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: Arthur stands on the walls of the castle in disguise. He decides he will jump off the wall in order to escape. No one will recognize the body if he dies, he decides, and it is as good to die in England as to escape. He jumps and dies. Salisbury and Pembroke enter with Lord Bigot. The lords discuss their imminent meeting with Louis. The Bastard enters to speak on behalf of King John. Salisbury tells him to return to the king with news that they no longer honor him. They exchange barbed comments, until Salisbury sees Arthur's body. Each of the lords is horrified to see what they believe John has ordered and have a hard time imagining the vile nature of one who would order a young man killed in such a manner. Hubert enters and announces his message from the king: Arthur is alive! Salisbury angrily accuses him of being a murderer and draws his sword. The Bastard tries to keep the peace, and Bigot demands to know who killed Arthur. Hubert says he had last seen him alive but a short while ago. The lords don't believe him and depart to join the Dauphin's forces. The Bastard tells Hubert that he will certainly be damned if he knew of the plan to kill Arthur thus. Hubert insists Arthur was alive when he left him. The Bastard tells Hubert to carry the body away and ruminates that he can't tell what is the truth. How easily Hubert can lift and carry the hopes of England! Much confusion awaits, now that the king must do battle with the foreign army and with his own turned lords. They rush off to the king.


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.]

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.]

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: King John hands his crown ceremoniously over to Pandolf. Representing the authority of the pope, Pandolf returns the crown to John, signifying that John now rules at the permission of the pope. John urges Pandolf to keep his end of the bargain to convince the French to give up their attack. Pandolf departs. The Bastard enters to report the success of the French offensive. The French have won the countryside and are now in London, having been aided by John's nobles. John marvels that his nobles didn't return after Arthur was reported alive, but the Bastard reveals that Arthur was found dead. John falters, but the Bastard urges him to be strong and resolved in the face of these problems, and to be observed to be unshakable. But John reports that he has made a deal with Pandolf. The Bastard is upset to hear of this alliance and urges the king to fight. John permits the Bastard to take command of his forces. Louis the Dauphin marches with Salisbury, Pembroke, Lord Bigot, and the French Count Melun. Louis orders the agreement with the English lords to be written down for posterity. Salisbury assures Louis that they won't break with him, despite the strange fact that he and other sons of England have come to march with England's enemy. He pauses to weep for his nation and wishes he could escape having to witness two armies combine on its soil. Louis compliments Salisbury on his noble sentiments and urges him onward to a successful fight. Pandolf enters, announces that John has reconciled with Rome, and orders Louis to withdraw his army. Louis refuses, saying he is too high-born to be ordered about or used as a tool by any other power. Pandolf urged on the war, he says, but now it is too big to be smothered. He evokes Arthur, reminding Pandolf that he takes up Arthur's claim to the throne, and won't back down just because John has made peace with Rome. He's not Rome's slave, he insists. The Bastard enters and asks to speak to Louis. Speaking for John, the Bastard declares that John has prepared an army that will thoroughly destroy France's tiny force, and he tells the English nobles that even their wives have joined the English force. Louis calls for the attack, and the Bastard threatens Louis with the death that John's armies shall mete out. John and Hubert meet on the battlefield. John is distraught at the battle. A messenger enters and reports that Louis's expected reinforcements have been wrecked at sea. Feeling weak, the king departs to meet the Bastard.


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.]

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.]

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.]

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: Salisbury, Pembroke, and Bigot meet on the field, astonished that King John's forces have proven to be so powerful. Count Melun, a French nobleman, enters; he is wounded, and he urges the English lords to turn back from the path of their rebellion and seek out John to plead for his mercy. Melun reports that if the French win that day, Louis has ordered the English lords to be beheaded. The English are astonished, but Melun insists that he is telling the truth; he will die soon and has no reason to deceive them. Salisbury believes Melun and thanks him. He urges his companions to return to John. Louis enters, remarking on the strength of the English army. A messenger arrives to report the death of Melun, the departure of the English lords, and the sinking of his army of reinforcements. Louis is dismayed at the news; with his reinforcements annihilated, his chances of victory are now very slim indeed. Hubert and the Bastard encounter each other in the darkness. Hubert reports that the king has been poisoned by a monk. He adds that the English lords have returned to John, bringing his son Prince Henry. The Bastard replies that he has lost his men, who were drowned in the rising tide on the flatlands that night. He asks Hubert to escort him to the king's side. Prince Henry discusses his father's health with Salisbury and Bigot. Pembroke reports that John can still speak. Henry mourns the fact that his father's mind has been destroyed by the sickness, even while his body still seems in good health. John is brought in, babbling. He tells Henry that he has been poisoned. The Bastard arrives, and he reports that Louis approaches unimpeded because the Bastard's forces have drowned. King John dies. Henry marvels at the transitive nature of the world, where what was once a king can become a meaningless pile of dust. The Bastard swears to avenge the king's death, and turning to the lords, orders them to assemble their forces to help repel the French from their land. Salisbury reports that Pandolf recently visited them with an offer of peace from the Dauphin. The Bastard wants to attack anyway, but Salisbury says the peace has been agreed upon. They discuss John's burial, and the Bastard swears to serve Henry. The other lords follow suit. The Bastard speaks of the suffering they have endured and comments that England has never been in danger of being conquered, except when it was divided against itself. Now that the lords have returned to the allegiance of their English king, England is strong again. Nothing can weaken England if its citizens remain loyal, he says.


prompt:
Chapter: ACT I. SCENE 1.

Westminster Abbey

Dead March. Enter the funeral of KING HENRY THE FIFTH,
attended on by the DUKE OF BEDFORD, Regent of France,
the DUKE OF GLOUCESTER, Protector, the DUKE OF EXETER,
the EARL OF WARWICK, the BISHOP OF WINCHESTER

  BEDFORD. Hung be the heavens with black, yield day to
    night! Comets, importing change of times and states,
    Brandish your crystal tresses in the sky
    And with them scourge the bad revolting stars
    That have consented unto Henry's death!
    King Henry the Fifth, too famous to live long!
    England ne'er lost a king of so much worth.
  GLOUCESTER. England ne'er had a king until his time.
    Virtue he had, deserving to command;
    His brandish'd sword did blind men with his beams;
    His arms spread wider than a dragon's wings;
    His sparkling eyes, replete with wrathful fire,
    More dazzled and drove back his enemies
    Than mid-day sun fierce bent against their faces.
    What should I say? His deeds exceed all speech:
    He ne'er lift up his hand but conquered.
  EXETER. We mourn in black; why mourn we not in blood?
    Henry is dead and never shall revive.
    Upon a wooden coffin we attend;
    And death's dishonourable victory
    We with our stately presence glorify,
    Like captives bound to a triumphant car.
    What! shall we curse the planets of mishap
    That plotted thus our glory's overthrow?
    Or shall we think the subtle-witted French
    Conjurers and sorcerers, that, afraid of him,
    By magic verses have contriv'd his end?
  WINCHESTER. He was a king bless'd of the King of kings;
    Unto the French the dreadful judgment-day
    So dreadful will not be as was his sight.
    The battles of the Lord of Hosts he fought;
    The Church's prayers made him so prosperous.
  GLOUCESTER. The Church! Where is it? Had not churchmen
    pray'd,
    His thread of life had not so soon decay'd.
    None do you like but an effeminate prince,
    Whom like a school-boy you may overawe.
  WINCHESTER. Gloucester, whate'er we like, thou art
    Protector
    And lookest to command the Prince and realm.
    Thy wife is proud; she holdeth thee in awe
    More than God or religious churchmen may.
  GLOUCESTER. Name not religion, for thou lov'st the flesh;
    And ne'er throughout the year to church thou go'st,
    Except it be to pray against thy foes.
  BEDFORD. Cease, cease these jars and rest your minds in peace;
    Let's to the altar. Heralds, wait on us.
    Instead of gold, we'll offer up our arms,
    Since arms avail not, now that Henry's dead.
    Posterity, await for wretched years,
    When at their mothers' moist'ned eyes babes shall suck,
    Our isle be made a nourish of salt tears,
    And none but women left to wail the dead.
    Henry the Fifth, thy ghost I invocate:
    Prosper this realm, keep it from civil broils,
    Combat with adverse planets in the heavens.
    A far more glorious star thy soul will make
    Than Julius Caesar or bright

