prompt:
Chapter: SCENE 2.

The same. A Room of State in the Palace.

[Enter KING JOHN, crowned, PEMBROKE, SALISBURY, and other LORDS.
The KING takes his State.]

KING JOHN.
Here once again we sit, once again crown'd,
And look'd upon, I hope, with cheerful eyes.

PEMBROKE.
This once again, but that your highness pleas'd,
Was once superfluous: you were crown'd before,
And that high royalty was ne'er pluck'd off;
The faiths of men ne'er stained with revolt;
Fresh expectation troubled not the land
With any long'd-for change or better state.

SALISBURY.
Therefore, to be possess'd with double pomp,
To guard a title that was rich before,
To gild refined gold, to paint the lily,
To throw a perfume on the violet,
To smooth the ice, or add another hue
Unto the rainbow, or with taper-light
To seek the beauteous eye of heaven to garnish,
Is wasteful and ridiculous excess.

PEMBROKE.
But that your royal pleasure must be done,
This act is as an ancient tale new told;
And, in the last repeating troublesome,
Being urged at a time unseasonable.

SALISBURY.
In this, the antique and well-noted face
Of plain old form is much disfigured;
And, like a shifted wind unto a sail,
It makes the course of thoughts to fetch about;
Startles and frights consideration;
Makes sound opinion sick, and truth suspected,
For putting on so new a fashion'd robe.

PEMBROKE.
When workmen strive to do better than well,
They do confound their skill in covetousness;
And oftentimes excusing of a fault
Doth make the fault the worse by the excuse,--
As patches set upon a little breach
Discredit more in hiding of the fault
Than did the fault before it was so patch'd.

SALISBURY.
To this effect, before you were new-crown'd,
We breath'd our counsel: but it pleas'd your highness
To overbear it; and we are all well pleas'd,
Since all and every part of what we would
Doth make a stand at what your highness will.

KING JOHN.
Some reasons of this double coronation
I have possess'd you with, and think them strong;
And more, more strong, when lesser is my fear,
I shall indue you with: meantime but ask
What you would have reform'd that is not well,
And well shall you perceive how willingly
I will both hear and grant you your requests.

PEMBROKE.
Then I,--as one that am the tongue of these,
To sound the purposes of all their hearts,--
Both for myself and them,--but, chief of all,
Your safety, for the which myself and them
Bend their best studies,--heartily request
The enfranchisement of Arthur, whose restraint
Doth move the murmuring lips of discontent
To break into this dangerous argument,--
If what in rest you have in right you hold,
Why then your fears,--which, as they say, attend
The steps of wrong,--should move you to mew up
Your tender kinsman, and to choke his days
With barbarous ignorance, and deny his youth
The rich advantage of good exercise?
That the time's enemies may not have this
To grace occasions, let it be our suit
That you have bid us ask his liberty;
Which for our goods we do no further ask
Than whereupon our weal, on you depending,
Counts it your weal he have his liberty.

KING JOHN.
Let it be so: I do commit his youth
To your direction.

[Enter HUBERT.]

Hubert, what news with you?

PEMBROKE.
This is the man should do the bloody deed;
He show'd his warrant to a friend of mine:
The image of a wicked heinous fault
Lives in his eye; that close aspect of his
Doth show the mood of a much-troubled breast;
And I do fearfully believe 'tis done
What we so fear'd he had a charge to do.

SALISBURY.
The colour of the king doth come and go
Between his purpose and his conscience,
Like heralds 'twixt two dreadful battles set.
His passion is so ripe it needs must break.

PEMBROKE.
And when it breaks, I fear will issue thence
The foul corruption of a sweet child's death.

KING JOHN.
We cannot hold mortality's strong hand:--
Good lords, although my will to give is living,
The suit which you demand is gone and dead:
He tells us Arthur is deceas'd to-night.

SALISBURY.
Indeed, we fear'd his sickness was past cure.

PEMBROKE.
Indeed, we heard how near his death he was,
Before the child himself felt he was sick:
This must be answer'd either here or hence.

KING JOHN.
Why do you bend such solemn brows on me?
Think you I bear the shears of destiny?
Have I commandment on the pulse of life?

SALISBURY.
It is apparent foul-play; and 'tis shame
That greatness should so grossly offer it:
So thrive it in your game! and so, farewell.

PEMBROKE.
Stay yet, Lord Salisbury, I'll go with thee
And find th' inheritance of this poor child,
His little kingdom of a forced grave.
That blood which ow'd the breadth of all this isle
Three foot of it doth hold:--bad world the while!
This must not be thus borne: this will break out
To all our sorrows, and ere long, I doubt.

[Exeunt LORDS.]

KING JOHN.
They burn in indignation. I repent:
There is no sure foundation set on blood;
No certain life achiev'd by others' death.--

[Enter a MESSENGER.]

A fearful eye thou hast: where is that blood
That I have seen inhabit in those cheeks?
So foul a sky clears not without a storm:
Pour down thy weather:--how goes all in France?

MESSENGER.
From France to England.--Never such a power
For any foreign preparation
Was levied in the body of a land.
The copy of your speed is learn'd by them;
For when you should be told they do prepare,
The tidings comes that they are all arriv'd.

KING JOHN.
O, where hath our intelligence been drunk?
Where hath it slept? Where is my mother's care,
That such an army could be drawn in France,
And she not hear of it?

MESSENGER.
My liege, her ear
Is stopp'd with dust; the first of April died
Your noble mother; and as I hear, my lord,
The Lady Constance in a frenzy died
Three days before; but this from rumour's tongue
I idly heard,--if true or false I know not.

KING JOHN.
Withhold thy speed, dreadful occasion!
O, make a league with me, till I have pleas'd
My discontented peers!--What! mother dead!
How wildly, then, walks my estate in France!--
Under whose conduct came those powers of France
That thou for truth giv'st out are landed here?

MESSENGER.
Under the Dauphin.

KING JOHN.
Thou hast made me giddy
With these in tidings.

[Enter the BASTARD and PETER OF POMFRET.]

Now! What says the world
To your proceedings? do not seek to stuff
My head with more ill news, for it is full.

BASTARD.
But if you be afear'd to hear the worst,
Then let the worst, unheard, fall on your head.

KING JOHN.
Bear with me, cousin, for I was amaz'd
Under the tide: but now I breathe again
Aloft the flood; and can give audience
To any tongue, speak it of what it will.

BASTARD.
How I have sped among the clergymen,
The sums I have collected shall express.
But as I travell'd hither through the land,
I find the people strangely fantasied;
Possess'd with rumours, full of idle dreams.
Not knowing what they fear, but full of fear;
And here's a prophet that I brought with me
From forth the streets of Pomfret, whom I found
With many hundreds treading on his heels;
To whom he sung, in rude harsh-sounding rhymes,
That, ere the next Ascension-day at noon,
Your highness should deliver up your crown.

KING JOHN.
Thou idle dreamer, wherefore didst thou so?

PETER.
Foreknowing that the truth will fall out so.

KING JOHN.
Hubert, away with him; imprison him;
And on that day at noon, whereon he says
I shall yield up my crown, let him be hang'd.
Deliver him to safety; and return,
For I must use thee.

[Exit HUBERT with PETER.]

O my gentle cousin,
Hear'st thou the news abroad, who are arriv'd?

BASTARD.
The French, my lord; men's mouths are full of it;
Besides, I met Lord Bigot and Lord Salisbury,--
With eyes as red as new-enkindled fire,
And others more, going to seek the grave
Of Arthur, whom they say is kill'd to-night
On your suggestion.

KING JOHN.
Gentle kinsman, go
And thrust thyself into their companies:
I have a way to will their loves again:
Bring them before me.

BASTARD.
I will seek them out.

KING JOHN.
Nay, but make haste; the better foot before.
O, let me have no subject enemies
When adverse foreigners affright my towns
With dreadful pomp of stout invasion!
Be Mercury, set feathers to thy heels,
And fly like thought from them to me again.

BASTARD.
The spirit of the time shall teach me speed.

KING JOHN.
Spoke like a sprightful noble gentleman!

[Exit BASTARD.]

Go after him; for he perhaps shall need
Some messenger betwixt me and the peers;
And be thou he.

MESSENGER.
With all my heart, my liege.

[Exit.]

KING JOHN.
My mother dead!

[Re-enter HUBERT.]

HUBERT.
My lord, they say five moons were seen to-night;
Four fixed, and the fifth did whirl about
The other four in wondrous motion.

KING JOHN.
Five moons!

HUBERT.
Old men and beldams in the streets
Do prophesy upon it dangerously:
Young Arthur's death is common in their mouths:
And when they talk of him, they shake their heads,
And whisper one another in the ear;
And he that speaks doth gripe the hearer's wrist;
Whilst he that hears makes fearful action
With wrinkled brows, with nods, with rolling eyes.
I saw a smith stand with his hammer, thus,
The whilst his iron did on the anvil cool,
With open mouth swallowing a tailor's news;
Who, with his shears and measure in his hand,
Standing on slippers,--which his nimble haste
Had falsely thrust upon contrary feet,--
Told of a many thousand warlike French
That were embattailed and rank'd in Kent.
Another lean unwash'd artificer
Cuts off his tale, and talks of Arthur's death.

KING JOHN.
Why seek'st thou to possess me with these fears?
Why urgest thou so oft young Arthur's death?
Thy hand hath murder'd him: I had a mighty cause
To wish him dead, but thou hadst none to kill him.

