prompt:
Chapter: SCENE 3.

                      AUVERGNE. The Castle

               Enter the COUNTESS and her PORTER

  COUNTESS. Porter, remember what I gave in charge;
    And when you have done so, bring the keys to me.
  PORTER. Madam, I will.
  COUNTESS. The plot is laid; if all things fall out right,
    I shall as famous be by this exploit.
    As Scythian Tomyris by Cyrus' death.
    Great is the rumour of this dreadful knight,
    And his achievements of no less account.
    Fain would mine eyes be witness with mine ears
    To give their censure of these rare reports.

    Enter MESSENGER and TALBOT.

  MESSENGER. Madam, according as your ladyship desir'd,
    By message crav'd, so is Lord Talbot come.
  COUNTESS. And he is welcome. What! is this the man?
  MESSENGER. Madam, it is.
  COUNTESS. Is this the scourge of France?
    Is this Talbot, so much fear'd abroad
    That with his name the mothers still their babes?
    I see report is fabulous and false.
    I thought I should have seen some Hercules,
    A second Hector, for his grim aspect
    And large proportion of his strong-knit limbs.
    Alas, this is a child, a silly dwarf!
    It cannot be this weak and writhled shrimp
    Should strike such terror to his enemies.
  TALBOT. Madam, I have been bold to trouble you;
    But since your ladyship is not at leisure,
    I'll sort some other time to visit you.              [Going]
  COUNTESS. What means he now? Go ask him whither he
    goes.
  MESSENGER. Stay, my Lord Talbot; for my lady craves
    To know the cause of your abrupt departure.
  TALBOT. Marry, for that she's in a wrong belief,
    I go to certify her Talbot's here.

                      Re-enter PORTER With keys

  COUNTESS. If thou be he, then art thou prisoner.
  TALBOT. Prisoner! To whom?
  COUNTESS. To me, blood-thirsty lord
    And for that cause I train'd thee to my house.
    Long time thy shadow hath been thrall to me,
    For in my gallery thy picture hangs;
    But now the substance shall endure the like
    And I will chain these legs and arms of thine
    That hast by tyranny these many years
    Wasted our country, slain our citizens,
    And sent our sons and husbands captivate.
  TALBOT. Ha, ha, ha!
  COUNTESS. Laughest thou, wretch? Thy mirth shall turn to
    moan.
  TALBOT. I laugh to see your ladyship so fond
    To think that you have aught but Talbot's shadow
    Whereon to practise your severity.
  COUNTESS. Why, art not thou the man?
  TALBOT. I am indeed.
  COUNTESS. Then have I substance too.
  TALBOT. No, no, I am but shadow of myself.
    You are deceiv'd, my substance is not here;
    For what you see is but the smallest part
    And least proportion of humanity.
    I tell you, madam, were the whole frame here,
    It is of such a spacious lofty pitch
    Your roof were not sufficient to contain 't.
  COUNTESS. This is a riddling merchant for the nonce;
    He will be here, and yet he is not here.
    How can these contrarieties agree?
  TALBOT. That will I show you presently.

                   Winds his horn; drums strike up;
                  a peal of ordnance. Enter soldiers

    How say you, madam? Are you now persuaded
    That Talbot is but shadow of himself?
    These are his substance, sinews, arms, and strength,
    With which he yoketh your rebellious necks,
    Razeth your cities, and subverts your towns,
    And in a moment makes them desolate.
  COUNTESS. Victorious Talbot! pardon my abuse.
    I find thou art no less than fame hath bruited,
    And more than may be gathered by thy shape.
    Let my presumption not provoke thy wrath,
    For I am sorry that with reverence
    I did not entertain thee as thou art.
  TALBOT. Be not dismay'd, fair lady; nor misconster
    The mind of Talbot as you did mistake
    The outward composition of his body.
    What you have done hath not offended me.
    Nor other satisfaction do I crave
    But only, with your patience, that we may
    Taste of your wine and see what cates you have,
    For soldiers' stomachs always serve them well.
  COUNTESS. With all my heart, and think me honoured
    To feast so great a warrior in my house.              Exeunt

