. But tell me, Jack, whose fellows are these
that
    come after?
  Fal. Mine, Hal, mine.
  Prince. I did never see such pitiful rascals.
  Fal. Tut, tut! good enough to toss; food for powder, food for
    powder. They'll fill a pit as well as better. Tush, man,
mortal
    men, mortal men.
  West. Ay, but, Sir John, methinks they are exceeding poor and
bare-
    too beggarly.
  Fal. Faith, for their poverty, I know, not where they had that;
and
    for their bareness, I am surd they never learn'd that of me.
  Prince. No, I'll be sworn, unless you call three fingers on the
    ribs bare. But, sirrah, make haste. Percy 's already in the
    field.
Exit.
  Fal. What, is the King encamp'd?
  West. He is, Sir John. I fear we shall stay too long.
                                                         [Exit.]
  Fal. Well,
    To the latter end of a fray and the beginning of a feast
    Fits a dull fighter and a keen guest.                  Exit.

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

completion: Falstaff and Bardolph appear on a public road near Coventry, followed by a newly enlisted company of soldiers. Sir John orders Bardolph to replenish his supply of sack and to tell Peto to meet him at the town's end. He dislikes the idea of marching his men through the town in their rags and tatters. Abjectly impoverished, not one of them could pay him, as so many others had, for release from military service. In Falstaff's own words, "No eye hath seen such scarecrows" . Prince Hal and Westmoreland meet him on the road and comment on the poor creatures whom Falstaff leads. The knight remains undisturbed and is philosophical in the face of this criticism. And, for that matter, the prince seems amused rather than indignant. All are to make haste, says Hal, for Percy is already in the field.


prompt:
Chapter: Scene III.
The rebel camp near Shrewsbury.

Enter Hotspur, Worcester, Douglas, Vernon.

  Hot. We'll fight with him to-night.
  Wor. It may not be.
  Doug. You give him then advantage.
  Ver. Not a whit.
  Hot. Why say you so? Looks he no for supply?
  Ver. So do we.
  Hot. His is certain, ours 's doubtful.
  Wor. Good cousin, be advis'd; stir not to-night.
  Ver. Do not, my lord.
  Doug. You do not counsel well.
    You speak it out of fear and cold heart.
  Ver. Do me no slander, Douglas. By my life-
    And I dare well maintain it with my life-
    If well-respected honour bid me on
    I hold as little counsel with weak fear
    As you, my lord, or any Scot that this day lives.
    Let it be seen to-morrow in the battle
    Which of us fears.
  Doug. Yea, or to-night.
  Ver. Content.
  Hot. To-night, say I.
    Come, come, it may not be. I wonder much,
    Being men of such great leading as you are,
    That you foresee not what impediments
    Drag back our expedition. Certain horse
    Of my cousin Vernon's are not yet come up.
    Your uncle Worcester's horse came but to-day;
    And now their pride and mettle is asleep,
    Their courage with hard labour tame and dull,
    That not a horse is half the half of himself.
  Hot. So are the horses of the enemy,
    In general journey-bated and brought low.
    The better part of ours are full of rest.
  Wor. The number of the King exceedeth ours.
    For God's sake, cousin, stay till all come in.

              The trumpet sounds a parley.

                 Enter Sir Walter Blunt.