HUBERT.
No had, my lord! why, did you not provoke me?

KING JOHN.
It is the curse of kings to be attended
By slaves that take their humours for a warrant
To break within the bloody house of life;
And, on the winking of authority,
To understand a law; to know the meaning
Of dangerous majesty, when perchance it frowns
More upon humour than advis'd respect.

HUBERT.
Here is your hand and seal for what I did.

KING JOHN.
O, when the last account 'twixt heaven and earth
Is to be made, then shall this hand and seal
Witness against us to damnation!
How oft the sight of means to do ill deeds
Make deeds ill done! Hadst not thou been by,
A fellow by the hand of nature mark'd,
Quoted and sign'd to do a deed of shame,
This murder had not come into my mind:
But, taking note of thy abhorr'd aspect,
Finding thee fit for bloody villainy,
Apt, liable to be employ'd in danger,
I faintly broke with thee of Arthur's death;
And thou, to be endeared to a king,
Made it no conscience to destroy a prince.

HUBERT.
My lord,--

KING JOHN.
Hadst thou but shook thy head or made pause,
When I spake darkly what I purpos'd,
Or turn'd an eye of doubt upon my face,
As bid me tell my tale in express words,
Deep shame had struck me dumb, made me break off,
And those thy fears might have wrought fears in me:
But thou didst understand me by my signs,
And didst in signs again parley with sin;
Yea, without stop, didst let thy heart consent,
And consequently thy rude hand to act
The deed which both our tongues held vile to name.--
Out of my sight, and never see me more!
My nobles leave me; and my state is brav'd,
Even at my gates, with ranks of foreign powers;
Nay, in the body of the fleshly land,
This kingdom, this confine of blood and breath,
Hostility and civil tumult reigns
Between my conscience and my cousin's death.

HUBERT.
Arm you against your other enemies,
I'll make a peace between your soul and you.
Young Arthur is alive: this hand of mine
Is yet a maiden and an innocent hand,
Not painted with the crimson spots of blood.
Within this bosom never enter'd yet
The dreadful motion of a murderous thought;
And you have slander'd nature in my form,--
Which, howsoever rude exteriorly,
Is yet the cover of a fairer mind
Than to be butcher of an innocent child.

KING JOHN.
Doth Arthur live? O, haste thee to the peers,
Throw this report on their incensed rage,
And make them tame to their obedience!
Forgive the comment that my passion made
Upon thy feature; for my rage was blind,
And foul imaginary eyes of blood
Presented thee more hideous than thou art.
O, answer not; but to my closet bring
The angry lords with all expedient haste:
I conjure thee but slowly; run more fast.

[Exeunt.]

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

completion: Now we are in the English royal court, where King John has just had himself crowned... for a second time. Pembroke and Salisbury, two English noblemen, criticize John for this second coronation. They think it's pointless and wasteful. Also, they think that it makes people suspicious. If everything's on the up and up with John's right to be king, what's the point of getting crowned again? King John replies, "I've got my own reasons for getting crowned again. Anyway, tell me what you want changed, and I'll do what I can to make you happy." Pembroke tells the king that he and the other nobles only request that Arthur be set free. He says that imprisoning Arthur makes the people doubt that King John really has a legal right to the crown. Why else would he go to the trouble of locking his nephew up? Before King John can answer, Hubert walks into the room. King John tells the nobles, "No problem, your wish is my command." Then, he steps aside to have a private chat with Hubert. In the meantime, the nobles have a private chat of their own, amongst themselves. Pembroke says to Salisbury that he knows, through a friend, that Hubert had a warrant to execute Arthur. He also says that Hubert has a nervous, guilty look to him. Salisbury thinks the king looks nervous, too. When King John is done talking to Hubert, he turns to the two noblemen and says, "Sorry, fellas. You know I'd love to grant your request, but unfortunately, Arthur is dead." As you might expect, Pembroke and Salisbury think this is pretty shady. Even though King John acts like he had nothing to do with it, his noblemen storm out in a huff. Just then, a messenger comes in. King John asks him what's going on in France. The messenger replies that the French have gotten together a giant invasion force--and have already landed in England. King John can't believe his ears. How come his mother Eleanor, who is still in France, didn't warn him? The messenger replies that Queen Eleanor is dead. Constance is dead, too. According to the rumor, anyway. King John's all, "Oh no! My mom's dead? Now what's going to happen to all my land in France?" Because priorities. Next, King John says he wants to know who's leading the French forces. The messenger tells him it's Louis, the Dauphin of France. Just then, in walks the Bastard, accompanied by a man named Peter of Pomfret. The Bastard tells King John that church robbing has been a huge success... except for the fact that all the people of the land are freaked out by it. Get your highlighters out, because this is important: It turns out that Peter of Pomfret is a manic street preacher. He's predicted that King John will give up his crown before the next Ascension Day. King John orders Hubert to throw the preacher in the slammer--and to hang him on Ascension Day. Problem solved. Hubert takes Peter away. With that out of the way, King John asks the Bastard what else is going on. The Bastard reveals that he encountered Lord Bigot and the Earl of Salisbury on their way to find the grave of Arthur. King John orders the Bastard to go meet up with them and try to bring them back around to his side. With France invading England, he needs all the help he can get. John tells the messenger who just came from France to go with the Bastard. Now Hubert comes back into the room. Hubert tells King John that Arthur's death has got people freaked out throughout all of England. King John starts blaming Hubert for Arthur's death. Hubert's not having it--he reminds John that he's the one who ordered him to do it. Hmm. Is it just us, or does this remind you of what goes down in another Shakespearean history play, Richard II? Remember how Henry IV orders the execution of Richard II and then freaks out and denies it when the deed is done ? After listening to more griping from King John, Hubert finally interrupts and explains that actually, Arthur isn't really dead. Well, hooray. King John is overjoyed. He tells Hubert to hurry after the noblemen who are looking for Arthur's grave. King John hopes that once Hubert reveals the truth that Arthur is alive, the noblemen will come back to his side.


prompt:
Chapter: SCENE 3.

The same. Before the castle.

[Enter ARTHUR, on the Walls.]

ARTHUR.
The wall is high, and yet will I leap down:--
Good ground, be pitiful and hurt me not!--
There's few or none do know me: if they did,
This ship-boy's semblance hath disguis'd me quite.
I am afraid; and yet I'll venture it.
If I get down, and do not break my limbs,
I'll find a thousand shifts to get away:
As good to die and go, as die and stay.

[Leaps down.]

O me! my uncle's spirit is in these stones:--
Heaven take my soul, and England keep my bones!

[Dies.]

[Enter PEMBROKE, SALISBURY, and BIGOT.]

SALISBURY.
Lords, I will meet him at Saint Edmunds-Bury;
It is our safety, and we must embrace
This gentle offer of the perilous time.

PEMBROKE.
Who brought that letter from the cardinal?

SALISBURY.
The Count Melun, a noble lord of France,
Whose private with me of the Dauphin's love
Is much more general than these lines import.

BIGOT.
To-morrow morning let us meet him then.

SALISBURY.
Or rather then set forward; for 'twill be
Two long days' journey, lords, or e'er we meet.

[Enter the BASTARD.]

BASTARD.
Once more to-day well met, distemper'd lords!
The king by me requests your presence straight.

SALISBURY.
The King hath dispossess'd himself of us.
We will not line his thin bestained cloak
With our pure honours, nor attend the foot
That leaves the print of blood where'er it walks.
Return and tell him so: we know the worst.

BASTARD.
Whate'er you think, good words, I think, were best.

SALISBURY.
Our griefs, and not our manners, reason now.

BASTARD.
But there is little reason in your grief;
Therefore 'twere reason you had manners now.

PEMBROKE.
Sir, sir, impatience hath his privilege.

BASTARD.
 'Tis true,--to hurt his master, no man else.

SALISBURY.
This is the prison:--what is he lies here?

[Seeing Arthur.]

PEMBROKE.
O death, made proud with pure and princely beauty!
The earth had not a hole to hide this deed.

SALISBURY.
Murder, as hating what himself hath done,
Doth lay it open to urge on revenge.

BIGOT.
Or, when he doom'd this beauty to a grave,
Found it too precious-princely for a grave.

SALISBURY.
Sir Richard, what think you? Have you beheld,
Or have you read or heard, or could you think?
Or do you almost think, although you see,
That you do see? could thought, without this object,
Form such another? This is the very top,
The height, the crest, or crest unto the crest,
Of murder's arms: this is the bloodiest shame,
The wildest savagery, the vilest stroke,
That ever wall-ey'd wrath or staring rage
Presented to the tears of soft remorse.

PEMBROKE.
All murders past do stand excus'd in this;
And this, so sole and so unmatchable,
Shall give a holiness, a purity,
To the yet unbegotten sin of times;
And prove a deadly bloodshed but a jest,
Exampled by this heinous spectacle.

BASTARD.
It is a damned and a bloody work;
The graceless action of a heavy hand,--
If that it be the work of any hand.

SALISBURY.
If that it be the work of any hand?--
We had a kind of light what would ensue.
It is the shameful work of Hubert's hand;
The practice and the purpose of the king:--
From whose obedience I forbid my soul,
Kneeling before this ruin of sweet life,
And breathing to his breathless excellence
The incense of a vow, a holy vow,
Never to taste the pleasures of the world,
Never to be infected with delight,
Nor conversant with ease and idleness,
Till I have set a glory to this hand,
By giving it the worship of revenge.

