prompt:
Chapter: SCENE II.
A bedchamber in the castle. Desdemona in bed asleep; a light
burning.

Enter Othello.

  OTHELLO. It is the cause, it is the cause, my soul.
    Let me not name it to you, you chaste stars!
    It is the cause. Yet I'll not shed her blood,
    Nor scar that whiter skin of hers than snow
    And smooth as monumental alabaster.
    Yet she must die, else she'll betray more men.
    Put out the light, and then put out the light.
    If I quench thee, thou flaming minister,
    I can again thy former light restore,
    Should I repent me; but once put out thy light,
    Thou cunning'st pattern of excelling nature,
    I know not where is that Promethean heat
    That can thy light relume. When I have pluck'd the rose,
    I cannot give it vital growth again,
    It must needs wither; I'll smell it on the tree.      Kisses
her.
    O, balmy breath, that dost almost persuade
    Justice to break her sword! One more, one more;
    Be thus when thou art dead, and I will kill thee,
    And love thee after. One more, and this the last;
    So sweet was ne'er so fatal. I must weep,
    But they are cruel tears; this sorrow's heavenly,
    It strikes where it doth love. She wakes.
  DESDEMONA. Who's there? Othello?
  OTHELLO.                         Ay, Desdemona.
  DESDEMONA. Will you come to bed, my lord?
  OTHELLO. Have you pray'd tonight, Desdemona?
  DESDEMONA. Ay, my lord.
  OTHELLO. If you bethink yourself of any crime
    Unreconciled as yet to heaven and grace,
    Solicit for it straight.
  DESDEMONA. Alas, my lord, what may you mean by that?
  OTHELLO. Well, do it, and be brief; I will walk by.
    I would not kill thy unprepared spirit.
    No, heaven forfend! I would not kill thy soul.
  DESDEMONA. Talk you of killing?
  OTHELLO. Ay, I do.
  DESDEMONA. Then heaven have mercy on me!
  OTHELLO. Amen, with all my heart!
  DESDEMONA. If you say so, I hope you will not kill me.
  OTHELLO. Hum!
  DESDEMONA. And yet I fear you, for you are fatal then
    When your eyes roll so. Why I should fear I know not,
    Since guiltiness I know not; but yet I feel I fear.
  OTHELLO. Think on thy sins.
  DESDEMONA.                  They are loves I bear to you.
  OTHELLO. Ay, and for that thou diest.
  DESDEMONA. That death's unnatural that kills for loving.
    Alas, why gnaw you so your nether lip?
    Some bloody passion shakes your very frame.
    These are portents; but yet I hope, I hope,
    They do not point on me.
  OTHELLO.                   Peace, and be still!
  DESDEMONA. I will so. What's the matter?
  OTHELLO. That handkerchief which I so loved and gave thee
    Thou gavest to Cassio.
  DESDEMONA.               No, by my life and soul!
    Send for the man, and ask him.
  OTHELLO.                         Sweet soul, take heed,
    Take heed of perjury; thou are on thy deathbed.
  DESDEMONA. Ay, but not yet to die.
  OTHELLO.                           Yes, presently:
    Therefore confess thee freely of thy sin,
    For to deny each article with oath
    Cannot remove nor choke the strong conception
    That I do groan withal. Thou art to die.
  DESDEMONA. Then Lord have mercy on me!
  OTHELLO.                               I say, amen.
  DESDEMONA. And have you mercy too! I never did
    Offend you in my life; never loved Cassio
    But with such general warranty of heaven
    As I might love. I never gave him token.
  OTHELLO. By heaven, I saw my handkerchief in 's hand.
    O perjured woman! Thou dost stone my heart,
    And makest me call what I intend to do
    A murther, which I thought a sacrifice.
    I saw the handkerchief.
  DESDEMONA.                He found it then;
    I never gave it him. Send for him hither;
    Let him confess a truth.
  OTHELLO.                   He hath confess'd.
  DESDEMONA. What, my lord?
  OTHELLO. That he hath used thee.
  DESDEMONA.                       How? unlawfully?
  OTHELLO. Ay.
  DESDEMONA. He will not say so.
  OTHELLO.                       No, his mouth is stopp'd;
    Honest Iago hath ta'en order for't.
  DESDEMONA. O, my fear interprets! What, is he dead?
  OTHELLO. Had all his hairs been lives, my great revenge
    Had stomach for them all.
  DESDEMONA. Alas, he is betray'd, and I undone!
  OTHELLO. Out, strumpet! Weep'st thou for him to my face?
  DESDEMONA. O, banish me, my lord, but kill me not!
  OTHELLO. Down, strumpet!
  DESDEMONA. Kill me tomorrow; let me live tonight!
  OTHELLO. Nay, if you strive--
  DESDEMONA. But half an hour!
  OTHELLO.                     Being done, there is no pause.
  DESDEMONA. But while I say one prayer!
  OTHELLO.                        It is too late.     He stifles
her.
  EMILIA. [Within.] My lord, my lord! What, ho! my lord, my lord!
  OTHELLO. What noise is this? Not dead? not yet quite dead?
    I that am cruel am yet merciful;
    I would not have thee linger in thy pain.
    So, so.
  EMILIA. [Within.] What, ho! my lord, my lord!
  OTHELLO.                                      Who's there?
  EMILIA. [Within.] O, good my lord, I would speak a word with
you!
  OTHELLO. Yes, 'tis Emilia. By and by. She's dead.
    'Tis like she comes to speak of Cassio's death.
    The noise was here. Ha! no more moving?
    Still as the grave. Shall she come in? were't good?
    I think she stirs again. No. What's best to do?
    If she come in, she'll sure speak to my wife.
    My wife! My wife! What wife? I have no wife.
    O, insupportable! O heavy hour!
    Methinks it should be now a huge eclipse
    Of sun and moon, and that the affrighted globe
    Should yawn at alteration.
  EMILIA. [Within.] I do beseech you
    That I may speak with you, O, good my lord!
  OTHELLO. I had forgot thee. O, come in, Emilia.
    Soft, by and by. Let me the curtains draw.
    Where art thou?                                 Unlocks the
door.

                            Enter Emilia.

                    What's the matter with thee now?
  EMILIA. O, my good lord, yonder's foul murthers done!
  OTHELLO. What, now?
  EMILIA. But now, my lord.
  OTHELLO. It is the very error of the moon;
    She comes more nearer earth than she was wont
    And makes men mad.
  EMILIA. Cassio, my lord, hath kill'd a young Venetian
    Call'd Roderigo.
  OTHELLO.           Roderigo kill'd?
    And Cassio kill'd?
  EMILIA.              No, Cassio is not kill'd.
  OTHELLO. Not Cassio kill'd! Then murther's out of tune,
    And sweet revenge grows harsh.
  DESDEMONA. O, falsely, falsely murther'd!
  EMILIA.                                   Alas, what cry is
that?
  OTHELLO. That? what?
  EMILIA. Out, and alas! That was my lady's voice.
    Help! help, ho! help! O lady, speak again!
    Sweet Desdemona! O sweet mistress, speak!
  DESDEMONA. A guiltless death I die.
  EMILIA. O, who hath done this deed?
  DESDEMONA. Nobody; I myself. Farewell;
    Commend me to my kind lord. O, farewell!
Dies.
  OTHELLO. Why, how should she be murther'd?
  EMILIA.                                    Alas, who knows?
  OTHELLO. You heard her say herself, it was not I.
  EMILIA. She said so; I must needs report the truth.
  OTHELLO. She's like a liar gone to burning hell;
    'Twas I that kill'd her.
  EMILIA.                    O, the more angel she,
    And you the blacker devil!
  OTHELLO. She turn'd to folly, and she was a whore.
  EMILIA. Thou dost belie her, and thou art a devil.
  OTHELLO. She was false as water.
  EMILIA.                          Thou art rash as fire, to say
    That she was false. O, she was heavenly true!
  OTHELLO. Cassio did top her; ask thy husband else.
    O, I were damn'd beneath all depth in hell,
    But that I did proceed upon just grounds
    To this extremity. Thy husband knew it all.
  EMILIA. My husband?
  OTHELLO. Thy husband.
  EMILIA. That she was false to wedlock?
  OTHELLO. Ay, with Cassio. Nay, had she been true,
    If heaven would make me such another world
    Of one entire and perfect chrysolite,
    I'ld not have sold her for it.
  EMILIA.                          My husband?
  OTHELLO. Ay, 'twas he that told me first.
    An honest man he is, and hates the slime
    That sticks on filthy deeds.
  EMILIA.                        My husband?
  OTHELLO. What needs this iteration, woman? I say thy husband.
  EMILIA. O mistress, villainy hath made mocks with love!
    My husband say that she was false!
  OTHELLO.                             He, woman;
    I say thy husband. Dost understand the word?
    My friend, thy husband, honest, honest Iago.
  EMILIA. If he say so, may his pernicious soul
    Rot half a grain a day! He lies to the heart.
    She was too fond of her most filthy bargain.
  OTHELLO. Ha!
  EMILIA. Do thy worst;
    This deed of thine is no more worthy heaven
    Than thou wast worthy her.
  OTHELLO.                     Peace, you were best.
  EMILIA. Thou hast not half that power to do me harm
    As I have to be hurt. O gull! O dolt!
    As ignorant as dirt! Thou hast done a deed--
    I care not for thy sword; I'll make thee known,
    Though I lost twenty lives. Help! help, ho! help!
    The Moor hath kill'd my mistress! Murther, murther!