                          Enter a MESSENGER

  MESSENGER. My honourable lords, health to you all!
    Sad tidings bring I to you out of France,
    Of loss, of slaughter, and discomfiture:
    Guienne, Champagne, Rheims, Orleans,
    Paris, Guysors, Poictiers, are all quite lost.
  BEDFORD. What say'st thou, man, before dead Henry's corse?
    Speak softly, or the loss of those great towns
    Will make him burst his lead and rise from death.
  GLOUCESTER. Is Paris lost? Is Rouen yielded up?
    If Henry were recall'd to life again,
    These news would cause him once more yield the ghost.
  EXETER. How were they lost? What treachery was us'd?
  MESSENGER. No treachery, but want of men and money.
    Amongst the soldiers this is muttered
    That here you maintain several factions;
    And whilst a field should be dispatch'd and fought,
    You are disputing of your generals:
    One would have ling'ring wars, with little cost;
    Another would fly swift, but wanteth wings;
    A third thinks, without expense at all,
    By guileful fair words peace may be obtain'd.
    Awake, awake, English nobility!
    Let not sloth dim your honours, new-begot.
    Cropp'd are the flower-de-luces in your arms;
    Of England's coat one half is cut away.
  EXETER. Were our tears wanting to this funeral,
    These tidings would call forth their flowing tides.
  BEDFORD. Me they concern; Regent I am of France.
    Give me my steeled coat; I'll fight for France.
    Away with these disgraceful wailing robes!
    Wounds will I lend the French instead of eyes,
    To weep their intermissive miseries.

                   Enter a second MESSENGER

  SECOND MESSENGER. Lords, view these letters full of bad
    mischance.
    France is revolted from the English quite,
    Except some petty towns of no import.
    The Dauphin Charles is crowned king in Rheims;
    The Bastard of Orleans with him is join'd;
    Reignier, Duke of Anjou, doth take his part;
    The Duke of Alencon flieth to his side.
  EXETER. The Dauphin crowned king! all fly to him!
    O, whither shall we fly from this reproach?
  GLOUCESTER. We will not fly but to our enemies' throats.
    Bedford, if thou be slack I'll fight it out.
  BEDFORD. Gloucester, why doubt'st thou of my forwardness?
    An army have I muster'd in my thoughts,
    Wherewith already France is overrun.

                   Enter a third MESSENGER

  THIRD MESSENGER. My gracious lords, to add to your
    laments,
    Wherewith you now bedew King Henry's hearse,
    I must inform you of a dismal fight
    Betwixt the stout Lord Talbot and the French.
  WINCHESTER. What! Wherein Talbot overcame? Is't so?
  THIRD MESSENGER. O, no; wherein Lord Talbot was
    o'erthrown.
    The circumstance I'll tell you more at large.
    The tenth of August last this dreadful lord,
    Retiring from the siege of Orleans,
    Having full scarce six thousand in his troop,
    By three and twenty thousand of the French
    Was round encompassed and set upon.
    No leisure had he to enrank his men;
    He wanted pikes to set before his archers;
    Instead whereof sharp stakes pluck'd out of hedges
    They pitched in the ground confusedly
    To keep the horsemen off from breaking in.
    More than three hours the fight continued;
    Where valiant Talbot, above human thought,
    Enacted wonders with his sword and lance:
    Hundreds he sent to hell, and none durst stand him;
    Here, there, and everywhere, enrag'd he slew
    The French exclaim'd the devil was in arms;
    All the whole army stood agaz'd on him.
    His soldiers, spying his undaunted spirit,
    'A Talbot! a Talbot!' cried out amain,
    And rush'd into the bowels of the battle.
    Here had the conquest fully been seal'd up
    If Sir John Fastolfe had not play'd the coward.
    He, being in the vaward plac'd behind
    With purpose to relieve and follow them-
    Cowardly fled, not having struck one stroke;
    Hence grew the general wreck and massacre.
    Enclosed were they with their enemies.
    A base Walloon, to win the Dauphin's grace,
    Thrust Talbot with a spear into the back;
    Whom all France, with their chief assembled strength,
    Durst not presume to look once in the face.
  BEDFORD. Is Talbot slain? Then I will slay myself,
    For living idly here in pomp and ease,
    Whilst such a worthy leader, wanting aid,
    Unto his dastard foemen is betray'd.
  THIRD MESSENGER. O no, he lives, but is took prisoner,
    And Lord Scales with him, and Lord Hungerford;
    Most of the rest slaughter'd or took likewise.
  BEDFORD. His ransom there is none but I shall pay.
    I'll hale the Dauphin headlong from his throne;
    His crown shall be the ransom of my friend;
    Four of their lords I'll change for one of ours.
    Farewell, my masters; to my task will I;
    Bonfires in France forthwith I am to make
    To keep our great Saint George's feast withal.
    Ten thousand soldiers with me I will take,
    Whose bloody deeds shall make an Europe quake.
  THIRD MESSENGER. So you had need; for Orleans is besieg'd;
    The English army is grown weak and faint;
    The Earl of Salisbury craveth supply
    And hardly keeps his men from mutiny,
    Since they, so few, watch such a multitude.
  EXETER. Remember, lords, your oaths to Henry sworn,
    Either to quell the Dauphin utterly,
    Or bring him in obedience to your yoke.
  BEDFORD. I do remember it, and here take my leave
    To go about my preparation.                             Exit
  GLOUCESTER. I'll to the Tower with all the haste I can
    To view th' artillery and munition;
    And then I will proclaim young Henry king.              Exit
  EXETER. To Eltham will I, where the young King is,
    Being ordain'd his special governor;
    And for his safety there I'll best devise.              Exit
  WINCHESTER.  [Aside]  Each hath his place and function to
    attend:
    I am left out; for me nothing remains.
    But long I will not be Jack out of office.
    The King from Eltham I intend to steal,
    And sit at chiefest stern of public weal.             Exeunt