PEMBROKE. and BIGOT.
Our souls religiously confirm thy words.

[Enter HUBERT.]

HUBERT.
Lords, I am hot with haste in seeking you:
Arthur doth live; the king hath sent for you.

SALISBURY.
O, he is bold, and blushes not at death:--
Avaunt, thou hateful villain, get thee gone!

HUBERT.
I am no villain.

SALISBURY.
Must I rob the law?

[Drawing his sword.]

BASTARD.
Your sword is bright, sir; put it up again.

SALISBURY.
Not till I sheathe it in a murderer's skin.

HUBERT.
Stand back, Lord Salisbury,--stand back, I say;
By heaven, I think my sword's as sharp as yours:
I would not have you, lord, forget yourself,
Nor tempt the danger of my true defence;
Lest I, by marking of your rage, forget
Your worth, your greatness, and nobility.

BIGOT.
Out, dunghill! dar'st thou brave a nobleman?

HUBERT.
Not for my life: but yet I dare defend
My innocent life against an emperor.

SALISBURY.
Thou art a murderer.

HUBERT.
Do not prove me so;
Yet I am none: whose tongue soe'er speaks false,
Not truly speaks; who speaks not truly, lies.

PEMBROKE.
Cut him to pieces.

BASTARD.
Keep the peace, I say.

SALISBURY.
Stand by, or I shall gall you, Falconbridge.

BASTARD.
Thou wert better gall the devil, Salisbury:
If thou but frown on me, or stir thy foot,
Or teach thy hasty spleen to do me shame,
I'll strike thee dead. Put up thy sword betime:
Or I'll so maul you and your toasting-iron
That you shall think the devil is come from hell.

BIGOT.
What wilt thou do, renowned Falconbridge?
Second a villain and a murderer?

HUBERT.
Lord Bigot, I am none.

BIGOT.
Who kill'd this prince?

HUBERT.
 'Tis not an hour since I left him well:
I honour'd him, I lov'd him, and will weep
My date of life out for his sweet life's loss.

SALISBURY.
Trust not those cunning waters of his eyes,
For villainy is not without such rheum;
And he, long traded in it, makes it seem
Like rivers of remorse and innocency.
Away with me, all you whose souls abhor
Th' uncleanly savours of a slaughter-house;
For I am stifled with this smell of sin.

BIGOT.
Away toward Bury, to the Dauphin there!

PEMBROKE.
There tell the king he may inquire us out.

[Exeunt LORDS.]

BASTARD.
Here's a good world!--Knew you of this fair work?
Beyond the infinite and boundless reach
Of mercy, if thou didst this deed of death,
Art thou damn'd, Hubert.

HUBERT.
Do but hear me, sir.

BASTARD.
Ha! I'll tell thee what;
Thou'rt damn'd as black--nay, nothing is so black;
Thou art more deep damn'd than Prince Lucifer:
There is not yet so ugly a fiend of hell
As thou shalt be, if thou didst kill this child.

HUBERT.
Upon my soul,--

BASTARD.
If thou didst but consent
To this most cruel act, do but despair;
And if thou want'st a cord, the smallest thread
That ever spider twisted from her womb
Will serve to strangle thee; a rush will be a beam
To hang thee on; or wouldst thou drown thyself,
Put but a little water in a spoon
And it shall be as all the ocean,
Enough to stifle such a villain up.
I do suspect thee very grievously.

HUBERT.
If I in act, consent, or sin of thought,
Be guilty of the stealing that sweet breath
Which was embounded in this beauteous clay,
Let hell want pains enough to torture me!
I left him well.

BASTARD.
Go, bear him in thine arms.--
I am amaz'd, methinks, and lose my way
Among the thorns and dangers of this world.--
How easy dost thou take all England up!
From forth this morsel of dead royalty,
The life, the right, and truth of all this realm
Is fled to heaven; and England now is left
To tug and scamble, and to part by the teeth
The unow'd interest of proud-swelling state.
Now for the bare-pick'd bone of majesty
Doth dogged war bristle his angry crest,
And snarleth in the gentle eyes of peace:
Now powers from home and discontents at home
Meet in one line; and vast confusion waits,
As doth a raven on a sick-fallen beast,
The imminent decay of wrested pomp.
Now happy he whose cloak and cincture can
Hold out this tempest.--Bear away that child,
And follow me with speed: I'll to the king;
A thousand businesses are brief in hand,
And heaven itself doth frown upon the land.

[Exeunt.]

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

completion: This scene opens high on the walls of the castle where Arthur is imprisoned. In fact, Arthur is at the top of the wall. Huh? What's he doing there? In a soliloquy, Arthur explains that he's going to make a run for it. He figures that he's dead meat if he stays where he is; even though he might die by falling from the wall, he thinks it's worth risking it. Arthur jumps--and gets knocked silly. He regains consciousness just long enough to say a brief prayer for his soul. Then he dies. Just then, in walk the noblemen who were looking for Arthur: Pembroke, Salisbury, and Lord Bigot. They don't notice Arthur. We find out these English noblemen are secretly in cahoots with Louis the Dauphin , against King John. Then the Bastard shows up. He tries to get a hearing from the noblemen, but they want nothing to do with him. They think King John is a murderer and don't want to give their loyalty to him again. Then Salisbury sees Arthur's dead body. The noblemen make a big show of their grief and anger. Finally, the Bastard manages to get a word in edgewise. He says that it's definitely a bad thing that all this has happened, but he points out that Arthur could have died by accident. Salisbury isn't buying it--he's pretty sure Arthur was murdered by King John. Salisbury and the other nobles kneel in front of Arthur's corpse and swear allegiance to it. Just now, Hubert, who seems to have a knack for being in the wrong place at the wrong time, walks in. Not only that, but the first words out of his mouth are: "Hey! So glad I ran into you! You can stop worrying, Arthur's alive!" Yeah, oops. As you might imagine, Salisbury is pretty outraged. In fact, he pulls out his sword and threatens to stab Hubert in the guts. The Bastard tries to calm Salisbury down, but he's pretty worked up. In the meantime, Hubert isn't budging an inch: he swears to defend himself. When it becomes clear that Hubert and the Bastard aren't backing down, Pembroke, Salisbury, and Lord Bigot head off to join Louis the Dauphin and his army. Now that they're alone, the Bastard says to Hubert, "Hey man, tell me the truth: did you do it? Because, if you did, you are definitely--and I mean definitely--going to suffer in hell for all eternity." Hubert says, "It wasn't me, I swear: I had nothing to do with it." The Bastard accepts Hubert's words. He tells Hubert to carry away the child's body. In the meantime, he plans to go see King John. Then the Bastard plans to help the king get ready to rumble with the rebellious English lords and the French invaders.


prompt:
Chapter: ACT V. SCENE 1.

Northampton. A Room in the Palace.

[Enter KING JOHN, PANDULPH with the crown, and Attendants.]

KING JOHN.
Thus have I yielded up into your hand
The circle of my glory.

PANDULPH.
[Give KING JOHN the crown.]
Take again
From this my hand, as holding of the pope,
Your sovereign greatness and authority.

KING JOHN.
Now keep your holy word: go meet the French;
And from his holiness use all your power
To stop their marches 'fore we are inflam'd.
Our discontented counties do revolt;
Our people quarrel with obedience;
Swearing allegiance and the love of soul
To stranger blood, to foreign royalty.
This inundation of mistemper'd humour
Rests by you only to be qualified.
Then pause not; for the present time's so sick
That present medicine must be ministr'd
Or overthrow incurable ensues.

PANDULPH.
It was my breath that blew this tempest up,
Upon your stubborn usage of the pope:
But since you are a gentle convertite,
My tongue shall hush again this storm of war
And make fair weather in your blustering land.
On this Ascension-day, remember well,
Upon your oath of service to the pope,
Go I to make the French lay down their arms.

[Exit.]

KING JOHN.
Is this Ascension-day? Did not the prophet
Say that before Ascension-day at noon
My crown I should give off? Even so I have:
I did suppose it should be on constraint;
But, heaven be thank'd, it is but voluntary.

[Enter the BASTARD.]

BASTARD.
All Kent hath yielded; nothing there holds out
But Dover Castle: London hath receiv'd,
Like a kind host, the Dauphin and his powers:
Your nobles will not hear you, but are gone
To offer service to your enemy;
And wild amazement hurries up and down
The little number of your doubtful friends.

KING JOHN.
Would not my lords return to me again
After they heard young Arthur was alive?

BASTARD.
They found him dead, and cast into the streets;
An empty casket, where the jewel of life
By some damn'd hand was robb'd and ta'en away.

KING JOHN.
That villain Hubert told me he did live.

BASTARD.
So, on my soul, he did, for aught he knew.
But wherefore do you droop? why look you sad?
Be great in act, as you have been in thought;
Let not the world see fear and sad distrust
Govern the motion of a kingly eye:
Be stirring as the time; be fire with fire;
Threaten the threatener, and outface the brow
Of bragging horror: so shall inferior eyes,
That borrow their behaviours from the great,
Grow great by your example, and put on
The dauntless spirit of resolution.
Away, and glister like the god of war
When he intendeth to become the field:
Show boldness and aspiring confidence.
What, shall they seek the lion in his den,
And fright him there? and make him tremble there?
O, let it not be said!--Forage, and run
To meet displeasure farther from the doors,
And grapple with him ere he come so nigh.