              Enter Montano, Gratiano, Iago, and others.

  MONTANO. What is the matter? How now, general?
  EMILIA. O, are you come, Iago? You have done well,
    That men must lay their murthers on your neck.
  GRATIANO. What is the matter?
  EMILIA. Disprove this villain, if thou be'st a man.
    He says thou told'st him that his wife was false;
    I know thou didst not, thou'rt not such a villain.
    Speak, for my heart is full.
  IAGO. I told him what I thought, and told no more
    Than what he found himself was apt and true.
  EMILIA. But did you ever tell him she was false?
  IAGO. I did.
  EMILIA. You told a lie, an odious, damned lie;
    Upon my soul, a lie, a wicked lie!
    She false with Cassio? Did you say with Cassio?
  IAGO. With Cassio, mistress. Go to, charm your tongue.
  EMILIA. I will not charm my tongue; I am bound to speak.
    My mistress here lies murther'd in her bed--
  ALL. O heavens forfend!
  EMILIA. And your reports have set the murther on.
  OTHELLO. Nay, stare not, masters; it is true indeed.
  GRATIANO. 'Tis a strange truth.
  MONTANO. O monstrous act!
  EMILIA.                   Villainy, villainy, villainy!
    I think upon't, I think, I smell't, O villainy!
    I thought so then. I'll kill myself for grief.
    O villainy, villainy!
  IAGO. What, are you mad? I charge you, get you home.
  EMILIA. Good gentlemen, let me have leave to speak;
    'Tis proper I obey him, but not now.
    Perchance, Iago, I will ne'er go home.
  OTHELLO. O! O! O!                                 Falls on the
bed.
  EMILIA.           Nay, lay thee down and roar;
    For thou hast kill'd the sweetest innocent
    That e'er did lift up eye.
  OTHELLO.            [Rises.] O, she was foul!
    I scarce did know you, uncle; there lies your niece,
    Whose breath indeed these hands have newly stopp'd.
    I know this act shows horrible and grim.
  GRATIANO. Poor Desdemon! I am glad thy father's dead.
    Thy match was mortal to him, and pure grief
    Shore his old thread in twain; did he live now,
    This sight would make him do a desperate turn,
    Yea, curse his better angel from his side,
    And fall to reprobation.
  OTHELLO. 'Tis pitiful, but yet Iago knows
    That she with Cassio hath the act of shame
    A thousand times committed. Cassio confess'd it,
    And she did gratify his amorous works
    With that recognizance and pledge of love
    Which I first gave her. I saw it in his hand,
    It was a handkerchief, an antique token
    My father gave my mother.
  EMILIA. O heaven! O heavenly powers!
  IAGO. 'Zounds! Hold your peace.
  EMILIA.                         'Twill out, 'twill. I peace?
    No, I will speak as liberal as the north;
    Let heaven and men and devils, let them all,
    All, all, cry shame against me, yet I'll speak.
  IAGO. Be wise, and get you home.
  EMILIA.                          I will not.
                                          Iago offers to stab
Emilia.
  GRATIANO.                                    Fie!
    Your sword upon a woman?
  EMILIA. O thou dull Moor! That handkerchief thou speak'st of
    I found by fortune and did give my husband,
    For often with a solemn earnestness,
    More than indeed belong'd to such a trifle,
    He begg'd of me to steal it.
  IAGO.                          Villainous whore!
  EMILIA. She give it Cassio? No, alas, I found it,
    And I did give't my husband.
  IAGO.                          Filth, thou liest!
  EMILIA. By heaven, I do not, I do not, gentlemen.
    O murtherous coxcomb! What should such a fool
    Do with so good a wife?
  OTHELLO.                  Are there not stones in heaven
    But what serve for thunder? Precious villain!
                                         He runs at Iago, but
Montano
                                      disarms him. Iago stabs
Emilia.
  GRATIANO. The woman falls; sure, he hath kill'd his wife.
  EMILIA. Ay, ay! O, lay me by my mistress' side.          Exit
Iago.
  GRATIANO. He's gone, but his wife's kill'd.
  MONTANO. 'Tis a notorious villain. Take you this weapon,
    Which I have here recover'd from the Moor.
    Come, guard the door without; let him not pass,
    But kill him rather. I'll after that same villain,
    For 'tis a damned slave.       Exeunt all but Othello and
Emilia.
  OTHELLO.                   I am not valiant neither,
    But every puny whipster gets my sword.
    But why should honor outlive honesty?
    Let it go all.
  EMILIA.          What did thy song bode, lady?
    Hark, canst thou hear me? I will play the swan,
    And die in music. [Sings.] "Willow, willow, willow."
    Moor, she was chaste; she loved thee, cruel Moor;
    So come my soul to bliss, as I speak true;
    So speaking as I think, I die, I die.
Dies.
  OTHELLO. I have another weapon in this chamber;
    It is a sword of Spain, the ice-brook's temper--
    O, here it is. Uncle, I must come forth.
  GRATIANO. [Within.] If thou attempt it, it will cost thee dear.
    Thou hast no weapon, and perforce must suffer.
  OTHELLO. Look in upon me then, and speak with me,
    Or, naked as I am, I will assault thee.

                          Re-enter Gratiano.

  GRATIANO. What is the matter?
  OTHELLO.                      Behold, I have a weapon;
    A better never did itself sustain
    Upon a soldier's thigh. I have seen the day
    That with this little arm and this good sword
    I have made my way through more impediments
    Than twenty times your stop. But, O vain boast!
    Who can control his fate? 'Tis not so now.
    Be not afraid, though you do see me weapon'd;
    Here is my journey's end, here is my butt
    And very sea-mark of my utmost sail.
    Do you go back dismay'd? 'Tis a lost fear.
    Man but a rush against Othello's breast,
    And he retires. Where should Othello go?
    Now, how dost thou look now? O ill-starr'd wench!
    Pale as thy smock! When we shall meet at compt,
    This look of thine will hurl my soul from heaven,
    And fiends will snatch at it. Cold, cold, my girl?
    Even like thy chastity. O cursed, cursed slave!
    Whip me, ye devils,
    From the possession of this heavenly sight!
    Blow me about in winds! Roast me in sulphur!
    Wash me in steep-down gulfs of liquid fire!
    O Desdemon! dead, Desdemon! dead!
    O! O! O!

         Enter Lodovico, Montano, Cassio carried in a chair,
                  and Officers with Iago, prisoner.

  LODOVICO. Where is this rash and most unfortunate man?
  OTHELLO. That's he that was Othello. Here I am.
  LODOVICO. Where is that viper? Bring the villain forth.
  OTHELLO. I look down towards his feet; but that's a fable.
    If that thou be'st a devil, I cannot kill thee.      Wounds
Iago.
  LODOVICO. Wrench his sword from him.
  IAGO.                                I bleed, sir, but not
kill'd.
  OTHELLO. I am not sorry neither. I'ld have thee live,
    For, in my sense, 'tis happiness to die.
  LODOVICO. O thou Othello, that wert once so good,
    Fall'n in the practice of a damned slave,
    What shall be said to thee?
  OTHELLO.                      Why, anything;
    An honorable murtherer, if you will,
    For nought did I in hate, but all in honor.
  LODOVICO. This wretch hath part confess'd his villainy.
    Did you and he consent in Cassio's death?
  OTHELLO. Ay.
  CASSIO. Dear general, I never gave you cause.
  OTHELLO. I do believe it, and I ask your pardon.
    Will you, I pray, demand that demi-devil
    Why he hath thus ensnared my soul and body?
  IAGO. Demand me nothing; what you know, you know.
    From this time forth I never will speak word.
  LODOVICO. What, not to pray?
  GRATIANO.                    Torments will ope your lips.
  OTHELLO. Well, thou dost best.
  LODOVICO. Sir, you shall understand what hath befall'n,
    Which, as I think, you know not. Here is a letter
    Found in the pocket of the slain Roderigo,
    And here another. The one of them imports
    The death of Cassio to be undertook
    By Roderigo.
  OTHELLO. O villain!
  CASSIO.             Most heathenish and most gross!
  LODOVICO. Now here's another discontented paper,
    Found in his pocket too; and this, it seems,
    Roderigo meant to have sent this damned villain;
    But that, belike, Iago in the interim
    Came in and satisfied him.
  OTHELLO.                     O the pernicious caitiff!
    How came you, Cassio, by that handkerchief
    That was my wife's?
  CASSIO.               I found it in my chamber;
    And he himself confess'd but even now
    That there he dropp'd it for a special purpose
    Which wrought to his desire.
  OTHELLO.                       O fool! fool! fool!
  CASSIO. There is besides in Roderigo's letter,
    How he upbraids Iago, that he made him
    Brave me upon the watch, whereon it came
    That I was cast. And even but now he spake
    After long seeming dead, Iago hurt him,
    Iago set him on.
  LODOVICO. You must forsake this room, and go with us.
    Your power and your command is taken off,
    And Cassio rules in Cyprus. For this slave,
    If there be any cunning cruelty
    That can torment him much and hold him long,
    It shall be his. You shall close prisoner rest,
    Till that the nature of your fault be known
    To the Venetian state. Come, bring away.
  OTHELLO. Soft you; a word or two before you go.
    I have done the state some service, and they know't.
    No more of that. I pray you, in your letters,
    When you shall these unlucky deeds relate,
    Speak of me as I am; nothing extenuate,
    Nor set down aught in malice. Then must you speak
    Of one that loved not wisely but too well;
    Of one not easily jealous, but, being wrought,
    Perplex'd in the extreme; of one whose hand,
    Like the base Indian, threw a pearl away
    Richer than all his tribe; of one whose subdued eyes,
    Albeit unused to the melting mood,
    Drop tears as fast as the Arabian trees
    Their medicinal gum. Set you down this;
    And say besides, that in Aleppo once,
    Where a malignant and a turban'd Turk
    Beat a Venetian and traduced the state,
    I took by the throat the circumcised dog
    And smote him, thus.                               Stabs
himself.
  LODOVICO. O bloody period!
  GRATIANO.                  All that's spoke is marr'd.
  OTHELLO. I kiss'd thee ere I kill'd thee. No way but this,
    Killing myself, to die upon a kiss.
                                          Falls on the bed, and
dies.
  CASSIO. This did I fear, but thought he had no weapon;
    For he was great of heart.
  LODOVICO.         [To Iago.] O Spartan dog,
    More fell than anguish, hunger, or the sea!
    Look on the tragic loading of this bed;
    This is thy work. The object poisons sight;
    Let it be hid. Gratiano, keep the house,
    And seize upon the fortunes of the Moor,
    For they succeed on you. To you, Lord Governor,
    Remains the censure of this hellish villain,
    The time, the place, the torture. O, enforce it!
    Myself will straight aboard, and to the state
    This heavy act with heavy heart relate.
Exeunt.