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

completion: It's sad when a play ends with a funeral, but it's seriously ominous when it starts with one. And that's just what happens here. News not bad enough yet? It's the funeral of Henry V, one of England's greatest military heroes and the leader it needs--he conquered France a while back and has been regarded as a major hero since. And oh, his son is a baby and won't be able to rule for years. While the English nobles are mourning, a messenger arrives from France to say that the French have rebelled and many of the English lands and towns there have been lost through "want of men and money" and likely through the disunity of the English noblemen. Gee, it would be a good time for a strong leader, wouldn't it? Gloucester and Winchester, two members of the English nobility, have a spat as well, just the beginning of a long series of conflicts they have throughout the play. We learn that Gloucester is Lord Protector, which means dude's basically running England until Henry VI is old enough to act as king. Bedford announces he will go to fight in France. A second messenger from France arrives. By now it's probably clear that it's not going to be good news, the way you just know the Millenium Falcon is going to have hyperdrive troubles not long into The Empire Strikes Back. And sure enough, the crown prince of France has been declared king and has every intention of ruling France on his own, with no help from England. Gloucester and Bedford plan to fight the French. A third messenger arrives. You know the drill: It's bad news. The third messenger says that the English leader Talbot has been taken prisoner. He fought boldly, but didn't have enough men or supplies and was also betrayed by the cowardice of Sir John Fastolfe. The nobles are demoralized, but at least they have a plan: They decide to fight against France and declare Henry VI King. Even though he's a baby, they'll totally rally around him and try to make things work. Winchester complains that he hasn't been give a job. He feels left out and threatens to kidnap the young king from his current home and use him to gain power. There's no evidence that he actually does this, but it's a tipoff that he's a prime candidate for spending most of the play jockeying for power and quarrelling with Gloucester.


prompt:
Chapter: SCENE 2.

                  France. Before Orleans

      Sound a flourish. Enter CHARLES THE DAUPHIN, ALENCON,
           and REIGNIER, marching with drum and soldiers

  CHARLES. Mars his true moving, even as in the heavens
    So in the earth, to this day is not known.
    Late did he shine upon the English side;
    Now we are victors, upon us he smiles.
    What towns of any moment but we have?
    At pleasure here we lie near Orleans;
    Otherwhiles the famish'd English, like pale ghosts,
    Faintly besiege us one hour in a month.
  ALENCON. They want their porridge and their fat bull
    beeves.
    Either they must be dieted like mules
    And have their provender tied to their mouths,
    Or piteous they will look, like drowned mice.
  REIGNIER. Let's raise the siege. Why live we idly here?
    Talbot is taken, whom we wont to fear;
    Remaineth none but mad-brain'd Salisbury,
    And he may well in fretting spend his gall
    Nor men nor money hath he to make war.
  CHARLES. Sound, sound alarum; we will rush on them.
    Now for the honour of the forlorn French!
    Him I forgive my death that killeth me,
    When he sees me go back one foot or flee.             Exeunt

       Here alarum. They are beaten back by the English, with
         great loss. Re-enter CHARLES, ALENCON, and REIGNIER

  CHARLES. Who ever saw the like? What men have I!
    Dogs! cowards! dastards! I would ne'er have fled
    But that they left me midst my enemies.
  REIGNIER. Salisbury is a desperate homicide;
    He fighteth as one weary of his life.
    The other lords, like lions wanting food,
    Do rush upon us as their hungry prey.
  ALENCON. Froissart, a countryman of ours, records
    England all Olivers and Rowlands bred
    During the time Edward the Third did reign.
    More truly now may this be verified;
    For none but Samsons and Goliases
    It sendeth forth to skirmish. One to ten!
    Lean raw-bon'd rascals! Who would e'er suppose
    They had such courage and audacity?
  CHARLES. Let's leave this town; for they are hare-brain'd
    slaves,
    And hunger will enforce them to be more eager.
    Of old I know them; rather with their teeth
    The walls they'll tear down than forsake the siege.
  REIGNIER. I think by some odd gimmers or device
    Their arms are set, like clocks, still to strike on;
    Else ne'er could they hold out so as they do.
    By my consent, we'll even let them alone.
  ALENCON. Be it so.

                   Enter the BASTARD OF ORLEANS

  BASTARD. Where's the Prince Dauphin? I have news for him.
  CHARLES. Bastard of Orleans, thrice welcome to us.
  BASTARD. Methinks your looks are sad, your cheer appall'd.
    Hath the late overthrow wrought this offence?
    Be not dismay'd, for succour is at hand.
    A holy maid hither with me I bring,
    Which, by a vision sent to her from heaven,
    Ordained is to raise this tedious siege
    And drive the English forth the bounds of France.
    The spirit of deep prophecy she hath,
    Exceeding the nine sibyls of old Rome:
    What's past and what's to come she can descry.
    Speak, shall I call her in? Believe my words,
    For they are certain and unfallible.
  CHARLES. Go, call her in.                       [Exit BASTARD]
    But first, to try her skill,
    Reignier, stand thou as Dauphin in my place;
    Question her proudly; let thy looks be stern;
    By this means shall we sound what skill she hath.