KING JOHN.
The legate of the pope hath been with me,
And I have made a happy peace with him;
And he hath promis'd to dismiss the powers
Led by the Dauphin.

BASTARD.
O inglorious league!
Shall we, upon the footing of our land,
Send fair-play orders, and make compromise,
Insinuation, parley, and base truce,
To arms invasive? shall a beardless boy,
A cocker'd silken wanton, brave our fields,
And flesh his spirit in a warlike soil,
Mocking the air with colours idly spread,
And find no check? Let us, my liege, to arms;
Perchance the cardinal cannot make your peace;
Or, if he do, let it at least be said
They saw we had a purpose of defence.

KING JOHN.
Have thou the ordering of this present time.

BASTARD.
Away, then, with good courage! yet, I know
Our party may well meet a prouder foe.

[Exeunt.]

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

completion: Welcome to the royal court of England. King John is kneeling before Pandolf. He gives his crown to Pandolf, who then gives it back to him. Okay. It looks like King John and the Pope are buddies again--but there's a catch. Now, officially, the Pope owns England; it just so happens that he's kind enough to let John keep ruling it. History Snack: Remember how we said back in Act 3, Scene 1 that King John and the Pope fought about who should get to be the Archbishop of Canterbury? That whole argument started in 1207. By the year 1213, it had become clear that John wasn't going to back down; thus, Pope Innocent III excommunicated King John, basically told his subjects that they didn't have to be loyal to him anymore, and put a bounty on his head. The Pope also threatened to get other European monarchs to go to war with England. All of this happened over a 6-year period but Shakespeare smooshes the events together so they'll fit in his 5-act play. Anyway, King John realized that he was no match for the Pope so, just like Shakespeare shows in his play, King John gave England to the Pope; from then on, he would rule it as the Pope's tenant. In the language of the day, this meant that he would hold England as a "fief." On top of that, King John had to make annual cash payments to the Pope. Bummer. Now back to the play. Once all this business of giving-the-crown-away-and-getting-it-back is done, King John says to Pandolf, "All right: I've lived up to my half of the bargain; now it's time for you to do your part. Help me get these darned rebels and Frenchmen off my back." In response, Pandolf says, "No worries. I'm the one who stirred up this trouble; it'll be easy enough for me to set things right again. Mark my words: on this very Ascension Day, I'll solve all your problems." Then Pandolf leaves. Once Pandolf is gone, King John starts saying to himself, "Ascension Day, Ascension Day... why does that ring a bell? Oh, I know! That's the day when that crazy man Peter of Pomfret said I'd give up my crown!" Then King John has an idea: "But--I just gave up my crown... and got it right back. Winning!" King John seems to have forgotten that he ordered Peter of Pomfret to be hanged on this day. Could there still be time to save the man's life? We'll never know, because just at that moment, John gets distracted by the Bastard walking on to the scene. The Bastard brings bad news: throughout the land, people are flocking to support the invading French and their allies, the rebel English noblemen. King John asks if the news that Arthur is still alive had the effect of calming people down. The Bastard replies that Arthur is dead. King John now thinks that Hubert betrayed him by telling him that Arthur was alive. The Bastard sticks up for Hubert, telling John that he doesn't think he did the deed. Then the Bastard tells John to stop being such a downer: if the people are going to fight on his behalf, he has to show them that he's a strong and powerful leader. King John responds by telling the Bastard how Pandolf has promised to set things in order again. The Bastard doesn't like the sounds of that; he considers such an alliance with the Pope dishonorable. The Bastard says that the English people should at least get an army ready, to show that they aren't total pushovers. King John says, "Fine. But you take care of it." The Bastard promises to do so. He and King John both leave the stage.


prompt:
Chapter: SCENE 2.

Near Saint Edmunds-bury. The French Camp.

[Enter, in arms, LOUIS, SALISBURY, MELUN, PEMBROKE, BIGOT, and
soldiers.]

LOUIS.
My Lord Melun, let this be copied out
And keep it safe for our remembrance:
Return the precedent to these lords again;
That, having our fair order written down,
Both they and we, perusing o'er these notes,
May know wherefore we took the sacrament,
And keep our faiths firm and inviolable.

SALISBURY.
Upon our sides it never shall be broken.
And, noble Dauphin, albeit we swear
A voluntary zeal and an unurg'd faith
To your proceedings; yet, believe me, prince,
I am not glad that such a sore of time
Should seek a plaster by contemn'd revolt,
And heal the inveterate canker of one wound
By making many. O, it grieves my soul
That I must draw this metal from my side
To be a widow-maker! O, and there
Where honourable rescue and defence
Cries out upon the name of Salisbury!
But such is the infection of the time,
That, for the health and physic of our right,
We cannot deal but with the very hand
Of stern injustice and confused wrong.--
And is't not pity, O my grieved friends!
That we, the sons and children of this isle,
Were born to see so sad an hour as this;
Wherein we step after a stranger-march
Upon her gentle bosom, and fill up
Her enemies' ranks--I must withdraw and weep
Upon the spot of this enforc'd cause--
To grace the gentry of a land remote,
And follow unacquainted colours here?
What, here?--O nation, that thou couldst remove!
That Neptune's arms, who clippeth thee about,
Would bear thee from the knowledge of thyself,
And grapple thee unto a pagan shore,
Where these two Christian armies might combine
The blood of malice in a vein of league,
And not to spend it so unneighbourly!

LOUIS.
A noble temper dost thou show in this;
And great affections wrestling in thy bosom
Doth make an earthquake of nobility.
O, what a noble combat hast thou fought
Between compulsion and a brave respect!
Let me wipe off this honourable dew
That silverly doth progress on thy cheeks:
My heart hath melted at a lady's tears,
Being an ordinary inundation;
But this effusion of such manly drops,
This shower, blown up by tempest of the soul,
Startles mine eyes and makes me more amaz'd
Than had I seen the vaulty top of heaven
Figur'd quite o'er with burning meteors.
Lift up thy brow, renowned Salisbury,
And with a great heart heave away this storm:
Commend these waters to those baby eyes
That never saw the giant world enrag'd,
Nor met with fortune other than at feasts,
Full of warm blood, of mirth, of gossiping.
Come, come; for thou shalt thrust thy hand as deep
Into the purse of rich prosperity
As Louis himself:--so, nobles, shall you all,
That knit your sinews to the strength of mine.--
And even there, methinks, an angel spake:
Look, where the holy legate comes apace,
To give us warrant from the hand of heaven
And on our actions set the name of right
With holy breath.

[Enter PANDULPH, attended.]

PANDULPH.
Hail, noble prince of France!
The next is this,--King John hath reconcil'd
Himself to Rome; his spirit is come in,
That so stood out against the holy church,
The great metropolis and see of Rome:
Therefore thy threatening colours now wind up,
And tame the savage spirit of wild war,
That, like a lion foster'd up at hand,
It may lie gently at the foot of peace
And be no further harmful than in show.

LOUIS.
Your grace shall pardon me, I will not back:
I am too high-born to be propertied,
To be a secondary at control,
Or useful serving-man and instrument
To any sovereign state throughout the world.
Your breath first kindled the dead coal of wars
Between this chastis'd kingdom and myself,
And brought in matter that should feed this fire;
And now 'tis far too huge to be blown out
With that same weak wind which enkindled it.
You taught me how to know the face of right,
Acquainted me with interest to this land,
Yea, thrust this enterprise into my heart;
And come ye now to tell me John hath made
His peace with Rome? What is that peace to me?
I, by the honour of my marriage-bed,
After young Arthur, claim this land for mine;
And, now it is half-conquer'd, must I back
Because that John hath made his peace with Rome?
Am I Rome's slave? What penny hath Rome borne,
What men provided, what munition sent,
To underprop this action? Is't not I
That undergo this charge? Who else but I,
And such as to my claim are liable,
Sweat in this business and maintain this war?
Have I not heard these islanders shout out,
'Vive le roi!' as I have bank'd their towns?
Have I not here the best cards for the game,
To will this easy match, play'd for a crown?
And shall I now give o'er the yielded set?
No, no, on my soul, it never shall be said.

PANDULPH.
You look but on the outside of this work.

LOUIS.
Outside or inside, I will not return
Till my attempt so much be glorified
As to my ample hope was promised
Before I drew this gallant head of war,
And cull'd these fiery spirits from the world,
To outlook conquest, and to will renown
Even in the jaws of danger and of death.--

[Trumpet sounds.]

What lusty trumpet thus doth summon us?

[Enter the BASTARD, attended.]

BASTARD.
According to the fair play of the world,
Let me have audience; I am sent to speak:--
My holy lord of Milan, from the king
I come, to learn how you have dealt for him;
And, as you answer, I do know the scope
And warrant limited unto my tongue.

PANDULPH.
The Dauphin is too wilful-opposite,
And will not temporize with my entreaties;
He flatly says he'll not lay down his arms.