THE END

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

completion: Othello wakes Desdemona up, and accuses her of adultery. She denies it, and he kills her as she protests her innocence. He smothers her, because he cannot bear to disfigure her in any way. Emilia enters, and Desdemona, with her last breath, denies that Othello has killed her. Othello admits to his crime, and cites Desdemona's adultery. Emilia screams for help. Iago enters. Emilia realizes that she has unwittingly helped Iago to deceive Othello, and she reveals Iago's evil plan. Othello tries to kill Iago, but fails. Iago then kills Emilia, his wife. Othello, filled with guilt, kills himself, and dies after kissing Desdemona. Iago is arrested, but refuses to confess to his crimes. He is taken away to be tortured by Cassio.


prompt:
Chapter: ACT I. Scene I.
London. The Palace.

Enter the King, Lord John of Lancaster, Earl of Westmoreland,
[Sir Walter Blunt,] with others.

  King. So shaken as we are, so wan with care,
    Find we a time for frighted peace to pant
    And breathe short-winded accents of new broils
    To be commenc'd in stronds afar remote.
    No more the thirsty entrance of this soil
    Shall daub her lips with her own children's blood.
    No more shall trenching war channel her fields,
    Nor Bruise her flow'rets with the armed hoofs
    Of hostile paces. Those opposed eyes
    Which, like the meteors of a troubled heaven,
    All of one nature, of one substance bred,
    Did lately meet in the intestine shock
    And furious close of civil butchery,
    Shall now in mutual well-beseeming ranks
    March all one way and be no more oppos'd
    Against acquaintance, kindred, and allies.
    The edge of war, like an ill-sheathed knife,
    No more shall cut his master. Therefore, friends,
    As far as to the sepulchre of Christ-
    Whose soldier now, under whose blessed cross
    We are impressed and engag'd to fight-
    Forthwith a power of English shall we levy,
    Whose arms were moulded in their mother's womb
    To chase these pagans in those holy fields
    Over whose acres walk'd those blessed feet
    Which fourteen hundred years ago were nail'd
    For our advantage on the bitter cross.
    But this our purpose now is twelvemonth old,
    And bootless 'tis to tell you we will go.
    Therefore we meet not now. Then let me hear
    Of you, my gentle cousin Westmoreland,
    What yesternight our Council did decree
    In forwarding this dear expedience.
  West. My liege, this haste was hot in question
    And many limits of the charge set down
    But yesternight; when all athwart there came
    A post from Wales, loaden with heavy news;
    Whose worst was that the noble Mortimer,
    Leading the men of Herefordshire to fight
    Against the irregular and wild Glendower,
    Was by the rude hands of that Welshman taken,
    A thousand of his people butchered;
    Upon whose dead corpse there was such misuse,
    Such beastly shameless transformation,
    By those Welshwomen done as may not be
    Without much shame retold or spoken of.
  King. It seems then that the tidings of this broil
    Brake off our business for the Holy Land.
  West. This, match'd with other, did, my gracious lord;
    For more uneven and unwelcome news
    Came from the North, and thus it did import:
    On Holy-rood Day the gallant Hotspur there,
    Young Harry Percy, and brave Archibald,
    That ever-valiant and approved Scot,
    At Holmedon met,
    Where they did spend a sad and bloody hour;
    As by discharge of their artillery
    And shape of likelihood the news was told;
    For he that brought them, in the very heat
    And pride of their contention did take horse,
    Uncertain of the issue any way.
  King. Here is a dear, a true-industrious friend,
    Sir Walter Blunt, new lighted from his horse,
    Stain'd with the variation of each soil
    Betwixt that Holmedon and this seat of ours,
    And he hath brought us smooth and welcome news.
    The Earl of Douglas is discomfited;
    Ten thousand bold Scots, two-and-twenty knights,
    Balk'd in their own blood did Sir Walter see
    On Holmedon's plains. Of prisoners, Hotspur took
    Mordake Earl of Fife and eldest son
    To beaten Douglas, and the Earl of Athol,
    Of Murray, Angus, and Menteith.
    And is not this an honourable spoil?
    A gallant prize? Ha, cousin, is it not?
  West. In faith,
    It is a conquest for a prince to boast of.
  King. Yea, there thou mak'st me sad, and mak'st me sin
    In envy that my Lord Northumberland
    Should be the father to so blest a son-
    A son who is the theme of honour's tongue,
    Amongst a grove the very straightest plant;
    Who is sweet Fortune's minion and her pride;
    Whilst I, by looking on the praise of him,
    See riot and dishonour stain the brow
    Of my young Harry. O that it could be prov'd
    That some night-tripping fairy had exchang'd
    In cradle clothes our children where they lay,
    And call'd mine Percy, his Plantagenet!
    Then would I have his Harry, and he mine.
    But let him from my thoughts. What think you, coz,
    Of this young Percy's pride? The prisoners
    Which he in this adventure hath surpris'd
    To his own use he keeps, and sends me word
    I shall have none but Mordake Earl of Fife.
  West. This is his uncle's teaching, this Worcester,
    Malevolent to you In all aspects,
    Which makes him prune himself and bristle up
    The crest of youth against your dignity.
  King. But I have sent for him to answer this;
    And for this cause awhile we must neglect
    Our holy purpose to Jerusalem.
    Cousin, on Wednesday next our council we
    Will hold at Windsor. So inform the lords;
    But come yourself with speed to us again;
    For more is to be said and to be done
    Than out of anger can be uttered.
  West. I will my liege.                                 Exeunt.

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

completion: An exhausted King Henry describes the horrors of civil conflict which his realm has endured during the twelve months that he has ruled England. At last he will be free to lead a united force of English soldiers to fight the enemies of Christendom in Jerusalem. But the Earl of Westmoreland brings news which forces the king to postpone this crusade. In Wales, Mortimer's forces have been badly defeated by Glendower, and Mortimer himself has been captured. Furthermore, English troops led by young Henry Percy, "the gallant Hotspur," are engaged in a battle at Holmedon against the Scots commanded by Douglas. The king has already learned the outcome of this battle, thanks to the services of Sir Walter Blunt. Young Percy has won a great victory and taken many prisoners. This is indeed, as Westmoreland states, "a conquest for a prince to boast of" . The king sadly replies that he wishes his own derelict son were more like the valiant Hotspur. He is concerned also because that admirable son of the Earl of Northumberland refuses to turn his prisoners over to the Crown, especially because many of them are ranking nobles. Westmoreland informs him that Hotspur's arrogance is the result of his uncle's influence: "This is his uncle's teaching; this is Worcester, / Malevolent to you in all aspects." The king announces that he will hold council at Windsor and instructs Westmoreland to order the Percies to be present.


prompt:
Chapter: Scene II.
London. An apartment of the Prince's.

Enter Prince of Wales and Sir John Falstaff.