                  Re-enter the BASTARD OF ORLEANS with
                          JOAN LA PUCELLE

  REIGNIER. Fair maid, is 't thou wilt do these wondrous feats?
  PUCELLE. Reignier, is 't thou that thinkest to beguile me?
    Where is the Dauphin? Come, come from behind;
    I know thee well, though never seen before.
    Be not amaz'd, there's nothing hid from me.
    In private will I talk with thee apart.
    Stand back, you lords, and give us leave awhile.
  REIGNIER. She takes upon her bravely at first dash.
  PUCELLE. Dauphin, I am by birth a shepherd's daughter,
    My wit untrain'd in any kind of art.
    Heaven and our Lady gracious hath it pleas'd
    To shine on my contemptible estate.
    Lo, whilst I waited on my tender lambs
    And to sun's parching heat display'd my cheeks,
    God's Mother deigned to appear to me,
    And in a vision full of majesty
    Will'd me to leave my base vocation
    And free my country from calamity
    Her aid she promis'd and assur'd success.
    In complete glory she reveal'd herself;
    And whereas I was black and swart before,
    With those clear rays which she infus'd on me
    That beauty am I bless'd with which you may see.
    Ask me what question thou canst possible,
    And I will answer unpremeditated.
    My courage try by combat if thou dar'st,
    And thou shalt find that I exceed my sex.
    Resolve on this: thou shalt be fortunate
    If thou receive me for thy warlike mate.
  CHARLES. Thou hast astonish'd me with thy high terms.
    Only this proof I'll of thy valour make
    In single combat thou shalt buckle with me;
    And if thou vanquishest, thy words are true;
    Otherwise I renounce all confidence.
  PUCELLE. I am prepar'd; here is my keen-edg'd sword,
    Deck'd with five flower-de-luces on each side,
    The which at Touraine, in Saint Katherine's churchyard,
    Out of a great deal of old iron I chose forth.
  CHARLES. Then come, o' God's name; I fear no woman.
  PUCELLE. And while I live I'll ne'er fly from a man.
                 [Here they fight and JOAN LA PUCELLE overcomes]
  CHARLES. Stay, stay thy hands; thou art an Amazon,
    And fightest with the sword of Deborah.
  PUCELLE. Christ's Mother helps me, else I were too weak.
  CHARLES. Whoe'er helps thee, 'tis thou that must help me.
    Impatiently I burn with thy desire;
    My heart and hands thou hast at once subdu'd.
    Excellent Pucelle, if thy name be so,
    Let me thy servant and not sovereign be.
    'Tis the French Dauphin sueth to thee thus.
  PUCELLE. I must not yield to any rites of love,
    For my profession's sacred from above.
    When I have chased all thy foes from hence,
    Then will I think upon a recompense.
  CHARLES. Meantime look gracious on thy prostrate thrall.
  REIGNIER. My lord, methinks, is very long in talk.
  ALENCON. Doubtless he shrives this woman to her smock;
    Else ne'er could he so long protract his speech.
  REIGNIER. Shall we disturb him, since he keeps no mean?
  ALENCON. He may mean more than we poor men do know;
    These women are shrewd tempters with their tongues.
  REIGNIER. My lord, where are you? What devise you on?
    Shall we give o'er Orleans, or no?
  PUCELLE. Why, no, I say; distrustful recreants!
    Fight till the last gasp; I will be your guard.
  CHARLES. What she says I'll confirm; we'll fight it out.
  PUCELLE. Assign'd am I to be the English scourge.
    This night the siege assuredly I'll raise.
    Expect Saint Martin's summer, halcyon days,
    Since I have entered into these wars.
    Glory is like a circle in the water,
    Which never ceaseth to enlarge itself
    Till by broad spreading it disperse to nought.
    With Henry's death the English circle ends;
    Dispersed are the glories it included.
    Now am I like that proud insulting ship
    Which Caesar and his fortune bare at once.
  CHARLES. Was Mahomet inspired with a dove?
    Thou with an eagle art inspired then.
    Helen, the mother of great Constantine,
    Nor yet Saint Philip's daughters were like thee.
    Bright star of Venus, fall'n down on the earth,
    How may I reverently worship thee enough?
  ALENCON. Leave off delays, and let us raise the siege.
  REIGNIER. Woman, do what thou canst to save our honours;
    Drive them from Orleans, and be immortaliz'd.
  CHARLES. Presently we'll try. Come, let's away about it.
    No prophet will I trust if she prove false.           Exeunt

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

completion: Here we bounce over to France, as we can tell by the entrance of the crown prince . He announces that the war is going well for the French and that they have all the most significant towns in the war again. Naturally he's pretty pleased about this. The French attack the English at Orleans and lose badly; they marvel that the English can fight so hard when they seem to be at a disadvantage. Sounds like the English are as scary as Darth Maul. The French even threaten to stop fighting because the English are so fierce. Then the Bastard of Orleans announces he has found Joan Puzel , and she can help the French because she is holy and has seen visions saying she's ordained to drive the English out. The Bastard claims Joan can see the past and future, so the Dauphin tests Joan's skill in prophecy by having someone else pretend to be him. She passes the test. Then she explains that she saw a vision of the Virgin Mary, who told her to help the French armies. Just in case, Charles also tests Joan by fighting hand to hand. He is amazed at her skill. It's like fighting Qui-Gon Jin or something. And guess what? She attributes her skills to the Virgin Mary. Dauphin asks Joan for a romantic relationship in exaggerated terms of courtly love, and she declines based on her calling to be a prophet and leader, though there's some hint she might be open to the idea later, or at least to some form of reward. As they wait for the French king and Joan, the other nobles hint that there may be a flirtation or some sort of sexual encounter going on. Joan comes out and incites them to war. The Dauphin pours on more exaggerated courtly praise invoking religious and classical precedents, and everyone enthusiastically agrees to fight the English again. It feels like The Return of the Jedi in here.


prompt:
Chapter: SCENE 3.

                London. Before the Tower gates

       Enter the DUKE OF GLOUCESTER, with his serving-men
                       in blue coats

  GLOUCESTER. I am come to survey the Tower this day;
    Since Henry's death, I fear, there is conveyance.
    Where be these warders that they wait not here?
    Open the gates; 'tis Gloucester that calls.
  FIRST WARDER.  [Within]  Who's there that knocks so
    imperiously?
  FIRST SERVING-MAN. It is the noble Duke of Gloucester.
  SECOND WARDER.  [Within]  Whoe'er he be, you may not be
    let in.
  FIRST SERVING-MAN. Villains, answer you so the Lord
    Protector?
  FIRST WARDER.  [Within]  The Lord protect him! so we
    answer him.
    We do no otherwise than we are will'd.
  GLOUCESTER. Who willed you, or whose will stands but
    mine?
    There's none Protector of the realm but I.
    Break up the gates, I'll be your warrantize.
    Shall I be flouted thus by dunghill grooms?
                  [GLOUCESTER'S men rush at the Tower gates, and
                         WOODVILLE the Lieutenant speaks within]
  WOODVILLE.  [Within]  What noise is this? What traitors
    have we here?
  GLOUCESTER. Lieutenant, is it you whose voice I hear?
    Open the gates; here's Gloucester that would enter.
  WOODVILLE.  [Within]  Have patience, noble Duke, I may
    not open;
    The Cardinal of Winchester forbids.
    From him I have express commandment
    That thou nor none of thine shall be let in.
  GLOUCESTER. Faint-hearted Woodville, prizest him fore me?
    Arrogant Winchester, that haughty prelate
    Whom Henry, our late sovereign, ne'er could brook!
    Thou art no friend to God or to the King.
    Open the gates, or I'll shut thee out shortly.
  SERVING-MEN. Open the gates unto the Lord Protector,
    Or we'll burst them open, if that you come not quickly.

       Enter to the PROTECTOR at the Tower gates WINCHESTER
                   and his men in tawny coats

  WINCHESTER. How now, ambitious Humphry! What means
    this?
  GLOUCESTER. Peel'd priest, dost thou command me to be
    shut out?
  WINCHESTER. I do, thou most usurping proditor,
    And not Protector of the King or realm.
  GLOUCESTER. Stand back, thou manifest conspirator,
    Thou that contrived'st to murder our dead lord;
    Thou that giv'st whores indulgences to sin.
    I'll canvass thee in thy broad cardinal's hat,
    If thou proceed in this thy insolence.
  WINCHESTER. Nay, stand thou back; I will not budge a foot.
    This be Damascus; be thou cursed Cain,
    To slay thy brother Abel, if thou wilt.
  GLOUCESTER. I will not slay thee, but I'll drive thee back.
    Thy scarlet robes as a child's bearing-cloth
    I'll use to carry thee out of this place.
  WINCHESTER. Do what thou dar'st; I beard thee to thy face.
  GLOUCESTER. What! am I dar'd and bearded to my face?
    Draw, men, for all this privileged place
    Blue-coats to tawny-coats. Priest, beware your beard;
    I mean to tug it, and to cuff you soundly;
    Under my feet I stamp thy cardinal's hat;
    In spite of Pope or dignities of church,
    Here by the cheeks I'll drag thee up and down.
  WINCHESTER. Gloucester, thou wilt answer this before the
    Pope.
  GLOUCESTER. Winchester goose! I cry 'A rope, a rope!'
    Now beat them hence; why do you let them stay?
    Thee I'll chase hence, thou wolf in sheep's array.
    Out, tawny-coats! Out, scarlet hypocrite!