BASTARD.
By all the blood that ever fury breath'd,
The youth says well.--Now hear our English king;
For thus his royalty doth speak in me.
He is prepar'd; and reason too he should:
This apish and unmannerly approach,
This harness'd masque and unadvised revel
This unhair'd sauciness and boyish troops,
The king doth smile at; and is well prepar'd
To whip this dwarfish war, these pigmy arms,
From out the circle of his territories.
That hand which had the strength, even at your door,
To cudgel you, and make you take the hatch;
To dive, like buckets, in concealed wells;
To crouch in litter of your stable planks;
To lie, like pawns, lock'd up in chests and trunks;
To hug with swine; to seek sweet safety out
In vaults and prisons; and to thrill and shake
Even at the crying of your nation's crow,
Thinking this voice an armed Englishman;--
Shall that victorious hand be feebled here
That in your chambers gave you chastisement?
No: know the gallant monarch is in arms
And like an eagle o'er his aery towers
To souse annoyance that comes near his nest.--
And you degenerate, you ingrate revolts,
You bloody Neroes, ripping up the womb
Of your dear mother England, blush for shame;
For your own ladies and pale-visag'd maids,
Like Amazons, come tripping after drums,--
Their thimbles into armed gauntlets chang'd,
Their needles to lances, and their gentle hearts
To fierce and bloody inclination.

LOUIS.
There end thy brave, and turn thy face in peace;
We grant thou canst outscold us: fare thee well;
We hold our time too precious to be spent
With such a brabbler.

PANDULPH.
Give me leave to speak.

BASTARD.
No, I will speak.

LOUIS.
We will attend to neither.--
Strike up the drums; and let the tongue of war,
Plead for our interest and our being here.

BASTARD.
Indeed, your drums, being beaten, will cry out;
And so shall you, being beaten: do but start
And echo with the clamour of thy drum,
And even at hand a drum is ready brac'd
That shall reverberate all as loud as thine:
Sound but another, and another shall,
As loud as thine, rattle the welkin's ear,
And mock the deep-mouth'd thunder: for at hand,--
Not trusting to this halting legate here,
Whom he hath us'd rather for sport than need,--
Is warlike John; and in his forehead sits
A bare-ribb'd death, whose office is this day
To feast upon whole thousands of the French.

LOUIS.
Strike up our drums, to find this danger out.

BASTARD.
And thou shalt find it, Dauphin, do not doubt.

[Exeunt.]

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

completion: In St. Edmundsbury, England, Louis the Dauphin and his posse talk turkey. Louis is holding a piece of paper, a contract that has been signed by the French and English allies. The contract pledges their loyalty to each other, and their promise to fight against King John. Even though he has sworn loyalty to Louis and his cause, Salisbury isn't happy about it. Salisbury cries and gives a long speech about how bad he feels for being a traitor to King John. Louis tells him that it's okay; he totally respects Salisbury's feelings. Then there's a tender moment in which the Dauphin 1) wipes a "manly" tear from Salisbury's eye, 2) tells Salisbury how brave he is, and then 3) gently reminds Salisbury that crying is for babies. After the male bonding is over, Louis also promises that they will be able to get lots of plunder out of all of this. Just then, in walks Pandolf. Louis thinks this is a good sign: now he and his allies can get the Pope's blessing for their military expedition. But it turns out that Pandolf has come to put an end to the party. He tells everyone that King John is buddies with the Pope again, so they'd better call off their expedition. Louis is having none of it. He says that events have taken on their own momentum; Pandolf doesn't have the power to stop them now. Anyhow, he says, he paid for this military expedition himself, not the Pope. So the Church should just butt out. At this moment, the Bastard shows up. He asks Pandolf how things are going with his whole stopping-the-invasion-in-its-tracks thing. Pandolf says he's had no luck. The Bastard takes this as his cue: he makes a long speech threatening various horrible things in case the French invaders and English rebels don't turn back. Louis doesn't think much of this speech. Pandolf and the Bastard each try to make a last statement, but Louis tells them both that he won't listen. He tells his drummers to start beating a military march. The Bastard makes some more threats; then everybody heads off to their own people.


prompt:
Chapter: SCENE 3.

The same. The Field of Battle.

[Alarums. Enter KING JOHN and HUBERT.]

KING JOHN.
How goes the day with us? O, tell me, Hubert.

HUBERT.
Badly, I fear. How fares your majesty?

KING JOHN.
This fever that hath troubled me so long
Lies heavy on me;--O, my heart is sick!

[Enter a MESSENGER.]

MESSENGER.
My lord, your valiant kinsman, Falconbridge,
Desires your majesty to leave the field
And send him word by me which way you go.

KING JOHN.
Tell him, toward Swinstead, to the abbey there.

MESSENGER.
Be of good comfort; for the great supply
That was expected by the Dauphin here
Are wreck'd three nights ago on Goodwin Sands.
This news was brought to Richard but even now:
The French fight coldly, and retire themselves.

KING JOHN.
Ay me! this tyrant fever burns me up
And will not let me welcome this good news.--
Set on toward Swinstead: to my litter straight;
Weakness possesseth me, and I am faint.

[Exeunt.]

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

completion: When the scene opens, the battle is raging between King John's forces and those of Louis and the rebelling English noblemen. King John and Hubert come on stage. King John asks how things are going. Hubert says not well. He asks how King John is doing. John says that he's feeling a little sick. Just then, a messenger comes in, telling King John that the Bastard wants him to leave the battlefield and find someplace safe to hide out. King John says that he will be going to the abbey at the nearby town of Swinstead. The messenger tells King John to cheer up: some ships bringing supplies for Louis have run aground on a sandbar. He says that the tide of battle is turning against the French. King John continues to complain about his fever. Everybody leaves the stage.


prompt:
Chapter: SCENE 4.

The same. Another part of the same.

[Enter SALISBURY, PEMBROKE, and others.]

SALISBURY.
I did not think the king so stor'd with friends.

PEMBROKE.
Up once again; put spirit in the French;
If they miscarry, we miscarry too.

SALISBURY.
That misbegotten devil, Falconbridge,
In spite of spite, alone upholds the day.

PEMBROKE.
They say King John, sore sick, hath left the field.

[Enter MELUN wounded, and led by Soldiers.]

MELUN.
Lead me to the revolts of England here.

SALISBURY.
When we were happy we had other names.

PEMBROKE.
It is the Count Melun.

SALISBURY.
Wounded to death.

MELUN.
Fly, noble English, you are bought and sold;
Unthread the rude eye of rebellion,
And welcome home again discarded faith.
Seek out King John, and fall before his feet;
For if the French be lords of this loud day,
He means to recompense the pains you take
By cutting off your heads: thus hath he sworn,
And I with him, and many more with me,
Upon the altar at Saint Edmunds-bury;
Even on that altar where we swore to you
Dear amity and everlasting love.

SALISBURY.
May this be possible? may this be true?

MELUN.
Have I not hideous death within my view,
Retaining but a quantity of life,
Which bleeds away even as a form of wax
Resolveth from his figure 'gainst the fire?
What in the world should make me now deceive,
Since I must lose the use of all deceit?
Why should I then be false, since it is true
That I must die here, and live hence by truth?
I say again, if Louis do will the day,
He is forsworn if e'er those eyes of yours
Behold another day break in the east:
But even this night,--whose black contagious breath
Already smokes about the burning crest
Of the old, feeble, and day-wearied sun,--
Even this ill night, your breathing shall expire;
Paying the fine of rated treachery
Even with a treacherous fine of all your lives,
If Louis by your assistance win the day.
Commend me to one Hubert, with your king;
The love of him,--and this respect besides,
For that my grandsire was an Englishman,--
Awakes my conscience to confess all this.
In lieu whereof, I pray you, bear me hence
From forth the noise and rumour of the field,
Where I may think the remnant of my thoughts
In peace, and part this body and my soul
With contemplation and devout desires.

SALISBURY.
We do believe thee:--and beshrew my soul
But I do love the favour and the form
Of this most fair occasion, by the which
We will untread the steps of damned flight;
And like a bated and retired flood,
Leaving our rankness and irregular course,
Stoop low within those bounds we have o'erlook'd,
And calmly run on in obedience
Even to our ocean, to our great King John.--
My arm shall give thee help to bear thee hence;
For I do see the cruel pangs of death
Right in thine eye.--Away, my friends! New flight,
And happy newness, that intends old right.

[Exeunt, leading off MELUN.]

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

completion: Salisbury, Pembroke, and Lord Bigot come onstage. The battle is still raging. The dudes can't believe that King John's forces are still standing strong. That said, they thinks it's awesome that King John had to leave the battle with a doctor's note. Just then, in comes the French Count Melun, who's trying to hold his guts so they don't fall out of his body. Melun tells the English lords to abandon their rebellion and swear allegiance to King John once more, because if the French and the rebels defeat King John, Louis the Dauphin plans to have all his English allies beheaded. At first, Salisbury can't believe him. But then Melun explains that he is about to die, anyway, and he'll get a better reward in heaven by telling the truth now than by keeping mum. Anyway, he explains, his grandfather was English, so he has some sympathy for them. Salisbury definitely doesn't want to get his head lopped off, so he decides to believe Melun. Salisbury and the other English nobles leave the stage, taking Melun with them.


prompt:
Chapter: SCENE 5.

The same. The French camp.

[Enter LEWIS and his train.]

LOUIS.
The sun of heaven, methought, was loath to set,
But stay'd, and made the western welkin blush,
When the English measur'd backward their own ground
In faint retire. O, bravely came we off,
When with a volley of our needless shot,
After such bloody toil, we bid good night;
And wound our tattrring colours clearly up,
Last in the field, and almost lords of it!