  Fal. Now, Hal, what time of day is it, lad?
  Prince. Thou art so fat-witted with drinking of old sack, and
    unbuttoning thee after supper, and sleeping upon benches
after
    noon, that thou hast forgotten to demand that truly which
thou
    wouldest truly know. What a devil hast thou to do with the
time
    of the day, Unless hours were cups of sack, and minutes
capons,
    and clocks the tongues of bawds, and dials the signs of
leaping
    houses, and the blessed sun himself a fair hot wench in
    flame-coloured taffeta, I see no reason why thou shouldst be
so
    superfluous to demand the time of the day.
  Fal. Indeed you come near me now, Hal; for we that take purses
go
    by the moon And the seven stars, and not by Phoebus, he, that
    wand'ring knight so fair. And I prithee, sweet wag, when thou
art
    king, as, God save thy Grace-Majesty I should say, for grace
thou
    wilt have none-
  Prince. What, none?
  Fal. No, by my troth; not so much as will serve to be prologue
to
    an egg and butter.
  Prince. Well, how then? Come, roundly, roundly.
  Fal. Marry, then, sweet wag, when thou art king, let not us
that
    are squires of the night's body be called thieves of the
day's
    beauty. Let us be Diana's Foresters, Gentlemen of the Shade,
    Minions of the Moon; and let men say we be men of good
    government, being governed as the sea is, by our noble and
chaste
    mistress the moon, under whose countenance we steal.
  Prince. Thou sayest well, and it holds well too; for the
fortune of
    us that are the moon's men doth ebb and flow like the sea,
being
    governed, as the sea is, by the moon. As, for proof now: a
purse
    of gold most resolutely snatch'd on Monday night and most
    dissolutely spent on Tuesday morning; got with swearing 'Lay
by,'
    and spent with crying 'Bring in'; now ill as low an ebb as
the
    foot of the ladder, and by-and-by in as high a flow as the
ridge
    of the gallows.
  Fal. By the Lord, thou say'st true, lad- and is not my hostess
of
    the tavern a most sweet wench?
  Prince. As the honey of Hybla, my old lad of the castle- and is
not
    a buff jerkin a most sweet robe of durance?
  Fal. How now, how now, mad wag? What, in thy quips and thy
    quiddities? What a plague have I to do with a buff jerkin?
  Prince. Why, what a pox have I to do with my hostess of the
tavern?
  Fal. Well, thou hast call'd her to a reckoning many a time and
oft.
  Prince. Did I ever call for thee to pay thy part?
  Fal. No; I'll give thee thy due, thou hast paid all there.
  Prince. Yea, and elsewhere, so far as my coin would stretch;
and
    where it would not, I have used my credit.
  Fal. Yea, and so us'd it that, were it not here apparent that
thou
    art heir apparent- But I prithee, sweet wag, shall there be
    gallows standing in England when thou art king? and
resolution
    thus fubb'd as it is with the rusty curb of old father antic
the
    law? Do not thou, when thou art king, hang a thief.
  Prince. No; thou shalt.
  Fal. Shall I? O rare! By the Lord, I'll be a brave judge.
  Prince. Thou judgest false already. I mean, thou shalt have the
    hanging of the thieves and so become a rare hangman.
  Fal. Well, Hal, well; and in some sort it jumps with my humour
as
    well as waiting in the court, I can tell you.
  Prince. For obtaining of suits?
  Fal. Yea, for obtaining of suits, whereof the hangman hath no
lean
    wardrobe. 'Sblood, I am as melancholy as a gib-cat or a
lugg'd
    bear.
  Prince. Or an old lion, or a lover's lute.
  Fal. Yea, or the drone of a Lincolnshire bagpipe.
  Prince. What sayest thou to a hare, or the melancholy of Moor
    Ditch?
  Fal. Thou hast the most unsavoury similes, and art indeed the
most
    comparative, rascalliest, sweet young prince. But, Hal, I
prithee
    trouble me no more with vanity. I would to God thou and I
knew
    where a commodity of good names were to be bought. An old
lord of
    the Council rated me the other day in the street about you,
sir,
    but I mark'd him not; and yet he talked very wisely, but I
    regarded him not; and yet he talk'd wisely, and in the street
    too.
  Prince. Thou didst well; for wisdom cries out in the streets,
and
    no man regards it.
  Fal. O, thou hast damnable iteration, and art indeed able to
    corrupt a saint. Thou hast done much harm upon me, Hal- God
    forgive thee for it! Before I knew thee, Hal, I knew nothing;
and
    now am I, if a man should speak truly, little better than one
of
    the wicked. I must give over this life, and I will give it
over!
    By the Lord, an I do not, I am a villain! I'll be damn'd for
    never a king's son in Christendom.
  Prince. Where shall we take a purse tomorrow, Jack?
  Fal. Zounds, where thou wilt, lad! I'll make one. An I do not,
call
    me villain and baffle me.
  Prince. I see a good amendment of life in thee- from praying to
    purse-taking.
  Fal. Why, Hal, 'tis my vocation, Hal. 'Tis no sin for a man to
    labour in his vocation.

                             Enter Poins.

    Poins! Now shall we know if Gadshill have set a match. O, if
men
    were to be saved by merit, what hole in hell were hot enough
for
    him? This is the most omnipotent villain that ever cried
'Stand!'
    to a true man.
  Prince. Good morrow, Ned.
  Poins. Good morrow, sweet Hal. What says Monsieur Remorse? What

    says Sir John Sack and Sugar? Jack, how agrees the devil and
thee
    about thy soul, that thou soldest him on Good Friday last for
a
    cup of Madeira and a cold capon's leg?
  Prince. Sir John stands to his word, the devil shall have his
    bargain; for he was never yet a breaker of proverbs. He will
give
    the devil his due.
  Poins. Then art thou damn'd for keeping thy word with the
devil.
  Prince. Else he had been damn'd for cozening the devil.
  Poins. But, my lads, my lads, to-morrow morning, by four
o'clock
    early, at Gadshill! There are pilgrims gong to Canterbury
with
    rich offerings, and traders riding to London with fat purses.
I
    have vizards for you all; you have horses for yourselves.
    Gadshill lies to-night in Rochester. I have bespoke supper
    to-morrow night in Eastcheap. We may do it as secure as
sleep. If
    you will go, I will stuff your purses full of crowns; if you
will
    not, tarry at home and be hang'd!
  Fal. Hear ye, Yedward: if I tarry at home and go not, I'll hang
you
    for going.
  Poins. You will, chops?
  Fal. Hal, wilt thou make one?
  Prince. Who, I rob? I a thief? Not I, by my faith.
  Fal. There's neither honesty, manhood, nor good fellowship in
thee,
    nor thou cam'st not of the blood royal if thou darest not
stand
    for ten shillings.
  Prince. Well then, once in my days I'll be a madcap.
  Fal. Why, that's well said.
  Prince. Well, come what will, I'll tarry at home.
  Fal. By the Lord, I'll be a traitor then, when thou art king.
  Prince. I care not.
  Poins. Sir John, I prithee, leave the Prince and me alone. I
will
    lay him down such reasons for this adventure that he shall
go.
  Fal. Well, God give thee the spirit of persuasion and him the
ears
    of profiting, that what thou speakest may move and what he
hears
    may be believed, that the true prince may (for recreation
sake)
    prove a false thief; for the poor abuses of the time want
    countenance. Farewell; you shall find me in Eastcheap.
  Prince. Farewell, thou latter spring! farewell, All-hallown
summer!
                                                  Exit Falstaff.
  Poins. Now, my good sweet honey lord, ride with us to-morrow. I
    have a jest to execute that I cannot manage alone. Falstaff,

    Bardolph, Peto, and Gadshill shall rob those men that we have
    already waylaid; yourself and I will not be there; and when
they
    have the booty, if you and I do not rob them, cut this head
off
    from my shoulders.
  Prince. How shall we part with them in setting forth?
  Poins. Why, we will set forth before or after them and appoint
them
    a place of meeting, wherein it is at our pleasure to fail;
and
    then will they adventure upon the exploit themselves; which
they
    shall have no sooner achieved, but we'll set upon them.
  Prince. Yea, but 'tis like that they will know us by our
horses, by
    our habits, and by every other appointment, to be ourselves.
  Poins. Tut! our horses they shall not see- I'll tie them in the
    wood; our wizards we will change after we leave them; and,
    sirrah, I have cases of buckram for the nonce, to immask our
    noted outward garments.
  Prince. Yea, but I doubt they will be too hard for us.
  Poins. Well, for two of them, I know them to be as true-bred
    cowards as ever turn'd back; and for the third, if he fight
    longer than he sees reason, I'll forswear arms. The virtue of
    this jest will lie the incomprehensible lies that this same
fat
    rogue will tell us when we meet at supper: how thirty, at
least,
    he fought with; what wards, what blows, what extremities he
    endured; and in the reproof of this lies the jest.
  Prince. Well, I'll go with thee. Provide us all things
necessary
    and meet me to-night in Eastcheap. There I'll sup. Farewell.
  Poins. Farewell, my lord.                                Exit.
  Prince. I know you all, and will awhile uphold
    The unyok'd humour of your idleness.
    Yet herein will I imitate the sun,
    Who doth permit the base contagious clouds
    To smother up his beauty from the world,
    That, when he please again to lie himself,
    Being wanted, he may be more wond'red at
    By breaking through the foul and ugly mists
    Of vapours that did seem to strangle him.
    If all the year were playing holidays,
    To sport would be as tedious as to work;
    But when they seldom come, they wish'd-for come,
    And nothing pleaseth but rare accidents.
    So, when this loose behaviour I throw off
    And pay the debt I never promised,
    By how much better than my word I am,
    By so much shall I falsify men's hopes;
    And, like bright metal on a sullen ground,
    My reformation, glitt'ring o'er my fault,
    Shall show more goodly and attract more eyes
    Than that which hath no foil to set it off.
    I'll so offend to make offence a skill,
    Redeeming time when men think least I will.            Exit.