         Here GLOUCESTER'S men beat out the CARDINAL'S
        men; and enter in the hurly burly the MAYOR OF
                  LONDON and his OFFICERS

  MAYOR. Fie, lords! that you, being supreme magistrates,
    Thus contumeliously should break the peace!
  GLOUCESTER. Peace, Mayor! thou know'st little of my wrongs:
    Here's Beaufort, that regards nor God nor King,
    Hath here distrain'd the Tower to his use.
  WINCHESTER. Here's Gloucester, a foe to citizens;
    One that still motions war and never peace,
    O'ercharging your free purses with large fines;
    That seeks to overthrow religion,
    Because he is Protector of the realm,
    And would have armour here out of the Tower,
    To crown himself King and suppress the Prince.
  GLOUCESTER. I will not answer thee with words, but blows.
                                      [Here they skirmish again]
  MAYOR. Nought rests for me in this tumultuous strife
    But to make open proclamation.
    Come, officer, as loud as e'er thou canst,
    Cry.
  OFFICER.  [Cries]  All manner of men assembled here in arms
    this day against God's peace and the King's, we charge
    and command you, in his Highness' name, to repair to
    your several dwelling-places; and not to wear, handle, or
    use, any sword, weapon, or dagger, henceforward, upon
    pain of death.
  GLOUCESTER. Cardinal, I'll be no breaker of the law;
    But we shall meet and break our minds at large.
  WINCHESTER. Gloucester, we'll meet to thy cost, be sure;
    Thy heart-blood I will have for this day's work.
  MAYOR. I'll call for clubs if you will not away.
    This Cardinal's more haughty than the devil.
  GLOUCESTER. Mayor, farewell; thou dost but what thou
    mayst.
  WINCHESTER. Abominable Gloucester, guard thy head,
    For I intend to have it ere long.
                    Exeunt, severally, GLOUCESTER and WINCHESTER
                                             with their servants
  MAYOR. See the coast clear'd, and then we will depart.
    Good God, these nobles should such stomachs bear!
    I myself fight not once in forty year.                Exeunt

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

completion: The Duke of Gloucester, Lord Protector of the realm tries to enter the Tower, afraid that things may have gone wrong there since Henry V's death. The warders refuse to let him in, saying they have orders not to. Gloucester is understandably annoyed by not being let in when he's basically running England, but when the guy in charge comes , he says that he has clear orders not to let Gloucester in. This is sort of like locking Dumbledore out of Hogwarts. Gloucester isn't quite as full of professor-ly charm as Dumbledore, but still. Worse yet, Woodville says it's Winchester who's ordered them to keep Gloucester out. As we know from the very first scene of the play, Gloucester and Winchester don't get along. Gloucester disses Winchester badly--he says Henry V never liked Winchester anyway, and that Woodville had better open the gates. Winchester turns up about now and starts things out by insulting Gloucester. How so? He calls him "ambitious." Now that sounds nice--ambition means you accomplish great things and get your homework done early, right? Well, not in the Renaissance, especially if you're a nobleman but not a king. People suspected ambition and thought an ambitious character might want to take over. Gloucester disses Winchester right back, and the insults get thick and fast. Winchester accuses Gloucester of usurping the King's power and betraying the kingdom, and Gloucester accuses Winchester of trying to murder Henry V way back when, among other things. The insults keep going until a fight breaks out, and Gloucester's men chase Winchester's men off. The Mayor of London comes and asks why they can't all just get along. Gloucester and Winchester tell him, at length. Gloucester complains that Winchester has no regard for God or King , and that he's taken over the Tower. Winchester rattles off a list of accusations against Gloucester: He keeps pushing for war, he asks for too much money, he wants to overthrow religion completely, and he wants to betray Henry VI and be king himself. Gloucester is ticked off by this list, unsurprisingly, especially since lots of it seems to be false. He says he'll answer with blows, and the fighting starts again. The Mayor gets one of his officers to make a loud proclamation, which basically says, "Go home, and now you can't use weapons in my city." It even threatens the death penalty if they do use weapons here again. Dude's laying down the law, old fashioned sheriff style. Gloucester and Winchester agree to stop fighting now, but only on the condition that they can keep feuding in other ways. Gloucester is more moderate: He says he won't break the law, but that their business isn't over. Winchester is less moderate: He basically threatens to kill Gloucester at some later point. The Lord Mayor says if they don't stop he'll bring in clubs. He apparently doesn't like Winchester either, since he mutters to the audience, "This cardinal's more haughty than the devil" . Burn. Gloucester acknowledges the Mayor's authority, and Winchester makes another threat on Gloucester's life. They leave. The Mayor marvels that the nobles could be so quarrelsome.


prompt:
Chapter: SCENE 4.

                        France. Before Orleans

               Enter, on the walls, the MASTER-GUNNER
                       OF ORLEANS and his BOY

  MASTER-GUNNER. Sirrah, thou know'st how Orleans is
    besieg'd,
    And how the English have the suburbs won.
  BOY. Father, I know; and oft have shot at them,
    Howe'er unfortunate I miss'd my aim.
  MASTER-GUNNER. But now thou shalt not. Be thou rul'd
    by me.
    Chief master-gunner am I of this town;
    Something I must do to procure me grace.
    The Prince's espials have informed me
    How the English, in the suburbs close intrench'd,
    Wont, through a secret grate of iron bars
    In yonder tower, to overpeer the city,
    And thence discover how with most advantage
    They may vex us with shot or with assault.
    To intercept this inconvenience,
    A piece of ordnance 'gainst it I have plac'd;
    And even these three days have I watch'd
    If I could see them. Now do thou watch,
    For I can stay no longer.
    If thou spy'st any, run and bring me word;
    And thou shalt find me at the Governor's.               Exit
  BOY. Father, I warrant you; take you no care;
    I'll never trouble you, if I may spy them.              Exit

          Enter SALISBURY and TALBOT on the turrets, with
            SIR WILLIAM GLANSDALE, SIR THOMAS GARGRAVE,
                            and others

  SALISBURY. Talbot, my life, my joy, again return'd!
    How wert thou handled being prisoner?
    Or by what means got'st thou to be releas'd?
    Discourse, I prithee, on this turret's top.
  TALBOT. The Earl of Bedford had a prisoner
    Call'd the brave Lord Ponton de Santrailles;
    For him was I exchang'd and ransomed.
    But with a baser man of arms by far
    Once, in contempt, they would have barter'd me;
    Which I disdaining scorn'd, and craved death
    Rather than I would be so vile esteem'd.
    In fine, redeem'd I was as I desir'd.
    But, O! the treacherous Fastolfe wounds my heart
    Whom with my bare fists I would execute,
    If I now had him brought into my power.
  SALISBURY. Yet tell'st thou not how thou wert entertain'd.
  TALBOT. With scoffs, and scorns, and contumelious taunts,
    In open market-place produc'd they me
    To be a public spectacle to all;
    Here, said they, is the terror of the French,
    The scarecrow that affrights our children so.
    Then broke I from the officers that led me,
    And with my nails digg'd stones out of the ground
    To hurl at the beholders of my shame;
    My grisly countenance made others fly;
    None durst come near for fear of sudden death.
    In iron walls they deem'd me not secure;
    So great fear of my name 'mongst them was spread
    That they suppos'd I could rend bars of steel
    And spurn in pieces posts of adamant;
    Wherefore a guard of chosen shot I had
    That walk'd about me every minute-while;
    And if I did but stir out of my bed,
    Ready they were to shoot me to the heart.