[Enter a MESSENGER.]

MESSENGER.
Where is my prince, the Dauphin?

LOUIS.
Here:--what news?

MESSENGER.
The Count Melun is slain; the English lords
By his persuasion are again falln off:
And your supply, which you have wish'd so long,
Are cast away and sunk on Goodwin Sands.

LOUIS.
Ah, foul shrewd news!--beshrew thy very heart!--
I did not think to be so sad to-night
As this hath made me.--Who was he that said
King John did fly an hour or two before
The stumbling night did part our weary powers?

MESSENGER.
Whoever spoke it, it is true, my lord.

LOUIS.
Keep good quarter and good care to-night;
The day shall not be up so soon as I,
To try the fair adventure of to-morrow.

[Exeunt.]

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

completion: Louis the Dauphin is alone on stage. Louis says that the sun has just set, and the English are hightailing it off the battlefield. Looks like things are going okay for the French. A messenger runs in and is all, "OMG, Count Melun is totally dead! Plus, all your English allies have betrayed you, and a bunch of our ships just sank!" Louis takes the news pretty well, all things considered. He swears to get up early the next morning to see what the day will bring him.


prompt:
Chapter: SCENE 6.

An open place in the neighborhood of Swinstead Abbey.

[Enter the BASTARD and HUBERT, meeting.]

HUBERT.
Who's there? speak, ho! speak quickly, or I shoot.

BASTARD.
A friend.--What art thou?

HUBERT.
Of the part of England.

BASTARD.
Whither dost thou go?

HUBERT.
What's that to thee? Why may I not demand
Of thine affairs, as well as thou of mine?

BASTARD.
Hubert, I think.

HUBERT.
Thou hast a perfect thought:
I will, upon all hazards, well believe
Thou art my friend that know'st my tongue so well.
Who art thou?

BASTARD.
Who thou wilt: and if thou please,
Thou mayst befriend me so much as to think
I come one way of the Plantagenets.

HUBERT.
Unkind remembrance! thou and eyeless night
Have done me shame:--brave soldier, pardon me,
That any accent breaking from thy tongue
Should scape the true acquaintance of mine ear.

BASTARD.
Come, come; sans compliment, what news abroad?

HUBERT.
Why, here walk I, in the black brow of night,
To find you out.

BASTARD.
Brief, then; and what's the news?

HUBERT.
O, my sweet sir, news fitting to the night,
Black, fearful, comfortless, and horrible.

BASTARD.
Show me the very wound of this ill news;
I am no woman, I'll not swoon at it.

HUBERT.
The king, I fear, is poison'd by a monk:
I left him almost speechless and broke out
To acquaint you with this evil, that you might
The better arm you to the sudden time,
Than if you had at leisure known of this.

BASTARD.
How did he take it; who did taste to him?

HUBERT.
A monk, I tell you; a resolved villain,
Whose bowels suddenly burst out: the king
Yet speaks, and peradventure may recover.

BASTARD.
Who didst thou leave to tend his majesty?

HUBERT.
Why, know you not? The lords are all come back,
And brought Prince Henry in their company;
At whose request the king hath pardon'd them,
And they are all about his majesty.

BASTARD.
Withhold thine indignation, mighty heaven,
And tempt us not to bear above our power!--
I'll tell thee, Hubert, half my power this night,
Passing these flats, are taken by the tide,--
These Lincoln washes have devoured them;
Myself, well-mounted, hardly have escap'd.
Away, before! conduct me to the king;
I doubt he will be dead or ere I come.

[Exeunt.]

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

completion: Welcome to the neighborhood of Swinstead Abbey, where King John is totally hiding out. The Bastard and Hubert enter the scene from opposite directions. They don't recognize each other in the dark. They're all, "Who's there?" and, "Speak quickly, or I'll shoot!" Eventually, the Bastard recognizes Hubert by his voice and reveals his own identity. Hubert's a little embarrassed that he didn't recognize the Bastard. But then the Bastard says, "Don't worry about it. So tell me, what's happening?" Hubert is all, " King John has totally been poisoned by a monk!" Then Hubert makes it sound like this same monk was also the King's taster, and he died when his own poison made his "bowels suddenly burst out." The Bastard asks who's guarding the king now. Hubert tells him about how Salisbury, Pembroke, and Bigot are back on King John's side. King John's son, Prince Henry, is also with them. Hubert explains that Prince Henry is the one who got his father to forgive the rebel lords. The Bastard says, "A lot of weird stuff has been happening. For example, when I was on my way here with a bunch of soldiers, nearly all of them were drowned by the tide. I barely escaped myself; luckily, I had a good horse." The Bastard demands to see the king.


prompt:
Chapter: SCENE 7.

The orchard of Swinstead Abbey.

[Enter PRINCE HENRY, SALISBURY, and BIGOT.]

PRINCE HENRY.
It is too late: the life of all his blood
Is touch'd corruptibly, and his pure brain,--
Which some suppose the soul's frail dwelling-house,--
Doth, by the idle comments that it makes,
Foretell the ending of mortality.

[Enter PEMBROKE.]

PEMBROKE.
His Highness yet doth speak; and holds belief
That, being brought into the open air,
It would allay the burning quality
Of that fell poison which assaileth him.

PRINCE HENRY.
Let him be brought into the orchard here.--
Doth he still rage?

[Exit BIGOT.]

PEMBROKE.
He is more patient
Than when you left him; even now he sung.

PRINCE HENRY.
O vanity of sickness! fierce extremes
In their continuance will not feel themselves.
Death, having prey'd upon the outward parts,
Leaves them invisible; and his siege is now
Against the mind, the which he pricks and wounds
With many legions of strange fantasies,
Which, in their throng and press to that last hold,
Confound themselves. 'Tis strange that death should sing.--
I am the cygnet to this pale faint swan,
Who chants a doleful hymn to his own death;
And from the organ-pipe of frailty sings
His soul and body to their lasting rest.

SALISBURY.
Be of good comfort, prince; for you are born
To set a form upon that indigest
Which he hath left so shapeless and so rude.

[Re-enter BIGOT and Attendants, who bring in KING JOHN in a
chair.]

KING JOHN.
Ay, marry, now my soul hath elbow-room;
It would not out at windows nor at doors.
There is so hot a summer in my bosom
That all my bowels crumble up to dust;
I am a scribbled form, drawn with a pen,
Upon a parchment; and against this fire
Do I shrink up.

PRINCE HENRY.
How fares your majesty?

KING JOHN.
Poison'd,--ill-fare;--dead, forsook, cast off;
And none of you will bid the winter come,
To thrust his icy fingers in my maw;
Nor let my kingdom's rivers take their course
Through my burn'd bosom; nor entreat the north
To make his bleak winds kiss my parched lips,
And comfort me with cold:--I do not ask you much;
I beg cold comfort; and you are so strait,
And so ingrateful, you deny me that.

PRINCE HENRY.
O, that there were some virtue in my tears,
That might relieve you!

KING JOHN.
The salt in them is hot.--
Within me is a hell; and there the poison
Is, as a fiend, confin'd to tyrannize
On unreprievable condemned blood.

[Enter the BASTARD.]

BASTARD.
O, I am scalded with my violent motion
And spleen of speed to see your majesty!

KING JOHN.
O cousin, thou art come to set mine eye:
The tackle of my heart is crack'd and burn'd;
And all the shrouds, wherewith my life should sail,
Are turned to one thread, one little hair:
My heart hath one poor string to stay it by,
Which holds but till thy news be uttered;
And then all this thou seest is but a clod,
And module of confounded royalty.

BASTARD.
The Dauphin is preparing hitherward,
Where heaven he knows how we shall answer him;
For in a night the best part of my power,
As I upon advantage did remove,
Were in the washes all unwarily
Devoured by the unexpected flood.

[The KING dies.]

SALISBURY.
You breathe these dead news in as dead an ear.
My liege! my lord!--But now a king,--now thus.

PRINCE HENRY.
Even so must I run on, and even so stop.
What surety of the world, what hope, what stay,
When this was now a king, and now is clay?

BASTARD.
Art thou gone so? I do but stay behind
To do the office for thee of revenge,
And then my soul shall wait on thee to heaven,
As it on earth hath been thy servant still.--
Now, now, you stars that move in your right spheres,
Where be your powers? Show now your mended faiths;
And instantly return with me again,
To push destruction and perpetual shame
Out of the weak door of our fainting land.
Straight let us seek, or straight we shall be sought;
The Dauphin rages at our very heels.

SALISBURY.
It seems you know not, then, so much as we:
The Cardinal Pandulph is within at rest,
Who half an hour since came from the Dauphin,
And brings from him such offers of our peace
As we with honour and respect may take,
With purpose presently to leave this war.

BASTARD.
He will the rather do it when he sees
Ourselves well sinewed to our defence.

SALISBURY.
Nay, 'tis in a manner done already;
For many carriages he hath despatch'd
To the sea-side, and put his cause and quarrel
To the disposing of the cardinal:
With whom yourself, myself, and other lords,
If you think meet, this afternoon will post
To consummate this business happily.

BASTARD.
Let it be so:--And you, my noble prince,
With other princes that may best be spar'd,
Shall wait upon your father's funeral.