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

completion: The action now shifts to the prince's apartment in London, and the participants are Prince Hal himself, Sir John Falstaff, and Poins. Prince Hal, far from engaging enemies of the Crown in armed combat, is amusing himself in witty verbal exchange with Falstaff. The subject of this discourse ranges from drinking to purse-snatching. The two vie with each other in trading amusing insults. Falstaff shows little deference for the prince, twitting him about his lack of grace and his devil-may-care attitude and behavior. Hal, whose initial speech provides a full-length portrait of the knight as a glutton and lecher who is too "fat-witted" to be concerned about the time of day, proves to be a rather worthy opponent in this combat of wits. But Falstaff matches him in rebuttal; indeed, some critics argue that the fat knight excels him. Since the subject of robbery has been introduced prior to the arrival of Poins, the way has been prepared for details about the Gadshill enterprise in which Hal and Falstaff are asked to participate. Hal amuses himself at Falstaff's expense. First he refuses to go along with the others even "for recreation sake"; then, after listening to Falstaff's denunciation of him, he changes his mind; and finally he refuses once more to be one of the thieves at Gadshill. After Falstaff has departed, the prince learns from Poins that the robbery will provide a wonderful opportunity to gull Falstaff. Let Sir John, Bardolph, and Peto rob the travelers; then Hal and Poins, disguised, will rob the robbers. The great sport will be to expose Falstaff as a coward and liar. Prince Hal cannot resist such a good chance to trick his old companion; he will take part in the robbery at Gadshill. All the dialogue so far has been in prose. Left alone, the prince now soliloquizes in blank verse. He makes it clear that he is fully aware of the character of his chosen companions, likening them to "contagious clouds." He states that he chooses for a time to remain in their riotous company for recreation's sake but will, at the right moment, surprise and gratify the world by standing forth in his true character.


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

Enter the King, Northumberland, Worcester, Hotspur, Sir Walter
Blunt,
with others.

  King. My blood hath been too cold and temperate,
    Unapt to stir at these indignities,
    And you have found me, for accordingly
    You tread upon my patience; but be sure
    I will from henceforth rather be myself,
    Mighty and to be fear'd, than my condition,
    Which hath been smooth as oil, soft as young down,
    And therefore lost that title of respect
    Which the proud soul ne'er pays but to the proud.
  Wor. Our house, my sovereign liege, little deserves
    The scourge of greatness to be us'd on it-
    And that same greatness too which our own hands
    Have holp to make so portly.
  North. My lord-
  King. Worcester, get thee gone; for I do see
    Danger and disobedience in thine eye.
    O, sir, your presence is too bold and peremptory,
    And majesty might never yet endure
    The moody frontier of a servant brow.
    Tou have good leave to leave us. When we need
    'Your use and counsel, we shall send for you.
                                                 Exit Worcester.
    You were about to speak.
  North. Yea, my good lord.
    Those prisoners in your Highness' name demanded
    Which Harry Percy here at Holmedon took,
    Were, as he says, not with such strength denied
    As is delivered to your Majesty.
    Either envy, therefore, or misprision
    Is guilty of this fault, and not my son.
  Hot. My liege, I did deny no prisoners.
    But I remember, when the fight was done,
    When I was dry with rage and extreme toll,
    Breathless and faint, leaning upon my sword,
    Came there a certain lord, neat and trimly dress'd,
    Fresh as a bridegroom; and his chin new reap'd
    Show'd like a stubble land at harvest home.
    He was perfumed like a milliner,
    And 'twixt his finger and his thumb he held
    A pouncet box, which ever and anon
    He gave his nose, and took't away again;
    Who therewith angry, when it next came there,
    Took it in snuff; and still he smil'd and talk'd;
    And as the soldiers bore dead bodies by,
    He call'd them untaught knaves, unmannerly,
    To bring a slovenly unhandsome corse
    Betwixt the wind and his nobility.
    With many holiday and lady terms
    He questioned me, amongst the rest demanded
    My prisoners in your Majesty's behalf.
    I then, all smarting with my wounds being cold,
    To be so pest'red with a popingay,
    Out of my grief and my impatience
    Answer'd neglectingly, I know not what-
    He should, or he should not; for he made me mad
    To see him shine so brisk, and smell so sweet,
    And talk so like a waiting gentlewoman
    Of guns and drums and wounds- God save the mark!-
    And telling me the sovereignest thing on earth
    Was parmacity for an inward bruise;
    And that it was great pity, so it was,
    This villanous saltpetre should be digg'd
    Out of the bowels of the harmless earth,
    Which many a good tall fellow had destroy'd
    So cowardly; and but for these vile 'guns,
    He would himself have been a soldier.
    This bald unjointed chat of his, my lord,
    I answered indirectly, as I said,
    And I beseech you, let not his report
    Come current for an accusation
    Betwixt my love and your high majesty.
  Blunt. The circumstance considered, good my lord,
    Whate'er Lord Harry Percy then had said
    To such a person, and in such a place,
    At such a time, with all the rest retold,
    May reasonably die, and never rise
    To do him wrong, or any way impeach
    What then he said, so he unsay it now.
  King. Why, yet he doth deny his prisoners,
    But with proviso and exception,
    That we at our own charge shall ransom straight
    His brother-in-law, the foolish Mortimer;
    Who, on my soul, hath wilfully betray'd
    The lives of those that he did lead to fight
    Against that great magician, damn'd Glendower,
    Whose daughter, as we hear, the Earl of March
    Hath lately married. Shall our coffers, then,
    Be emptied to redeem a traitor home?
    Shall we buy treason? and indent with fears
    When they have lost and forfeited themselves?
    No, on the barren mountains let him starve!
    For I shall never hold that man my friend
    Whose tongue shall ask me for one penny cost
    To ransom home revolted Mortimer.
  Hot. Revolted Mortimer?
    He never did fall off, my sovereign liege,
    But by the chance of war. To prove that true
    Needs no more but one tongue for all those wounds,
    Those mouthed wounds, which valiantly he took
    When on the gentle Severn's sedgy bank,
    In single opposition hand to hand,
    He did confound the best part of an hour
    In changing hardiment with great Glendower.
    Three times they breath'd, and three times did they drink,
    Upon agreement, of swift Severn's flood;
    Who then, affrighted with their bloody looks,
    Ran fearfully among the trembling reeds
    And hid his crisp head in the hollow bank,
    Bloodstained with these valiant cohabitants.
    Never did base and rotten policy
    Colour her working with such deadly wounds;
    Nor never could the noble Mortimer
    Receive so many, and all willingly.
    Then let not him be slandered with revolt.
  King. Thou dost belie him, Percy, thou dost belie him!
    He never did encounter with Glendower.
    I tell thee
    He durst as well have met the devil alone
    As Owen Glendower for an enemy.
    Art thou not asham'd? But, sirrah, henceforth
    Let me not hear you speak of Mortimer.
    Send me your prisoners with the speediest means,
    Or you shall hear in such a kind from me
    As will displease you. My Lord Northumberland,
    We license your departure with your son.-
    Send us your prisoners, or you will hear of it.
                                 Exeunt King, [Blunt, and Train]
  Hot. An if the devil come and roar for them,
    I will not send them. I will after straight
    And tell him so; for I will else my heart,
    Albeit I make a hazard of my head.
  North. What, drunk with choler? Stay, and pause awhile.
    Here comes your uncle.

                          Enter Worcester.