                Enter the BOY with a linstock

  SALISBURY. I grieve to hear what torments you endur'd;
    But we will be reveng'd sufficiently.
    Now it is supper-time in Orleans:
    Here, through this grate, I count each one
    And view the Frenchmen how they fortify.
    Let us look in; the sight will much delight thee.
    Sir Thomas Gargrave and Sir William Glansdale,
    Let me have your express opinions
    Where is best place to make our batt'ry next.
  GARGRAVE. I think at the North Gate; for there stand lords.
  GLANSDALE. And I here, at the bulwark of the bridge.
  TALBOT. For aught I see, this city must be famish'd,
    Or with light skirmishes enfeebled.
                     [Here they shoot and SALISBURY and GARGRAVE
                                                      fall down]
  SALISBURY. O Lord, have mercy on us, wretched sinners!
  GARGRAVE. O Lord, have mercy on me, woeful man!
  TALBOT. What chance is this that suddenly hath cross'd us?
    Speak, Salisbury; at least, if thou canst speak.
    How far'st thou, mirror of all martial men?
    One of thy eyes and thy cheek's side struck off!
    Accursed tower! accursed fatal hand
    That hath contriv'd this woeful tragedy!
    In thirteen battles Salisbury o'ercame;
    Henry the Fifth he first train'd to the wars;
    Whilst any trump did sound or drum struck up,
    His sword did ne'er leave striking in the field.
    Yet liv'st thou, Salisbury? Though thy speech doth fail,
    One eye thou hast to look to heaven for grace;
    The sun with one eye vieweth all the world.
    Heaven, be thou gracious to none alive
    If Salisbury wants mercy at thy hands!
    Bear hence his body; I will help to bury it.
    Sir Thomas Gargrave, hast thou any life?
    Speak unto Talbot; nay, look up to him.
    Salisbury, cheer thy spirit with this comfort,
    Thou shalt not die whiles
    He beckons with his hand and smiles on me,
    As who should say 'When I am dead and gone,
    Remember to avenge me on the French.'
    Plantagenet, I will; and like thee, Nero,
    Play on the lute, beholding the towns burn.
    Wretched shall France be only in my name.
                  [Here an alarum, and it thunders and lightens]
    What stir is this? What tumult's in the heavens?
    Whence cometh this alarum and the noise?

                          Enter a MESSENGER

  MESSENGER. My lord, my lord, the French have gather'd
    head
    The Dauphin, with one Joan la Pucelle join'd,
    A holy prophetess new risen up,
    Is come with a great power to raise the siege.
                  [Here SALISBURY lifteth himself up and groans]
  TALBOT. Hear, hear how dying Salisbury doth groan.
    It irks his heart he cannot be reveng'd.
    Frenchmen, I'll be a Salisbury to you.
    Pucelle or puzzel, dolphin or dogfish,
    Your hearts I'll stamp out with my horse's heels
    And make a quagmire of your mingled brains.
    Convey me Salisbury into his tent,
    And then we'll try what these dastard Frenchmen dare.
                                                  Alarum. Exeunt

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

completion: Meanwhile, back at the ranch, or actually the town of Orleans in France, we meet the Master Gunner and his boy. The Gunner reminds the boy that the town is besieged, and that the English have actually taken the suburbs . The Boy says he's often shot at the English, but keeps missing them; he has something to prove. The Master Gunner says he has something to prove, too, and unfolds his plan. The English have a sneaky plot to spy out the French position, but he's placed a cannon so he can shoot at them when they do it. He has to go see the Governor, so the boy will have to take over. The Boy agrees. Back to the English camp at Orleans. Remember Talbot, the English leader who was taken prisoner in Scene 1? He's free and back with the English. The English leader Salisbury greets him warmly and asks him how he got out. Talbot says that the French and English traded prisoners. Talbot's happy that the prisoner they traded him for is a brave leader, and he complains that at one point they were going to trade him for someone less courageous. He says he'd rather die than be ransomed in such a way, and so he's pleased at how the trade eventually worked. He also complains about the cowardice of Sir John Fastolfe, and then he goes all classic Western movie and says he would execute him with his bare fists he got his hands on him. Remember Fastolfe's cowardice is what caused Talbot to be captured in the first place. Salisbury asks how the French treated Talbot. Badly, it turns out. They dragged him to the marketplace and made fun of him in public. He says he broke free of the guards and threw rocks at the crowd, which is pretty impressive given that he was completely outnumbered and a prisoner. Apparently the French were so impressed they stationed snipers all around him after that. Okay, snipers like in The Bourne Identity didn't exist yet. But you get the picture. Salisbury says he's grieved to hear what happened to Talbot, but not to worry since they'll get revenge. They start spying out the French camp from the location the French Gunner mentioned, deciding where to attack. The French gunners are ready, and shoot at them. They get Salisbury and another English leader, and Talbot mourns and promises revenge. Suddenly, there's a loud noise and a lot of thunder and lightning. A messenger enters. Ominous entry, anyone? This is like that big drum roll and frantic strings in a movie when bad news is coming. Turns out, the news is pretty bad: The French have a new champion, Joan Puzel, and she's thought to be a holy prophetess. To be clear, in this time period people really want to say God is on their side in a battle. Salisbury, who's dying, groans. Talbot is definitely not scared. He vows revenge even more strongly and says he'll take Salisbury's place in attacking the French.


prompt:
Chapter: SCENE 5.

                          Before Orleans

         Here an alarum again, and TALBOT pursueth the
      DAUPHIN and driveth him. Then enter JOAN LA PUCELLE
       driving Englishmen before her. Then enter TALBOT

  TALBOT. Where is my strength, my valour, and my force?
    Our English troops retire, I cannot stay them;
    A woman clad in armour chaseth them.