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

completion: The next scene starts with the Countess of Auvergne, who's talking smack to her Porter. She says she's laid a plot, and that what she'll do next will make her as famous as Tomyris. Who's Tomyris? A new teen pop star? Hardly. Tomyris may not be famous now, but lots of Renaissance viewers would have known she was not to be messed with. Cyrus, ancient Emperor of Persia and major bad news for his enemies, tried to date her, but what he really wanted was her kingdom. It's a long story, but after she declined to go out with him and he still wanted her kingdom, they decided their armies would join battle. When Cyrus indirectly caused the death of Tomyris's son by trickery, she was angry. Hard to blame her there. Her armies fought Cyrus and killed him on the battlefield, and Tomyris plunged his head into a wineskin filled with human blood. Just in case it isn't clear from the story, that's a pretty major insult to the corpse of an emperor. Yep, not to be messed with, that lady. So anyway, back to our tale: It sure sounds like this scene is going to shape up into a horror story. Is Talbot about to be killed and insulted in gruesome fashion by a ferocious female warrior? Well, not right away. The Countess starts off their meeting with a skeptical, "What? Is this the man?" . She's unimpressed with his physique. She was expecting someone like Hercules or Hector, and what she sees instead is a "weak and writhled shrimp" . This might be an insult, but it's hardly deadly. Talbot replies mildly that if the Countess is busy he'll come back some other time. The Countess informs him that he's now a prisoner in her house--Talbot is surprised--then she concludes with some thundering rhetoric about how she'll chain his legs and arms for all the evils he's done against the French. Talbot replies, "Ha, ha, ha" . So much for the speech... Talbot says that basically his men are the reason he's so powerful, and the Countess can't stop them just by locking him up; he shows her his soldiers to prove the point. The Countess apologizes, says Talbot is everything his fame suggests, and asks him not to take offense. Talbot says he's not offended, and any chance of getting some dinner? He calls her "fair lady," which suggests that he's still wanting to be chivalrous. The Countess says she'll be honored to feast so great a warrior, and that's that. So, no horror film here. The Countess starts off by threatening to be the bold female warrior who destroys an emperor, but she winds up in a very conventional role for an aristocratic woman: accepting a warrior's chivalrous compliments and hosting a feast.


prompt:
Chapter: SCENE 4.

                   London. The Temple garden

         Enter the EARLS OF SOMERSET, SUFFOLK, and WARWICK;
           RICHARD PLANTAGENET, VERNON, and another LAWYER