  Blunt. I come with gracious offers from the King,
    If you vouchsafe me hearing and respect.
  Hot. Welcome, Sir Walter Blunt, and would to God
    You were of our determination!
    Some of us love you well; and even those some
    Envy your great deservings and good name,
    Because you are not of our quality,
    But stand against us like an enemy.
  Blunt. And God defend but still I should stand so,
    So long as out of limit and true rule
    You stand against anointed majesty!
    But to my charge. The King hath sent to know
    The nature of your griefs; and whereupon
    You conjure from the breast of civil peace
    Such bold hostility, teaching his duteous land
    Audacious cruelty. If that the King
    Have any way your good deserts forgot,
    Which he confesseth to be manifold,
    He bids you name your griefs, and with all speed
    You shall have your desires with interest,
    And pardon absolute for yourself and these
    Herein misled by your suggestion.
  Hot. The King is kind; and well we know the King
    Knows at what time to promise, when to pay.
    My father and my uncle and myself
    Did give him that same royalty he wears;
    And when he was not six-and-twenty strong,
    Sick in the world's regard, wretched and low,
    A poor unminded outlaw sneaking home,
    My father gave him welcome to the shore;
    And when he heard him swear and vow to God
    He came but to be Duke of Lancaster,
    To sue his livery and beg his peace,
    With tears of innocency and terms of zeal,
    My father, in kind heart and pity mov'd,
    Swore him assistance, and performed it too.
    Now, when the lords and barons of the realm
    Perceiv'd Northumberland did lean to him,
    The more and less came in with cap and knee;
    Met him on boroughs, cities, villages,
    Attended him on bridges, stood in lanes,
    Laid gifts before him, proffer'd him their oaths,
    Give him their heirs as pages, followed him
    Even at the heels in golden multitudes.
    He presently, as greatness knows itself,
    Steps me a little higher than his vow
    Made to my father, while his blood was poor,
    Upon the naked shore at Ravenspurgh;
    And now, forsooth, takes on him to reform
    Some certain edicts and some strait decrees
    That lie too heavy on the commonwealth;
    Cries out upon abuses, seems to weep
    Over his country's wrongs; and by this face,
    This seeming brow of justice, did he win
    The hearts of all that he did angle for;
    Proceeded further- cut me off the heads
    Of all the favourites that the absent King
    In deputation left behind him here
    When he was personal in the Irish war.
    But. Tut! I came not to hear this.
  Hot. Then to the point.
    In short time after lie depos'd the King;
    Soon after that depriv'd him of his life;
    And in the neck of that task'd the whole state;
    To make that worse, suff'red his kinsman March
    (Who is, if every owner were well placid,
    Indeed his king) to be engag'd in Wales,
    There without ransom to lie forfeited;
    Disgrac'd me in my happy victories,
    Sought to entrap me by intelligence;
    Rated mine uncle from the Council board;
    In rage dismiss'd my father from the court;
    Broke an oath on oath, committed wrong on wrong;
    And in conclusion drove us to seek out
    This head of safety, and withal to pry
    Into his title, the which we find
    Too indirect for long continuance.
  Blunt. Shall I return this answer to the King?
  Hot. Not so, Sir Walter. We'll withdraw awhile.
    Go to the King; and let there be impawn'd
    Some surety for a safe return again,
    And in the morning early shall mine uncle
    Bring him our purposes; and so farewell.
  Blunt. I would you would accept of grace and love.
  Hot. And may be so we shall.
  Blunt. Pray God you do.
                                                         Exeunt.

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

completion: Worcester and Vernon try to convince Hotspur that the rebel forces should not attack at once. Douglas sides with young Percy. The sound of a trumpet announces a parley, and Sir Walter Blunt enters "with gracious offers from the king." This gives Hotspur the occasion to review the story of how Henry was helped by the Percies when he returned from exile and how he then usurped the throne. Now, says the young rebel commander, Henry has proved ungrateful to his benefactors and has ignored the proper claims of Mortimer. When Blunt asks if this is Percy's final answer, he is told that it is not. In the morning Hotspur will send Worcester to hear the king's terms and to present their own.


prompt:
Chapter: Scene IV.
York. The Archbishop's Palace.

Enter the Archbishop of York and Sir Michael.

  Arch. Hie, good Sir Michael; bear this sealed brief
    With winged haste to the Lord Marshal;
    This to my cousin Scroop; and all the rest
    To whom they are directed. If you knew
    How much they do import, you would make haste.
  Sir M. My good lord,
    I guess their tenour.
  Arch. Like enough you do.
    To-morrow, good Sir Michael, is a day
    Wherein the fortune of ten thousand men
    Must bide the touch; for, sir, at Shrewsbury,
    As I am truly given to understand,
    The King with mighty and quick-raised power
    Meets with Lord Harry; and I fear, Sir Michael,
    What with the sickness of Northumberland,
    Whose power was in the first proportion,
    And what with Owen Glendower's absence thence,
    Who with them was a rated sinew too
    And comes not in, overrul'd by prophecies-
    I fear the power of Percy is too weak
    To wage an instant trial with the King.
  Sir M. Why, my good lord, you need not fear;
    There is Douglas and Lord Mortimer.
  Arch. No, Mortimer is not there.
  Sir M. But there is Mordake, Vernon, Lord Harry Percy,
    And there is my Lord of Worcester, and a head
    Of gallant warriors, noble gentlemen.
  Arch. And so there is; but yet the King hath drawn
    The special head of all the land together-
    The Prince of Wales, Lord John of Lancaster,
    The noble Westmoreland and warlike Blunt,
    And many moe corrivals and dear men
    Of estimation and command in arms.
  Sir M. Doubt not, my lord, they shall be well oppos'd.
  Arch. I hope no less, yet needful 'tis to fear;
    And, to prevent the worst, Sir Michael, speed.
    For if Lord Percy thrive not, ere the King
    Dismiss his power, he means to visit us,
    For he hath heard of our confederacy,
    And 'tis but wisdom to make strong against him.
    Therefore make haste. I must go write again
    To other friends; and so farewell, Sir Michael.
                                                         Exeunt.