                          Enter LA PUCELLE

    Here, here she comes. I'll have a bout with thee.
    Devil or devil's dam, I'll conjure thee;
    Blood will I draw on thee--thou art a witch
    And straightway give thy soul to him thou serv'st.
  PUCELLE. Come, come, 'tis only I that must disgrace thee.
                                               [Here they fight]
  TALBOT. Heavens, can you suffer hell so to prevail?
    My breast I'll burst with straining of my courage.
    And from my shoulders crack my arms asunder,
    But I will chastise this high minded strumpet.
                                              [They fight again]
  PUCELLE. Talbot, farewell; thy hour is not yet come.
    I must go victual Orleans forthwith.
             [A short alarum; then enter the town with soldiers]
    O'ertake me if thou canst; I scorn thy strength.
    Go, go, cheer up thy hungry starved men;
    Help Salisbury to make his testament.
    This day is ours, as many more shall be.                Exit
  TALBOT. My thoughts are whirled like a potter's wheel;
    I know not where I am nor what I do.
    A witch by fear, not force, like Hannibal,
    Drives back our troops and conquers as she lists.
    So bees with smoke and doves with noisome stench
    Are from their hives and houses driven away.
    They call'd us, for our fierceness, English dogs;
    Now like to whelps we crying run away.
                                                [A short alarum]
    Hark, countrymen! Either renew the fight
    Or tear the lions out of England's coat;
    Renounce your soil, give sheep in lions' stead:
    Sheep run not half so treacherous from the wolf,
    Or horse or oxen from the leopard,
    As you fly from your oft subdued slaves.
                                 [Alarum. Here another skirmish]
    It will not be-retire into your trenches.
    You all consented unto Salisbury's death,
    For none would strike a stroke in his revenge.
    Pucelle is ent'red into Orleans
    In spite of us or aught that we could do.
    O, would I were to die with Salisbury!
    The shame hereof will make me hide my head.
                                    Exit TALBOT. Alarum; retreat

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

completion: Talbot laments that he cannot get his troops to keep fighting and that they're being chased off by a woman in armor. Talbot expresses very clearly his view that Joan is a witch, and her supernatural power comes from the devil and not God. He also says he'll kill her in battle. Joan replies that she will disgrace him in battle, and they fight. Talbot cries on the heavens to help him, invoking God's supernatural power against what he perceives to be the devil's. He says he'll strain his utmost to chastise Joan, and he calls her a strumpet . They keep fighting. Joan says she has to go to take care of other things, and taunts Talbot, claiming "This day is ours, as many more shall be" . Talbot laments that Joan's sorcery has made his men afraid, and mourns that the English fierceness has gone. He encourages the troops and leads another skirmish, but then they have to retreat; Talbot says his shame is so great he wishes he'd died with Salisbury. Joan flies the French flag over Orleans and proclaims that they've rescued it from the English. The Dauphin praises Joan with classical allusions and calls her "glorious prophetess" . Orleans celebrates with bells and bonfires, kind of like that extra ending that George Lucas added to Return of the Jedi with crazy fireworks all over the galaxy. Alencon says France will celebrate when it's known how brave and masculine the French armies were; Charles says the victory is Joan's. He also makes elaborate promises, like sharing the crown and having the priests sing praises to her . A bit ominously, he also promises to revere her ashes when she has died. This may be a bit of foreshadowing. Charles the character in the play can't know this yet, but historically Shakespeare's audience knows that Joan of Arc was burned at the stake by the English. Charles is really heaping it on--he even suggests displacing St. Denis, the patron saint of France, with Joan. Then they head in to a victory banquet.


prompt:
Chapter: ACT II. SCENE 1.

Before Orleans

Enter a FRENCH SERGEANT and two SENTINELS

  SERGEANT. Sirs, take your places and be vigilant.
    If any noise or soldier you perceive
    Near to the walls, by some apparent sign
    Let us have knowledge at the court of guard.
  FIRST SENTINEL. Sergeant, you shall.           [Exit SERGEANT]
    Thus are poor servitors,
    When others sleep upon their quiet beds,
    Constrain'd to watch in darkness, rain, and cold.

             Enter TALBOT, BEDFORD, BURGUNDY, and forces,
          with scaling-ladders; their drums beating a dead
                              march

  TALBOT. Lord Regent, and redoubted Burgundy,
    By whose approach the regions of Artois,
    Wallon, and Picardy, are friends to us,
    This happy night the Frenchmen are secure,
    Having all day carous'd and banqueted;
    Embrace we then this opportunity,
    As fitting best to quittance their deceit,
    Contriv'd by art and baleful sorcery.
  BEDFORD. Coward of France, how much he wrongs his fame,
    Despairing of his own arm's fortitude,
    To join with witches and the help of hell!
  BURGUNDY. Traitors have never other company.
    But what's that Pucelle whom they term so pure?
  TALBOT. A maid, they say.
  BEDFORD. A maid! and be so martial!
  BURGUNDY. Pray God she prove not masculine ere long,
    If underneath the standard of the French
    She carry armour as she hath begun.
  TALBOT. Well, let them practise and converse with spirits:
    God is our fortress, in whose conquering name
    Let us resolve to scale their flinty bulwarks.
  BEDFORD. Ascend, brave Talbot; we will follow thee.
  TALBOT. Not all together; better far, I guess,
    That we do make our entrance several ways;
    That if it chance the one of us do fail
    The other yet may rise against their force.
  BEDFORD. Agreed; I'll to yond corner.
  BURGUNDY. And I to this.
  TALBOT. And here will Talbot mount or make his grave.
    Now, Salisbury, for thee, and for the right
    Of English Henry, shall this night appear
    How much in duty I am bound to both.
             [The English scale the walls and cry 'Saint George!
                                                     a Talbot!']
    SENTINEL. Arm! arm! The enemy doth make assault.

           The French leap o'er the walls in their shirts.
           Enter, several ways, BASTARD, ALENCON, REIGNIER,
                     half ready and half unready

  ALENCON. How now, my lords? What, all unready so?
  BASTARD. Unready! Ay, and glad we 'scap'd so well.
  REIGNIER. 'Twas time, I trow, to wake and leave our beds,
    Hearing alarums at our chamber doors.
  ALENCON. Of all exploits since first I follow'd arms
    Ne'er heard I of a warlike enterprise
    More venturous or desperate than this.
  BASTARD. I think this Talbot be a fiend of hell.
  REIGNIER. If not of hell, the heavens, sure, favour him
  ALENCON. Here cometh Charles; I marvel how he sped.

                    Enter CHARLES and LA PUCELLE

  BASTARD. Tut! holy Joan was his defensive guard.
  CHARLES. Is this thy cunning, thou deceitful dame?
    Didst thou at first, to flatter us withal,
    Make us partakers of a little gain
    That now our loss might be ten times so much?
  PUCELLE. Wherefore is Charles impatient with his friend?
    At all times will you have my power alike?
    Sleeping or waking, must I still prevail
    Or will you blame and lay the fault on me?
    Improvident soldiers! Had your watch been good
    This sudden mischief never could have fall'n.
  CHARLES. Duke of Alencon, this was your default
    That, being captain of the watch to-night,
    Did look no better to that weighty charge.
  ALENCON. Had all your quarters been as safely kept
    As that whereof I had the government,
    We had not been thus shamefully surpris'd.
  BASTARD. Mine was secure.
  REIGNIER. And so was mine, my lord.
  CHARLES. And, for myself, most part of all this night,
    Within her quarter and mine own precinct
    I was employ'd in passing to and fro
    About relieving of the sentinels.
    Then how or which way should they first break in?
  PUCELLE. Question, my lords, no further of the case,
    How or which way; 'tis sure they found some place
    But weakly guarded, where the breach was made.
    And now there rests no other shift but this
    To gather our soldiers, scatter'd and dispers'd,
    And lay new platforms to endamage them.