  Hot. Speak of Mortimer?
    Zounds, I will speak of him, and let my soul
    Want mercy if I do not join with him!
    Yea, on his part I'll empty all these veins,
    And shed my dear blood drop by drop in the dust,
    But I will lift the downtrod Mortimer
    As high in the air as this unthankful king,
    As this ingrate and cank'red Bolingbroke.
  North. Brother, the King hath made your nephew mad.
  Wor. Who struck this heat up after I was gone?
  Hot. He will (forsooth) have all my prisoners;
    And when I urg'd the ransom once again
    Of my wive's brother, then his cheek look'd pale,
    And on my face he turn'd an eye of death,
    Trembling even at the name of Mortimer.
  Wor. I cannot blame him. Was not he proclaim'd
    By Richard that dead is, the next of blood?
  North. He was; I heard the proclamation.
    And then it was when the unhappy King
    (Whose wrongs in us God pardon!) did set forth
    Upon his Irish expedition;
    From whence he intercepted did return
    To be depos'd, and shortly murdered.
  Wor. And for whose death we in the world's wide mouth
    Live scandaliz'd and foully spoken of.
  Hot. But soft, I pray you. Did King Richard then
    Proclaim my brother Edmund Mortimer
    Heir to the crown?
  North. He did; myself did hear it.
  Hot. Nay, then I cannot blame his cousin king,
    That wish'd him on the barren mountains starve.
    But shall it be that you, that set the crown
    Upon the head of this forgetful man,
    And for his sake wear the detested blot
    Of murtherous subornation- shall it be
    That you a world of curses undergo,
    Being the agents or base second means,
    The cords, the ladder, or the hangman rather?
    O, pardon me that I descend so low
    To show the line and the predicament
    Wherein you range under this subtile king!
    Shall it for shame be spoken in these days,
    Or fill up chronicles in time to come,
    That men of your nobility and power
    Did gage them both in an unjust behalf
    (As both of you, God pardon it! have done)
    To put down Richard, that sweet lovely rose,
    And plant this thorn, this canker, Bolingbroke?
    And shall it in more shame be further spoken
    That you are fool'd, discarded, and shook off
    By him for whom these shames ye underwent?
    No! yet time serves wherein you may redeem
    Your banish'd honours and restore yourselves
    Into the good thoughts of the world again;
    Revenge the jeering and disdain'd contempt
    Of this proud king, who studies day and night
    To answer all the debt he owes to you
    Even with the bloody payment of your deaths.
    Therefore I say-
  Wor. Peace, cousin, say no more;
    And now, I will unclasp a secret book,
    And to your quick-conceiving discontents
    I'll read you matter deep and dangerous,
    As full of peril and adventurous spirit
    As to o'erwalk a current roaring loud
    On the unsteadfast footing of a spear.
  Hot. If he fall in, good night, or sink or swim!
    Send danger from the east unto the west,
    So honour cross it from the north to south,
    And let them grapple. O, the blood more stirs
    To rouse a lion than to start a hare!
  North. Imagination of some great exploit
    Drives him beyond the bounds of patience.
  Hot. By heaven, methinks it were an easy leap
    To pluck bright honour from the pale-fac'd moon,
    Or dive into the bottom of the deep,
    Where fadom line could never touch the ground,
    And pluck up drowned honour by the locks,
    So he that doth redeem her thence might wear
    Without corrival all her dignities;
    But out upon this half-fac'd fellowship!
  Wor. He apprehends a world of figures here,
    But not the form of what he should attend.
    Good cousin, give me audience for a while.
  Hot. I cry you mercy.
  Wor. Those same noble Scots
    That are your prisoners-
  Hot. I'll keep them all.
    By God, he shall not have a Scot of them!
    No, if a Scot would save his soul, he shall not.
    I'll keep them, by this hand!
  Wor. You start away.
    And lend no ear unto my purposes.
    Those prisoners you shall keep.
  Hot. Nay, I will! That is flat!
    He said he would not ransom Mortimer,
    Forbade my tongue to speak of Mortimer,
    But I will find him when he lies asleep,
    And in his ear I'll holloa 'Mortimer.'
    Nay;
    I'll have a starling shall be taught to speak
    Nothing but 'Mortimer,' and give it him
    To keep his anger still in motion.
  Wor. Hear you, cousin, a word.
  Hot. All studies here I solemnly defy
    Save how to gall and pinch this Bolingbroke;
    And that same sword-and-buckler Prince of Wales-
    But that I think his father loves him not
    And would be glad he met with some mischance,
    I would have him poisoned with a pot of ale.
  Wor. Farewell, kinsman. I will talk to you
    When you are better temper'd to attend.
  North. Why, what a wasp-stung and impatient fool
    Art thou to break into this woman's mood,
    Tying thine ear to no tongue but thine own!
  Hot. Why, look you, I am whipp'd and scourg'd with rods,
    Nettled, and stung with pismires when I hear
    Of this vile politician, Bolingbroke.
    In Richard's time- what do you call the place-
    A plague upon it! it is in GIoucestershire-
    'Twas where the madcap Duke his uncle kept-
    His uncle York- where I first bow'd my knee
    Unto this king of smiles, this Bolingbroke-
    'S blood!
    When you and he came back from Ravenspurgh-
  North. At Berkeley Castle.
  Hot. You say true.
    Why, what a candy deal of courtesy
    This fawning greyhound then did proffer me!
    Look, 'when his infant fortune came to age,'
    And 'gentle Harry Percy,' and 'kind cousin'-
    O, the devil take such cozeners!- God forgive me!
    Good uncle, tell your tale, for I have done.
  Wor. Nay, if you have not, to it again.
    We will stay your leisure.
  Hot. I have done, i' faith.
  Wor. Then once more to your Scottish prisoners.
    Deliver them up without their ransom straight,
    And make the Douglas' son your only mean
    For powers In Scotland; which, for divers reasons
    Which I shall send you written, be assur'd
    Will easily be granted. [To Northumberland] You, my lord,
    Your son in Scotland being thus employ'd,
    Shall secretly into the bosom creep
    Of that same noble prelate well-belov'd,
    The Archbishop.
  Hot. Of York, is it not?
  Wor. True; who bears hard
    His brother's death at Bristow, the Lord Scroop.
    I speak not this in estimation,
    As what I think might be, but what I know
    Is ruminated, plotted, and set down,
    And only stays but to behold the face
    Of that occasion that shall bring it on.
  Hot. I smell it. Upon my life, it will do well.
  North. Before the game is afoot thou still let'st slip.
  Hot. Why, it cannot choose but be a noble plot.
    And then the power of Scotland and of York
    To join with Mortimer, ha?
  Wor. And so they shall.
  Hot. In faith, it is exceedingly well aim'd.
  Wor. And 'tis no little reason bids us speed,
    To save our heads by raising of a head;
    For, bear ourselves as even as we can,
    The King will always think him in our debt,
    And think we think ourselves unsatisfied,
    Till he hath found a time to pay us home.
    And see already how he doth begin
    To make us strangers to his looks of love.
  Hot. He does, he does! We'll be reveng'd on him.
  Wor. Cousin, farewell. No further go in this
    Than I by letters shall direct your course.
    When time is ripe, which will be suddenly,
    I'll steal to Glendower and Lord Mortimer,
    Where you and Douglas, and our pow'rs at once,
    As I will fashion it, shall happily meet,
    To bear our fortunes in our own strong arms,
    Which now we hold at much uncertainty.
  North. Farewell, good brother. We shall thrive, I trust.
  Hot. Uncle, adieu. O, let the hours be short
    Till fields and blows and groans applaud our sport!
Exeunt.

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

completion: A determined King Henry strongly reproves the Earls of Northumberland and Worcester, and Hotspur, who have obeyed his summons to appear before him. His threat to use force if necessary to curb their opposition leads Worcester to remind him that they, the Percies, were largely responsible for his rise to the throne. The king promptly orders Worcester to leave. Now it is Northumberland who addresses Henry IV, voicing words of conciliation. Hotspur, he states, has been maligned, for his son never intended to ignore a royal command. Hotspur himself explains what happened. Battle weary, he found it impossible to respond affirmatively to the request made by the king's messenger, a pretentious, unmanly coxcomb. Although the loyal Sir Walter Blunt puts in a good word for Hotspur, the king does not accept this excuse. He is convinced that young Percy intended to use the Scottish prisoners in bargaining with him for the ransom of Mortimer, Earl of March, Hotspur's brother-in-law, whom he denounces as one who foolishly betrayed the forces he led and now has married the daughter of his captor, "that great magician, damn'd Glendower." Hotspur vehemently defends Mortimer, but the king refuses to believe that he is not a traitor. Ordering Hotspur to talk no more of the Earl of March, he adds: "Send us your prisoners, or you'll hear of it." The king and members of his retinue leave. Hotspur is beside himself. Even though he risks his life he will not obey King Henry. Just as Northumberland urges his son to control himself, Worcester returns to hear another outburst from his nephew. When Hotspur says that the king turned pale at the very mention of Mortimer's name, Worcester replies, "I cannot blame him." And this leads to a review of past events: Richard II's designation of the Earl of March as his heir to the throne, the role of the Percies in Bolingbroke's successful revolt, and the ignominious position in which this proud and ungrateful Henry IV has placed the members of the House of Percy. Worcester interrupts to announce that he has a plan, one "deep and dangerous," which he will reveal to his kinsmen. Hotspur is exhilarated by the very mention of a dangerous exploit to be carried out in the name of honor. Henceforth, he declares, he will dedicate himself solely to opposing "this Bolingbroke" and the Prince of Wales. Only after Northumberland has succeeded in calming his son can Worcester proceed. Hotspur is to pacify Henry IV for the time being by turning the prisoners over to the Crown, but he will make peace with Douglas and soon will ally himself with Glendower and Mortimer. Augmented by the Scottish and Welsh forces, the Percies will then confront the usurper Henry IV.


prompt:
Chapter: ACT II. Scene I.
Rochester. An inn yard.

Enter a Carrier with a lantern in his hand.

  1. Car. Heigh-ho! an it be not four by the day, I'll be hang'd.
    Charles' wain is over the new chimney, and yet our horse not
    pack'd.- What, ostler!
  Ost. [within] Anon, anon.
  1. Car. I prithee, Tom, beat Cut's saddle, put a few flocks in
the
    point. Poor jade is wrung in the withers out of all cess.