PRINCE HENRY.
At Worcester must his body be interr'd;
For so he will'd it.

BASTARD.
Thither shall it, then:
And happily may your sweet self put on
The lineal state and glory of the land!
To whom, with all submission, on my knee,
I do bequeath my faithful services
And true subjection everlastingly.

SALISBURY.
And the like tender of our love we make,
To rest without a spot for evermore.

PRINCE HENRY.
I have a kind soul that would give you thanks,
And knows not how to do it but with tears.

BASTARD.
O, let us pay the time but needful woe,
Since it hath been beforehand with our griefs.--
This England never did, nor never shall,
Lie at the proud foot of a conqueror,
But when it first did help to wound itself.
Now these her princes are come home again,
Come the three corners of the world in arms,
And we shall shock them: nought shall make us rue,
If England to itself do rest but true.

[Exeunt.]

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

completion: The scene opens in an orchard at Swinstead Abbey. Prince Henry, Salisbury, and Lord Bigot come onstage first. Prince Henry tells us that his old man isn't doing so well: the poison has gone throughout his whole body, and his brain has been affected. Pembroke says that King John can still talk and suggests bringing him into the orchard. Hey, maybe all the fruit trees will make him feel better? Pembroke tells us that the king has been acting a little loopy. Just moments ago, he was singing. This makes Prince Henry reflect on the nature of sickness in general; according to him, death first attacks the body, then the mind. Right now, we're seeing the last stages of the king's illness. At this point, Lord Bigot and some other attendants come in, carrying King John in a chair. King John complains about the horrible pain he's in; he wants to die as quickly as possible. He complains that nothing can get rid of the burning sensation that is tormenting him. Now the Bastard comes in. The Bastard warns them all that Louis the Dauphin is on his way there. He doesn't know how they will resist him, seeing as most of his men got drowned by the tide on the way there. Just then, King John dies. Salisbury and Prince Henry can't believe that a guy can be a king one moment, and a corpse the next. The Bastard says, "True that. But what I'm most worried about is the army of Louis the Dauphin, which is on its way here to give us all a royal thumping." But then Salisbury says, "Hey, calm down. Don't you know? Cardinal Pandolf is inside--he just came to us with a message from Louis, who says he quits. There's no more war." Salisbury explains that Louis is already on his way to the coast to head back to France. Prince Henry starts planning his dad's funeral. He says he going to Worcester, because that's where King John wanted to be buried. The Bastard thinks this is a good idea. He swears his loyalty to Prince Henry; Salisbury does the same. Prince Henry tries to thank them, but he is all choked up with tears. The Bastard ends the play by making a patriotic speech saying that England only came this close to being conquered because the country was divided against itself. So long as England remains unified, he says, no one will be able to conquer it. That's it. What? You're not satisfied? Go to "What's Up With the Ending?" if you want more.


prompt:
Chapter: ACT I. SCENE 1.

Northampton. A Room of State in the Palace.

[Enter KING JOHN, QUEEN ELINOR, PEMBROKE, ESSEX, SALISBURY, and
others, with CHATILLON.]

KING JOHN.
Now, say, Chatillon, what would France with us?

CHATILLON.
Thus, after greeting, speaks the King of France,
In my behaviour, to the majesty,
The borrow'd majesty of England here.

ELINOR.
A strange beginning:--borrow'd majesty!

KING JOHN.
Silence, good mother; hear the embassy.

CHATILLON.
Philip of France, in right and true behalf
Of thy deceased brother Geffrey's son,
Arthur Plantagenet, lays most lawful claim
To this fair island and the territories,--
To Ireland, Poictiers, Anjou, Touraine, Maine;
Desiring thee to lay aside the sword
Which sways usurpingly these several titles,
And put the same into young Arthur's hand,
Thy nephew and right royal sovereign.

KING JOHN.
What follows if we disallow of this?

CHATILLON.
The proud control of fierce and bloody war,
To enforce these rights so forcibly withheld.

KING JOHN.
Here have we war for war, and blood for blood,
Controlment for controlment;--so answer France.

CHATILLON.
Then take my king's defiance from my mouth,
The farthest limit of my embassy.

KING JOHN.
Bear mine to him, and so depart in peace:
Be thou as lightning in the eyes of France;
For ere thou canst report I will be there,
The thunder of my cannon shall be heard:
So, hence! Be thou the trumpet of our wrath,
And sullen presage of your own decay.--
An honourable conduct let him have:--
Pembroke, look to 't. Farewell, Chatillon.

[Exeunt CHATILLON and PEMBROKE.]

ELINOR.
What now, my son! Have I not ever said
How that ambitious Constance would not cease
Till she had kindled France and all the world
Upon the right and party of her son?
This might have been prevented and made whole
With very easy arguments of love;
Which now the manage of two kingdoms must
With fearful bloody issue arbitrate.

KING JOHN.
Our strong possession and our right for us.

ELINOR.
Your strong possession much more than your right,
Or else it must go wrong with you and me:
So much my conscience whispers in your ear,
Which none but heaven and you and I shall hear.

[Enter the Sheriff of Northamptonshire, who whispers to Essex.]

ESSEX.
My liege, here is the strangest controversy,
Come from the country to be judg'd by you,
That e'er I heard: shall I produce the men?

KING JOHN.
Let them approach.--

[Exit SHERIFF.]

Our abbeys and our priories shall pay
This expedition's charge.

[Re-enter Sheriff, with ROBERT FAULCONBRIDGE and PHILIP, his
bastard Brother.]

What men are you?

BASTARD.
Your faithful subject I, a gentleman
Born in Northamptonshire, and eldest son,
As I suppose, to Robert Falconbridge,--
A soldier by the honour-giving hand
Of Coeur-de-lion knighted in the field.

KING JOHN.
What art thou?

ROBERT.
The son and heir to that same Falconbridge.

KING JOHN.
Is that the elder, and art thou the heir?
You came not of one mother then, it seems.

BASTARD.
Most certain of one mother, mighty king,--
That is well known; and, as I think, one father:
But for the certain knowledge of that truth
I put you o'er to heaven and to my mother:--
Of that I doubt, as all men's children may.

ELINOR.
Out on thee, rude man! thou dost shame thy mother,
And wound her honour with this diffidence.

BASTARD.
I, madam? no, I have no reason for it,--
That is my brother's plea, and none of mine;
The which if he can prove, 'a pops me out
At least from fair five hundred pound a-year:
Heaven guard my mother's honour and my land!

KING JOHN.
A good blunt fellow.--Why, being younger born,
Doth he lay claim to thine inheritance?

BASTARD.
I know not why, except to get the land.
But once he slander'd me with bastardy:
But whe'er I be as true begot or no,
That still I lay upon my mother's head;
But that I am as well begot, my liege,--
Fair fall the bones that took the pains for me!--
Compare our faces and be judge yourself.
If old Sir Robert did beget us both,
And were our father, and this son like him,--
O old Sir Robert, father, on my knee
I give heaven thanks I was not like to thee!

KING JOHN.
Why, what a madcap hath heaven lent us here!

ELINOR.
He hath a trick of Coeur-de-lion's face;
The accent of his tongue affecteth him:
Do you not read some tokens of my son
In the large composition of this man?

KING JOHN.
Mine eye hath well examined his parts,
And finds them perfect Richard.--Sirrah, speak,
What doth move you to claim your brother's land?

BASTARD.
Because he hath a half-face, like my father;
With half that face would he have all my land:
A half-fac'd groat five hundred pound a-year!

ROBERT.
My gracious liege, when that my father liv'd,
Your brother did employ my father much,--

BASTARD.
Well, sir, by this you cannot get my land:
Your tale must be how he employ'd my mother.

ROBERT.
And once despatch'd him in an embassy
To Germany, there with the emperor
To treat of high affairs touching that time.
The advantage of his absence took the King,
And in the meantime sojourn'd at my father's;
Where how he did prevail I shame to speak,--
But truth is truth: large lengths of seas and shores
Between my father and my mother lay,--
As I have heard my father speak himself,--
When this same lusty gentleman was got.
Upon his death-bed he by will bequeath'd
His lands to me; and took it, on his death,
That this, my mother's son, was none of his;
And if he were, he came into the world
Full fourteen weeks before the course of time.
Then, good my liege, let me have what is mine,
My father's land, as was my father's will.

KING JOHN.
Sirrah, your brother is legitimate;
Your father's wife did after wedlock bear him;
And if she did play false, the fault was hers;
Which fault lies on the hazards of all husbands
That marry wives. Tell me, how if my brother,
Who, as you say, took pains to get this son,
Had of your father claim'd this son for his?
In sooth, good friend, your father might have kept
This calf, bred from his cow, from all the world;
In sooth, he might; then, if he were my brother's,
My brother might not claim him; nor your father,
Being none of his, refuse him. This concludes,--
My mother's son did get your father's heir;
Your father's heir must have your father's land.

ROBERT.
Shall then my father's will be of no force
To dispossess that child which is not his?

BASTARD.
Of no more force to dispossess me, sir,
Than was his will to get me, as I think.

ELINOR.
Whether hadst thou rather be a Falconbridge,
And like thy brother, to enjoy thy land,
Or the reputed son of Coeur-de-lion,
Lord of thy presence and no land beside?