               Alarum. Enter an ENGLISH SOLDIER, crying
            'A Talbot! A Talbot!' They fly, leaving their
                           clothes behind

  SOLDIER. I'll be so bold to take what they have left.
    The cry of Talbot serves me for a sword;
    For I have loaden me with many spoils,
    Using no other weapon but his name.                     Exit

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

completion: The scene starts with the French setting a watch on the walls of Orleans. Talbot is planning a surprise attack, since the French have been feasting and are likely not to be on their guard. He's talking to Bedford, the king's regent or representative in France, and to Burgundy, a very powerful French noble who is on England's side. Bedford says Charles is cowardly to accept a witch's help in battle: Charles must not be very confident in his strength if he needs hell to help him. Burgundy inquires about Joan of Arc and Talbot says she is a maid or virgin. Bedford doubts that a maid could be so warlike, in a classic example of the views of the period. Burgundy says Joan may prove masculine, especially if she carries armor. Talbot says oh well, if the French want to invoke evil spirits, that's their problem; the English will trust in God as their fortress. The English agree to split up and attack Orleans from several places. The English call out to St. George, the patron saint of England. This is sort of like trying to get Obi-Wan Kenobi on your side. The sentinels aren't asleep, and they do notice the English, so the French lords are surprised instead and have to leap over the wall to retreat half ready. It's like turning up to class with your dressy Oxford shirt and your Mario pajama pants. The French say how desperate and bold the attack is, and wonder whether Talbot might be "a fiend of hell" , or supported by heaven. Either way, his success seems supernatural to them. Charles and Joan come in together, which is maybe a little suspicious since it's the middle of the night. Have they been in bed together? Or have they been virtuously keeping guard on the walls? Hrm... Charles turns on Joan and asks if she wanted them to succeed a little only to lose a lot. He's pretty fickle, given that he was just promising to make her the patron saint of France. Joan asks why he is so impatient and says her power isn't always at the same level; she blames the French military for not keeping a better watch. Charles blames Alencon. Alencon says his area was fine--what about the other leaders? The Bastard says his quarter was secure, too. Reignier gets in on the action and says "Mine, too." Charles says he's spent the whole night walking around and helping the sentinels, and asks how this could have happened. Joan says it won't really help to figure out why it happened--they should get going and fix the problem. An English soldier comes and chases them off. Embarrassingly, they leave their clothing, or at least some of it, behind, so the English soldier takes their things. This has got to be pretty humiliating for France: A soldier who doesn't even get a name in the play is taking spoils from the King and his closest advisors. The soldier points out that Talbot's name is just as good as a sword: It scares the French off. Good thing the French nobility is already gone. This would be pretty awkward if they were around to hear it.


prompt:
Chapter: SCENE 2.

                      ORLEANS. Within the town

            Enter TALBOT, BEDFORD, BURGUNDY, a CAPTAIN,
                           and others

  BEDFORD. The day begins to break, and night is fled
    Whose pitchy mantle over-veil'd the earth.
    Here sound retreat and cease our hot pursuit.
                                               [Retreat sounded]
  TALBOT. Bring forth the body of old Salisbury
    And here advance it in the market-place,
    The middle centre of this cursed town.
    Now have I paid my vow unto his soul;
    For every drop of blood was drawn from him
    There hath at least five Frenchmen died to-night.
    And that hereafter ages may behold
    What ruin happened in revenge of him,
    Within their chiefest temple I'll erect
    A tomb, wherein his corpse shall be interr'd;
    Upon the which, that every one may read,
    Shall be engrav'd the sack of Orleans,
    The treacherous manner of his mournful death,
    And what a terror he had been to France.
    But, lords, in all our bloody massacre,
    I muse we met not with the Dauphin's grace,
    His new-come champion, virtuous Joan of Arc,
    Nor any of his false confederates.
  BEDFORD. 'Tis thought, Lord Talbot, when the fight began,
    Rous'd on the sudden from their drowsy beds,
    They did amongst the troops of armed men
    Leap o'er the walls for refuge in the field.
  BURGUNDY. Myself, as far as I could well discern
    For smoke and dusky vapours of the night,
    Am sure I scar'd the Dauphin and his trull,
    When arm in arm they both came swiftly running,
    Like to a pair of loving turtle-doves
    That could not live asunder day or night.
    After that things are set in order here,
    We'll follow them with all the power we have.

                          Enter a MESSENGER

  MESSENGER. All hail, my lords! Which of this princely train
    Call ye the warlike Talbot, for his acts
    So much applauded through the realm of France?
  TALBOT. Here is the Talbot; who would speak with him?
  MESSENGER. The virtuous lady, Countess of Auvergne,
    With modesty admiring thy renown,
    By me entreats, great lord, thou wouldst vouchsafe
    To visit her poor castle where she lies,
    That she may boast she hath beheld the man
    Whose glory fills the world with loud report.
  BURGUNDY. Is it even so? Nay, then I see our wars
    Will turn into a peaceful comic sport,
    When ladies crave to be encount'red with.
    You may not, my lord, despise her gentle suit.
  TALBOT. Ne'er trust me then; for when a world of men
    Could not prevail with all their oratory,
    Yet hath a woman's kindness overrul'd;
    And therefore tell her I return great thanks
    And in submission will attend on her.
    Will not your honours bear me company?
  BEDFORD. No, truly; 'tis more than manners will;
    And I have heard it said unbidden guests
    Are often welcomest when they are gone.
  TALBOT. Well then, alone, since there's no remedy,
    I mean to prove this lady's courtesy.
    Come hither, Captain.  [Whispers]   You perceive my mind?
  CAPTAIN. I do, my lord, and mean accordingly.           Exeunt

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

completion: Talbot, Bedford, and Burgundy come in. Bedford decides to give the French a break and stop chasing them for now. Talbot says he has revenged Salisbury, in no uncertain terms: "For every drop of blood was drawn from him / There hath at least five Frenchmen died tonight" . Talbot plans to build a tomb to Salisbury right in France, celebrating Salisbury's courage and rubbing it in for the French. Talbot notes that they didn't see the Dauphin, Joan of Arc, or the Dauphin's chief men in the battle. Bedford says it's thought they leapt over the walls and hid in a field. Burgundy says he thinks he frightened the Dauphin and Jean. He's in little doubt that they're lovers--in fact, he describes Jean as a prostitute, or "trull" . This looks pretty bad for Charles's military reputation, in the view of the play's audience. Fun fact: The period wasn't so strong on the make love, not war theory of life. A messenger turns up and asks Talbot to pay a visit to "the virtuous lady, Countess of Auvergne" . Burgundy thinks that the chivalrous thing to do is to go and Talbot agrees then heads out to see her.