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

completion: The Archbishop of York instructs Sir Michael to deliver in all haste certain written instructions and information to his allies and relatives who have a substantial number of followers. The archbishop has learned that Hotspur faces the king's power without the support of Northumberland, Glendower, and Mortimer. Convinced that young Percy will be defeated, he knows that the king will then move against him for his part in the conspiracy.


prompt:
Chapter: ACT V. Scene I.
The King's camp near Shrewsbury.

Enter the King, Prince of Wales, Lord John of Lancaster, Sir
Walter Blunt,
Falstaff.

  King. How bloodily the sun begins to peer
    Above yon busky hill! The day looks pale
    At his distemp'rature.
  Prince. The southern wind
    Doth play the trumpet to his purposes
    And by his hollow whistling in the leaves
    Foretells a tempest and a blust'ring day.
  King. Theft with the losers let it sympathize,
    For nothing can seem foul to those that win.

     The trumpet sounds. Enter Worcester [and Vernon].

    How, now, my Lord of Worcester? 'Tis not well
    That you and I should meet upon such terms
    As now we meet. You have deceiv'd our trust
    And made us doff our easy robes of peace
    To crush our old limbs in ungentle steel.
    This is not well, my lord; this is not well.
    What say you to it? Will you again unknit
    This churlish knot of all-abhorred war,
    And move in that obedient orb again
    Where you did give a fair and natural light,
    And be no more an exhal'd meteor,
    A prodigy of fear, and a portent
    Of broached mischief to the unborn times?
  Wor. Hear me, my liege.
    For mine own part, I could be well content
    To entertain the lag-end of my life
    With quiet hours; for I do protest
    I have not sought the day of this dislike.
  King. You have not sought it! How comes it then,
  Fal. Rebellion lay in his way, and he found it.
  Prince. Peace, chewet, peace!
  Wor. It pleas'd your Majesty to turn your looks
    Of favour from myself and all our house;
    And yet I must remember you, my lord,
    We were the first and dearest of your friends.
    For you my staff of office did I break
    In Richard's time, and posted day and night
    To meet you on the way and kiss your hand
    When yet you were in place and in account
    Nothing so strong and fortunate as I.
    It was myself, my brother, and his son
    That brought you home and boldly did outdare
    The dangers of the time. You swore to us,
    And you did swear that oath at Doncaster,
    That you did nothing purpose 'gainst the state,
    Nor claim no further than your new-fall'n right,
    The seat of Gaunt, dukedom of Lancaster.
    To this we swore our aid. But in short space
    It it rain'd down fortune show'ring on your head,
    And such a flood of greatness fell on you-
    What with our help, what with the absent King,
    What with the injuries of a wanton time,
    The seeming sufferances that you had borne,
    And the contrarious winds that held the King
    So long in his unlucky Irish wars
    That all in England did repute him dead-
    And from this swarm of fair advantages
    You took occasion to be quickly woo'd
    To gripe the general sway into your hand;
    Forgot your oath to us at Doncaster;
    And, being fed by us, you us'd us so
    As that ungentle gull, the cuckoo's bird,
    Useth the sparrow- did oppress our nest;
    Grew, by our feeding to so great a bulk
    That even our love thirst not come near your sight
    For fear of swallowing; but with nimble wing
    We were enforc'd for safety sake to fly
    Out of your sight and raise this present head;
    Whereby we stand opposed by such means
    As you yourself have forg'd against yourself
    By unkind usage, dangerous countenance,
    And violation of all faith and troth
    Sworn to tis in your younger enterprise.
  King. These things, indeed, you have articulate,
    Proclaim'd at market crosses, read in churches,
    To face the garment of rebellion
    With some fine colour that may please the eye
    Of fickle changelings and poor discontents,
    Which gape and rub the elbow at the news
    Of hurlyburly innovation.
    And never yet did insurrection want