                        Enter another Carrier.

  2. Car. Peas and beans are as dank here as a dog, and that is
the
    next way to give poor jades the bots. This house is turned
upside
    down since Robin Ostler died.
  1. Car. Poor fellow never joyed since the price of oats rose.
It
    was the death of him.
  2. Car. I think this be the most villanous house in all London
road
    for fleas. I am stung like a tench.
  1. Car. Like a tench I By the mass, there is ne'er a king
christen
    could be better bit than I have been since the first cock.
  2. Car. Why, they will allow us ne'er a jordan, and then we
leak in
    your chimney, and your chamber-lye breeds fleas like a loach.
  1. Car. What, ostler! come away and be hang'd! come away!
  2. Car. I have a gammon of bacon and two razes of ginger, to be
    delivered as far as Charing Cross.
  1. Car. God's body! the turkeys in my pannier are quite
starved.
    What, ostler! A plague on thee! hast thou never an eye in thy
    head? Canst not hear? An 'twere not as good deed as drink to
    break the pate on thee, I am a very villain. Come, and be
hang'd!
    Hast no faith in thee?

                           Enter Gadshill.

  Gads. Good morrow, carriers. What's o'clock?
  1. Car. I think it be two o'clock.
  Gads. I prithee lend me this lantern to see my gelding in the
    stable.
  1. Car. Nay, by God, soft! I know a trick worth two of that,
    i' faith.
  Gads. I pray thee lend me thine.
  2. Car. Ay, when? canst tell? Lend me thy lantern, quoth he?
Marry,
    I'll see thee hang'd first!
  Gads. Sirrah carrier, what time do you mean to come to London?
  2. Car. Time enough to go to bed with a candle, I warrant thee.
    Come, neighbour Mugs, we'll call up the gentlemen. They will
    along with company, for they have great charge.
                                              Exeunt [Carriers].
  Gads. What, ho! chamberlain!

                            Enter Chamberlain.

  Cham. At hand, quoth pickpurse.
  Gads. That's even as fair as- 'at hand, quoth the chamberlain';
for
    thou variest no more from picking of purses than giving
direction
    doth from labouring: thou layest the plot how.
  Cham. Good morrow, Master Gadshill. It holds current that I
told
    you yesternight. There's a franklin in the Wild of Kent hath
    brought three hundred marks with him in gold. I heard him
tell it
    to one of his company last night at supper- a kind of
auditor;
    one that hath abundance of charge too, God knows what. They
are
    up already and call for eggs and butter. They will away
    presently.
  Gads. Sirrah, if they meet not with Saint Nicholas' clerks,
I'll
    give thee this neck.
  Cham. No, I'll none of it. I pray thee keep that for the
hangman;
    for I know thou worshippest Saint Nicholas as truly as a man
of
    falsehood may.
  Gads. What talkest thou to me of the hangman? If I hang, I'll
make
    a fat pair of gallows; for if I hang, old Sir John hangs with
me,
    and thou knowest he is no starveling. Tut! there are other
    Troyans that thou dream'st not of, the which for sport sake
are
    content to do the profession some grace; that would (if
matters
    should be look'd into) for their own credit sake make all
whole.
    I am joined with no foot land-rakers, no long-staff sixpenny
    strikers, none of these mad mustachio purple-hued maltworms;
but
    with nobility, and tranquillity, burgomasters and great
oneyers,
    such as can hold in, such as will strike sooner than speak,
and
    speak sooner than drink, and drink sooner than pray; and yet,
    zounds, I lie; for they pray continually to their saint, the

    commonwealth, or rather, not pray to her, but prey on her,
for
    they ride up and down on her and make her their boots.
  Cham. What, the commonwealth their boots? Will she hold out
water
    in foul way?
  Gads. She will, she will! Justice hath liquor'd her. We steal
as in
    a castle, cocksure. We have the receipt of fernseed, we walk
    invisible.
  Cham. Nay, by my faith, I think you are more beholding to the
night
    than to fernseed for your walking invisible.
  Gads. Give me thy hand. Thou shalt have a share in our
purchase, as
    I and a true man.
  Cham. Nay, rather let me have it, as you are a false thief.
  Gads. Go to; 'homo' is a common name to all men. Bid the ostler
    bring my gelding out of the stable. Farewell, you muddy
knave.
                                                         Exeunt.

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

completion: Two carriers complain about the accommodations of the inn at Rochester as they prepare to drive their pack horses to the market in London. Gadshill, the professional thief to whom Poins had made reference, enters and asks to borrow their lantern, but the wary carriers refuse to lend it and leave. At Gadshill's call, the chamberlain, an informer, appears. He confirms what he told Gadshill earlier: A franklin with three hundred marks in gold will be among the travelers soon to depart from the inn. Unlike the chamberlain, Gadshill has no fear of the hangman because he is joined in the robbery by Sir John and, to paraphrase his own words, persons of higher rank.


prompt:
Chapter: Scene II.
The highway near Gadshill.

Enter Prince and Poins.

  Poins. Come, shelter, shelter! I have remov'd Falstaff's horse,
and
    he frets like a gumm'd velvet.
  Prince. Stand close.                        [They step aside.]

                             Enter Falstaff.

  Fal. Poins! Poins, and be hang'd! Poins!
  Prince. I comes forward i' peace, ye fat-kidney'd rascal! What
a
    brawling dost thou keep!
  Fal. Where's Poins, Hal?
  Prince. He is walk'd up to the top of the hill. I'll go seek
him.
                                                  [Steps aside.]
  Fal. I am accurs'd to rob in that thief's company. The rascal
hath
    removed my horse and tied him I know not where. If I travel
but
    four foot by the squire further afoot, I shall break my wind.
    Well, I doubt not but to die a fair death for all this, if I
    scape hanging for killing that rogue. I have forsworn his
company
    hourly any time this two-and-twenty years, and yet I am
bewitch'd
    with the rogue's company. If the rascal have not given me
    medicines to make me love him, I'll be hang'd. It could not
be
    else. I have drunk medicines. Poins! Hal! A plague upon you
both!
    Bardolph! Peto! I'll starve ere I'll rob a foot further. An
    'twere not as good a deed as drink to turn true man and to
leave
    these rogues, I am the veriest varlet that ever chewed with a
    tooth. Eight yards of uneven ground is threescore and ten
miles
    afoot with me, and the stony-hearted villains know it well
    enough. A plague upon it when thieves cannot be true one to
    another! (They whistle.) Whew! A plague upon you all! Give me
my
    horse, you rogues! give me my horse and be hang'd!
  Prince. [comes forward] Peace, ye fat-guts! Lie down, lay thine
ear
    close to the ground, and list if thou canst hear the tread of
    travellers.
  Fal. Have you any levers to lift me up again, being down?
'Sblood,
    I'll not bear mine own flesh so far afoot again for all the
coin
    in thy father's exchequer. What a plague mean ye to colt me
thus?
  Prince. Thou liest; thou art not colted, thou art uncolted.
  Fal. I prithee, good Prince Hal, help me to my horse, good
king's
    son.
  Prince. Out, ye rogue! Shall I be your ostler?
  Fal. Go hang thyself in thine own heir-apparent garters! If I
be
    ta'en, I'll peach for this. An I have not ballads made on you
    all, and sung to filthy tunes, let a cup of sack be my
poison.
    When a jest is so forward- and afoot too- I hate it.

             Enter Gadshill, [Bardolph and Peto with him].

  Gads. Stand!
  Fal. So I do, against my will.
  Poins. [comes fortward] O, 'tis our setter. I know his voice.
    Bardolph, what news?
  Bar. Case ye, case ye! On with your vizards! There's money of
the
    King's coming down the hill; 'tis going to the King's
exchequer.
  Fal. You lie, ye rogue! 'Tis going to the King's tavern.
  Gads. There's enough to make us all.
  Fal. To be hang'd.
  Prince. Sirs, you four shall front them in the narrow lane; Ned
    Poins and I will walk lower. If they scape from your
encounter,
    then they light on us.
  Peto. How many be there of them?
  Gads. Some eight or ten.
  Fal. Zounds, will they not rob us?
  Prince. What, a coward, Sir John Paunch?
  Fal. Indeed, I am not John of Gaunt, your grandfather; but yet
no
    coward, Hal.
  Prince. Well, we leave that to the proof.
  Poins. Sirrah Jack, thy horse stands behind the hedge. When
thou
    need'st him, there thou shalt find him. Farewell and stand
fast.
  Fal. Now cannot I strike him, if I should be hang'd.
  Prince. [aside to Poins] Ned, where are our disguises?
  Poins. [aside to Prince] Here, hard by. Stand close.
                                      [Exeunt Prince and Poins.]
  Fal. Now, my masters, happy man be his dole, say I. Every man
to
    his business.

                         Enter the Travellers.