BASTARD.
Madam, an if my brother had my shape
And I had his, Sir Robert's his, like him;
And if my legs were two such riding-rods,
My arms such eel-skins stuff'd, my face so thin
That in mine ear I durst not stick a rose
Lest men should say 'Look where three-farthings goes!'
And, to his shape, were heir to all this land,
Would I might never stir from off this place,
I would give it every foot to have this face;
I would not be Sir Nob in any case.

ELINOR.
I like thee well: wilt thou forsake thy fortune,
Bequeath thy land to him, and follow me?
I am a soldier, and now bound to France.

BASTARD.
Brother, take you my land, I'll take my chance:
Your face hath got five hundred pound a-year;
Yet sell your face for fivepence and 'tis dear.--
Madam, I'll follow you unto the death.

ELINOR.
Nay, I would have you go before me thither.

BASTARD.
Our country manners give our betters way.

KING JOHN.
What is thy name?

BASTARD.
Philip, my liege, so is my name begun;
Philip, good old Sir Robert's wife's eldest son.

KING JOHN.
From henceforth bear his name whose form thou bear'st:
Kneel thou down Philip, but rise more great,--
Arise Sir Richard and Plantagenet.

BASTARD.
Brother by the mother's side, give me your hand:
My father gave me honour, yours gave land.--
Now blessed be the hour, by night or day,
When I was got, Sir Robert was away!

ELINOR.
The very spirit of Plantagenet!--
I am thy grandam, Richard; call me so.

BASTARD.
Madam, by chance, but not by truth; what though?
Something about, a little from the right,
  In at the window, or else o'er the hatch;
Who dares not stir by day must walk by night;
  And have is have, however men do catch:
Near or far off, well won is still well shot;
And I am I, howe'er I was begot.

KING JOHN.
Go, Falconbridge; now hast thou thy desire:
A landless knight makes thee a landed squire.--
Come, madam,--and come, Richard; we must speed
For France, for France, for it is more than need.

BASTARD.
Brother, adieu. Good fortune come to thee!
For thou wast got i' th' way of honesty.

[Exeunt all but the BASTARD.]

A foot of honour better than I was;
But many a many foot of land the worse.
Well, now can I make any Joan a lady:--
'Good den, Sir Richard:'--'God-a-mercy, fellow:'--
And if his name be George, I'll call him Peter:
For new-made honour doth forget men's names:
'Tis too respective and too sociable
For your conversion. Now your traveller,--
He and his toothpick at my worship's mess;--
And when my knightly stomach is suffic'd,
Why then I suck my teeth, and catechize
My picked man of countries:--'My dear sir,'--
Thus leaning on mine elbow I begin,--
'I shall beseech you'--that is question now;
And then comes answer like an ABC-book:--
'O sir,' says answer 'at your best command;
At your employment; at your service, sir:'--
'No, sir,' says question 'I, sweet sir, at yours:
And so, ere answer knows what question would,--
Saving in dialogue of compliment,
And talking of the Alps and Apennines,
The Pyrenean and the river Po,--
It draws toward supper in conclusion so.
But this is worshipful society,
And fits the mounting spirit like myself:
For he is but a bastard to the time,
That doth not smack of observation,--
And so am I, whether I smack or no;
And not alone in habit and device,
Exterior form, outward accoutrement,
But from the inward motion to deliver
Sweet, sweet, sweet poison for the age's tooth;
Which, though I will not practise to deceive,
Yet, to avoid deceit, I mean to learn;
For it shall strew the footsteps of my rising.--
But who comes in such haste in riding-robes?
What woman-post is this? hath she no husband
That will take pains to blow a horn before her?

[Enter LADY FALCONBRIDGE, and JAMES GURNEY.]

O me, 'tis my mother!--w now, good lady!
What brings you here to court so hastily?

LADY FALCONBRIDGE.
Where is that slave, thy brother? where is he
That holds in chase mine honour up and down?

BASTARD.
My brother Robert? old Sir Robert's son?
Colbrand the giant, that same mighty man?
Is it Sir Robert's son that you seek so?

LADY FalcoNBRIDGE.
Sir Robert's son! Ay, thou unreverend boy,
Sir Robert's son: why scorn'st thou at Sir Robert?
He is Sir Robert's son, and so art thou.

BASTARD.
James Gurney, wilt thou give us leave awhile?

GURNEY.
Good leave, good Philip.

BASTARD.
Philip--sparrow!--James,
There's toys abroad:--anon I'll tell thee more.

[Exit GURNEY.]

Madam, I was not old Sir Robert's son;
Sir Robert might have eat his part in me
Upon Good-Friday, and ne'er broke his fast.
Sir Robert could do well: marry, to confess,
Could not get me; Sir Robert could not do it,--
We know his handiwork:--therefore, good mother,
To whom am I beholding for these limbs?
Sir Robert never holp to make this leg.

LADY FALCONBRIDGE.
Hast thou conspired with thy brother too,
That for thine own gain shouldst defend mine honour?
What means this scorn, thou most untoward knave?

BASTARD.
Knight, knight, good mother,--Basilisco-like;
What! I am dubb'd; I have it on my shoulder.
But, mother, I am not Sir Robert's son:
I have disclaim'd Sir Robert and my land;
Legitimation, name, and all is gone:
Then, good my mother, let me know my father,--
Some proper man, I hope: who was it, mother?

LADY FalcoNBRIDGE.
Hast thou denied thyself a Falconbridge?

BASTARD.
As faithfully as I deny the devil.

LADY FALCONBRIDGE.
King Richard Coeur-de-lion was thy father:
By long and vehement suit I was seduc'd
To make room for him in my husband's bed:--
Heaven lay not my transgression to my charge!--
Thou art the issue of my dear offence,
Which was so strongly urg'd, past my defence.

BASTARD.
Now, by this light, were I to get again,
Madam, I would not wish a better father.
Some sins do bear their privilege on earth,
And so doth yours; your fault was not your folly:
Needs must you lay your heart at his dispose,--
Subjected tribute to commanding love,--
Against whose fury and unmatched force
The aweless lion could not wage the fight
Nor keep his princely heart from Richard's hand:
He that perforce robs lions of their hearts
May easily win a woman's. Ay, my mother,
With all my heart I thank thee for my father!
Who lives and dares but say, thou didst not well
When I was got, I'll send his soul to hell.
Come, lady, I will show thee to my kin;
  And they shall say when Richard me begot,
If thou hadst said him nay, it had been sin:
  Who says it was, he lies; I say 'twas not.

[Exeunt.]

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

completion: King John enters his court with his mother, Queen Eleanor, the lords Pembroke, Essex, and Salisbury, and the French messenger Chatillon. John asks what messenger what he has to report. Chatillon says that the French King Philip speaks on behalf of John's elder brother's son Arthur, and he declares Arthur's legal claim to the throne of England and its Irish and French territories. Philip asks John to abdicate in favor of Arthur, and Chatillon insinuates that if John refuses France will declare war on England. John urges Chatillon to hasten back to France under threat of violence from England; he adamantly refuses to give up the throne. Eleanor says that Arthur's mother, Constance, must be behind this development and that she expected that Constance would stir up such trouble. John says his strong possession of the throne will aid him in future conflicts, and Eleanor agrees, though she hints that his right to the throne may be questionable. A sheriff enters leading two men who want to present a strange conflict. Falconbridge and Philip the Bastard enter. The Bastard explains that he is the eldest son of the deceased Robert Falconbridge. Falconbridge explains that he is the second son of that same Robert Falconbridge and claims to be his legitimate heir. The Bastard suggests that he and his brother had different fathers, but Eleanor scolds him for speaking so ill of his mother. It's his brother's fault, he explains, because his brother lays claim to the inheritance, declaring him to be a bastard. John asks Falconbridge why he makes such claims. Falconbridge explains that his father was away in Germany for a long time, while the former king, Richard the Lionhearted, stayed at his father's estate. His father was convinced that the Bastard was not his son and on his deathbed willed his lands to his younger son. John points out that the elder Falconbridge raised the Bastard as his son, thereby accepting him as his eldest son; a wife's sons become the husband's heirs, legally. Therefore whether or not he is Richard the Lionhearted's son, he is the elder Falconbridge's heir. Falconbridge asks if his father's will is not enough to prove his father's desire to keep the lands from the Bastard. Eleanor interrupts and asks the Bastard if he would rather claim his name as the bastard son of Richard the Lionhearted, without land, or be a Falconbridge and enjoy his property. The Bastard notes that he doesn't look anything like the elder Falconbridge, so no one would believe he was the Falconbridge heir. Eleanor, impressed with the Bastard, asks him if he would rather give his land to his brother and follow her in an attack on France. The Bastard quickly agrees. John knights the Bastard, renaming him Sir Richard Plantagenet. Everyone departs except for the Bastard, who contemplates his change of fortune. Now a knight, he expects his ambition will flourish. Flattery will aid his ascent, he believes, but he must beware of deceitful flattery. Then Lady Falconbridge and her attendant enter; she seeks Robert Falconbridge, the Bastard's brother, to scold him for dragging her reputation through the mud. The Bastard announces that he is not her husband's son and demands to know who his real father is. She asks him if he has conspired with his brother to scandalize her. He says he has given up the Falconbridge title and lands. She says that his father was Richard the Lionhearted, who seduced her when her husband was away. The Bastard assures her that he doesn't think she sinned, for he could not wish to have a better father. He promises her that he will fight with anyone who says she sinned in giving birth to him.