    Such water colours to impaint his cause,
    Nor moody beggars, starving for a time
    Of pell-mell havoc and confusion.
  Prince. In both our armies there is many a soul
    Shall pay full dearly for this encounter,
    If once they join in trial. Tell your nephew
    The Prince of Wales doth join with all the world
    In praise of Henry Percy. By my hopes,
    This present enterprise set off his head,
    I do not think a braver gentleman,
    More active-valiant or more valiant-young,
    More daring or more bold, is now alive
    To grace this latter age with noble deeds.
    For my part, I may speak it to my shame,
    I have a truant been to chivalry;
    And so I hear he doth account me too.
    Yet this before my father's Majesty-
    I am content that he shall take the odds
    Of his great name and estimation,
    And will to save the blood on either side,
    Try fortune with him in a single fight.
  King. And, Prince of Wales, so dare we venture thee,
    Albeit considerations infinite
    Do make against it. No, good Worcester, no!
    We love our people well; even those we love
    That are misled upon your cousin's part;
    And, will they take the offer of our grace,
    Both he, and they, and you, yea, every man
    Shall be my friend again, and I'll be his.
    So tell your cousin, and bring me word
    What he will do. But if he will not yield,
    Rebuke and dread correction wait on us,
    And they shall do their office. So be gone.
    We will not now be troubled with reply.
    We offer fair; take it advisedly.
                                    Exit Worcester [with Vernon]
  Prince. It will not be accepted, on my life.
    The Douglas and the Hotspur both together
    Are confident against the world in arms.
  King. Hence, therefore, every leader to his charge;
    For, on their answer, will we set on them,
    And God befriend us as our cause is just!
                                Exeunt. Manent Prince, Falstaff.
  Fal. Hal, if thou see me down in the battle and bestride me,
so!
    'Tis a point of friendship.
  Prince. Nothing but a Colossus can do thee that friendship.
    Say thy prayers, and farewell.
  Fal. I would 'twere bedtime, Hal, and all well.
  Prince. Why, thou owest God a death.
Exit.
  Fal. 'Tis not due yet. I would be loath to pay him before his
day.
    What need I be so forward with him that calls not on me?
Well,
    'tis no matter; honour pricks me on. Yea, but how if honour
prick
    me off when I come on? How then? Can honor set to a leg? No.
Or
    an arm? No. Or take away the grief of a wound? No. Honour
hath no
    skill in surgery then? No. What is honour? A word. What is
that
    word honour? Air. A trim reckoning! Who hath it? He that died
a
    Wednesday. Doth he feel it? No. Doth be bear it? No. 'Tis
    insensible then? Yea, to the dead. But will it not live with
the
    living? No. Why? Detraction will not suffer it. Therefore
I'll
    none of it. Honour is a mere scutcheon- and so ends my
catechism.
Exit.

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

completion: The Earl of Worcester and Sir Richard Vernon arrive as emissaries at the king's camp near Shrewsbury. Present are the king himself, the Prince of Wales, John of Lancaster, the Earl of Westmoreland, Sir Walter Blunt, and Falstaff. As Hotspur did earlier in his reply to the king's emissary , Worcester voices at some length the grievances of the Percies, chief of which is Henry's alleged perfidy when, returning from exile, he assured them that he sought no more than the restoration of confiscated Lancastrian estates. The king does not deign to answer this charge; instead he dismisses it as no more than a pretext for rebellion against the Crown. He refuses to permit the Prince of Wales to settle the dispute in single combat with Hotspur. Instead, he offers the rebels free pardon if they will lay down their arms. After Worcester and Vernon leave, the prince states that both Hotspur and Douglas, supremely confident and proven warriors, will reject the offer. The king agrees and orders all officers to their posts. Falstaff shows little desire to risk his life in any kind of conflict. He asks Hal to keep an eye on him and to help him if necessary. Alone, he soliloquizes on the subject of honor and finds no profit in being a dead hero.