  Traveller. Come, neighbour.
    The boy shall lead our horses down the hill;
    We'll walk afoot awhile and ease our legs.
  Thieves. Stand!
  Traveller. Jesus bless us!
  Fal. Strike! down with them! cut the villains' throats! Ah,
    whoreson caterpillars! bacon-fed knaves! they hate us youth.
Down
    with them! fleece them!
  Traveller. O, we are undone, both we and ours for ever!
  Fal. Hang ye, gorbellied knaves, are ye undone? No, ye fat
chuffs;
    I would your store were here! On, bacons on! What, ye knaves!
    young men must live. You are grandjurors, are ye? We'll jure
ye,
    faith!
                            Here they rob and bind them. Exeunt.

            Enter the Prince and Poins [in buckram suits].

  Prince. The thieves have bound the true men. Now could thou and
I
    rob the thieves and go merrily to London, it would be
argument
    for a week, laughter for a month, and a good jest for ever.
  Poins. Stand close! I hear them coming.
                                             [They stand aside.]

                       Enter the Thieves again.

  Fal. Come, my masters, let us share, and then to horse before
day.
    An the Prince and Poins be not two arrant cowards, there's no
    equity stirring. There's no more valour in that Poins than in
a
    wild duck.

        [As they are sharing, the Prince and Poins set upon
        them. They all run away, and Falstaff, after a blow or
        two, runs away too, leaving the booty behind them.]

  Prince. Your money!
  Poins. Villains!

  Prince. Got with much ease. Now merrily to horse.
    The thieves are scattered, and possess'd with fear
    So strongly that they dare not meet each other.
    Each takes his fellow for an officer.
    Away, good Ned. Falstaff sweats to death
    And lards the lean earth as he walks along.
    Were't not for laughing, I should pity him.
  Poins. How the rogue roar'd!                           Exeunt.

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

completion: Prince Hal and Poins appear together on the highway near Gadshill. Poins has succeeded in depriving Falstaff of his horse, and the fat knight himself arrives calling for Poins, who has withdrawn into the darkness. Hal offers to find Poins, and Falstaff is left alone to complain about Poins' perfidy. When the prince returns, Sir John is no less voluble in his denunciation of anyone who would so "colt" him. When Hal refuses to serve as Falstaff's groom -- that is, get his horse for him -- the knight unrestrainedly and wittily excoriates him. Gadshill, Bardolph, and Peto enter. The victims of these robbers are now coming down the hill; all must put on their masks and be ready for them. Prince Hal instructs all but Poins to confront the travelers in the narrow lane, while he and Poins wait farther down the hill, ready to waylay their victims if they escape the first encounter. Falstaff has a moment of trepidation but agrees to stand fast. Hal and Poins leave to put on the disguises which will serve their purpose later. Rendered helpless, perhaps chiefly by the verbal explosions of Falstaff, the travelers are quickly robbed and bound. The thieves are about to share the loot when the disguised Hal and Poins set upon them. Bardolph and Peto take to their heels at once; Falstaff remains only to strike a blow or two and then runs off, leaving the loot. The thought of the corpulent Falstaff footing it all the way to London delights Hal and Poins.


prompt:
Chapter: Scene III.
Warkworth Castle.

Enter Hotspur solus, reading a letter.

  Hot. 'But, for mine own part, my lord, I could be well
contented to
    be there, in respect of the love I bear your house.' He could
be
    contented- why is he not then? In respect of the love he
bears
    our house! He shows in this he loves his own barn better than
he
    loves our house. Let me see some more. 'The purpose you
undertake
    is dangerous'- Why, that's certain! 'Tis dangerous to take a
    cold, to sleep, to drink; but I tell you, my lord fool, out
of
    this nettle, danger, we pluck this flower, safety. 'The
purpose
    you undertake is dangerous, the friends you have named
uncertain,
    the time itself unsorted, and your whole plot too light for
the
    counterpoise of so great an opposition.' Say you so, say you
so?
    I say unto you again, you are a shallow, cowardly hind, and
you
    lie. What a lack-brain is this! By the Lord, our plot is a
good
    plot as ever was laid; our friends true and constant: a good
    plot, good friends, and full of expectation; an excellent
plot,
    very good friends. What a frosty-spirited rogue is this! Why,
my
    Lord of York commends the plot and the general course of the

    action. Zounds, an I were now by this rascal, I could brain
him
    with his lady's fan. Is there not my father, my uncle, and
    myself; Lord Edmund Mortimer, my Lord of York, and Owen
    Glendower? Is there not, besides, the Douglas? Have I not all
    their letters to meet me in arms by the ninth of the next
month,
    and are they not some of them set forward already? What a
pagan
    rascal is this! an infidel! Ha! you shall see now, in very
    sincerity of fear and cold heart will he to the King and lay
open
    all our proceedings. O, I could divide myself and go to
buffets
    for moving such a dish of skim milk with so honourable an
action!
    Hang him, let him tell the King! we are prepared. I will set
    forward to-night.

                         Enter his Lady.

    How now, Kate? I must leave you within these two hours.
  Lady. O my good lord, why are you thus alone?
    For what offence have I this fortnight been
    A banish'd woman from my Harry's bed,
    Tell me, sweet lord, what is't that takes from thee
    Thy stomach, pleasure, and thy golden sleep?
    Why dost thou bend thine eyes upon the earth,
    And start so often when thou sit'st alone?
    Why hast thou lost the fresh blood in thy cheeks
    And given my treasures and my rights of thee
    To thick-ey'd musing and curs'd melancholy?
    In thy faint slumbers I by thee have watch'd,
    And heard thee murmur tales of iron wars,
    Speak terms of manage to thy bounding steed,
    Cry 'Courage! to the field!' And thou hast talk'd
    Of sallies and retires, of trenches, tent,
    Of palisadoes, frontiers, parapets,
    Of basilisks, of cannon, culverin,
    Of prisoners' ransom, and of soldiers slain,
    And all the currents of a heady fight.
    Thy spirit within thee hath been so at war,
    And thus hath so bestirr'd thee in thy sleep,
    That beads of sweat have stood upon thy brow
    Like bubbles ill a late-disturbed stream,
    And in thy face strange motions have appear'd,
    Such as we see when men restrain their breath
    On some great sudden hest. O, what portents are these?
    Some heavy business hath my lord in hand,
    And I must know it, else he loves me not.
  Hot. What, ho!

                    [Enter a Servant.]

    Is Gilliams with the packet gone?
  Serv. He is, my lord, an hour ago.
  Hot. Hath Butler brought those horses from the sheriff?
  Serv. One horse, my lord, he brought even now.
  Hot. What horse? A roan, a crop-ear, is it not?
  Serv. It is, my lord.
  Hot. That roan shall be my throne.
    Well, I will back him straight. O esperance!
    Bid Butler lead him forth into the park.
                                                 [Exit Servant.]
  Lady. But hear you, my lord.
  Hot. What say'st thou, my lady?
  Lady. What is it carries you away?
  Hot. Why, my horse, my love- my horse!
  Lady. Out, you mad-headed ape!
    A weasel hath not such a deal of spleen
    As you are toss'd with. In faith,
    I'll know your business, Harry; that I will!
    I fear my brother Mortimer doth stir
    About his title and hath sent for you
    To line his enterprise; but if you go-
  Hot. So far afoot, I shall be weary, love.
  Lady. Come, come, you paraquito, answer me
    Directly unto this question that I ask.
    I'll break thy little finger, Harry,
    An if thou wilt not tell my all things true.
  Hot. Away.
    Away, you trifler! Love? I love thee not;
    I care not for thee, Kate. This is no world
    To play with mammets and to tilt with lips.
    We must have bloody noses and crack'd crowns,
    And pass them current too. Gods me, my horse!
    What say'st thou, Kate? What wouldst thou have with me?
  Lady. Do you not love me? do you not indeed?
    Well, do not then; for since you love me not,
    I will not love myself. Do you not love me?
    Nay, tell me if you speak in jest or no.
  Hot. Come, wilt thou see me ride?
    And when I am a-horseback, I will swear
    I love thee infinitely. But hark you. Kate:
    I must not have you henceforth question me
    Whither I go, nor reason whereabout.
    Whither I must, I must; and to conclude,
    This evening must I leave you, gentle Kate.
    I know you wise; but yet no farther wise
    Than Harry Percy's wife; constant you are,
    But yet a woman; and for secrecy,
    No lady closer, for I well believe
    Thou wilt not utter what thou dost not know,
    And so far will I trust thee, gentle Kate.
  Lady. How? so far?
  Hot. Not an inch further. But hark you, Kate:
    Whither I go, thither shall you go too;
    To-day will I set forth, to-morrow you.
    Will this content you, Kate?
  Lady. It must of force.                                Exeunt.

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

completion: At Warkworth Castle, Hotspur reads a letter from a noble whom he has asked to join in the rebellion. The noble advances one excuse after another for declining the invitation. Young Percy is indignant and scornful of the writer, who ignores the fact that the Percies have powerful allies, some of whose forces already have set forth for the place of assembly. Hotspur suspects that this timorous lord may betray the plot to the king. Vehemently he expresses his defiance. Lady Percy enters. She is deeply worried about her young husband, whose preoccupation with some serious business has made him neglect her and most normal activities. Hotspur will tell her nothing, and she suspects that he faces great danger. He does assure her, however, that she will join him at an unidentified destination.