  PLANTAGENET. Great lords and gentlemen, what means this
    silence?
    Dare no man answer in a case of truth?
  SUFFOLK. Within the Temple Hall we were too loud;
    The garden here is more convenient.
  PLANTAGENET. Then say at once if I maintain'd the truth;
    Or else was wrangling Somerset in th' error?
  SUFFOLK. Faith, I have been a truant in the law
    And never yet could frame my will to it;
    And therefore frame the law unto my will.
  SOMERSET. Judge you, my Lord of Warwick, then, between us.
  WARWICK. Between two hawks, which flies the higher pitch;
    Between two dogs, which hath the deeper mouth;
    Between two blades, which bears the better temper;
    Between two horses, which doth bear him best;
    Between two girls, which hath the merriest eye
    I have perhaps some shallow spirit of judgment;
    But in these nice sharp quillets of the law,
    Good faith, I am no wiser than a daw.
  PLANTAGENET. Tut, tut, here is a mannerly forbearance:
    The truth appears so naked on my side
    That any purblind eye may find it out.
  SOMERSET. And on my side it is so well apparell'd,
    So clear, so shining, and so evident,
    That it will glimmer through a blind man's eye.
  PLANTAGENET. Since you are tongue-tied and so loath to speak,
    In dumb significants proclaim your thoughts.
    Let him that is a true-born gentleman
    And stands upon the honour of his birth,
    If he suppose that I have pleaded truth,
    From off this brier pluck a white rose with me.
  SOMERSET. Let him that is no coward nor no flatterer,
    But dare maintain the party of the truth,
    Pluck a red rose from off this thorn with me.
  WARWICK. I love no colours; and, without all colour
    Of base insinuating flattery,
    I pluck this white rose with Plantagenet.
  SUFFOLK. I pluck this red rose with young Somerset,
    And say withal I think he held the right.
  VERNON. Stay, lords and gentlemen, and pluck no more
    Till you conclude that he upon whose side
    The fewest roses are cropp'd from the tree
    Shall yield the other in the right opinion.
  SOMERSET. Good Master Vernon, it is well objected;
    If I have fewest, I subscribe in silence.
  PLANTAGENET. And I.
  VERNON. Then, for the truth and plainness of the case,
    I pluck this pale and maiden blossom here,
    Giving my verdict on the white rose side.
  SOMERSET. Prick not your finger as you pluck it off,
    Lest, bleeding, you do paint the white rose red,
    And fall on my side so, against your will.
  VERNON. If I, my lord, for my opinion bleed,
    Opinion shall be surgeon to my hurt
    And keep me on the side where still I am.
  SOMERSET. Well, well, come on; who else?
  LAWYER.  [To Somerset]  Unless my study and my books be
    false,
    The argument you held was wrong in you;
    In sign whereof I pluck a white rose too.
  PLANTAGENET. Now, Somerset, where is your argument?
  SOMERSET. Here in my scabbard, meditating that
    Shall dye your white rose in a bloody red.
  PLANTAGENET. Meantime your cheeks do counterfeit our
    roses;
    For pale they look with fear, as witnessing
    The truth on our side.
  SOMERSET. No, Plantagenet,
    'Tis not for fear but anger that thy cheeks
    Blush for pure shame to counterfeit our roses,
    And yet thy tongue will not confess thy error.
  PLANTAGENET. Hath not thy rose a canker, Somerset?
  SOMERSET. Hath not thy rose a thorn, Plantagenet?
  PLANTAGENET. Ay, sharp and piercing, to maintain his truth;
    Whiles thy consuming canker eats his falsehood.
  SOMERSET. Well, I'll find friends to wear my bleeding roses,
    That shall maintain what I have said is true,
    Where false Plantagenet dare not be seen.
  PLANTAGENET. Now, by this maiden blossom in my hand,
    I scorn thee and thy fashion, peevish boy.
  SUFFOLK. Turn not thy scorns this way, Plantagenet.
  PLANTAGENET. Proud Pole, I will, and scorn both him and
    thee.
  SUFFOLK. I'll turn my part thereof into thy throat.
  SOMERSET. Away, away, good William de la Pole!
    We grace the yeoman by conversing with him.
  WARWICK. Now, by God's will, thou wrong'st him, Somerset;
    His grandfather was Lionel Duke of Clarence,
    Third son to the third Edward, King of England.
    Spring crestless yeomen from so deep a root?
  PLANTAGENET. He bears him on the place's privilege,
    Or durst not for his craven heart say thus.
  SOMERSET. By Him that made me, I'll maintain my words
    On any plot of ground in Christendom.
    Was not thy father, Richard Earl of Cambridge,
    For treason executed in our late king's days?
    And by his treason stand'st not thou attainted,
    Corrupted, and exempt from ancient gentry?
    His trespass yet lives guilty in thy blood;
    And till thou be restor'd thou art a yeoman.
  PLANTAGENET. My father was attached, not attainted;
    Condemn'd to die for treason, but no traitor;
    And that I'll prove on better men than Somerset,
    Were growing time once ripened to my will.
    For your partaker Pole, and you yourself,
    I'll note you in my book of memory
    To scourge you for this apprehension.
    Look to it well, and say you are well warn'd.
  SOMERSET. Ay, thou shalt find us ready for thee still;
    And know us by these colours for thy foes
    For these my friends in spite of thee shall wear.
  PLANTAGENET. And, by my soul, this pale and angry rose,
    As cognizance of my blood-drinking hate,
    Will I for ever, and my faction, wear,
    Until it wither with me to my grave,
    Or flourish to the height of my degree.
  SUFFOLK. Go forward, and be chok'd with thy ambition!
    And so farewell until I meet thee next.                 Exit
  SOMERSET. Have with thee, Pole. Farewell, ambitious
    Richard.                                                Exit
  PLANTAGENET. How I am brav'd, and must perforce endure
    it!
  WARWICK. This blot that they object against your house
    Shall be wip'd out in the next Parliament,
    Call'd for the truce of Winchester and Gloucester;
    And if thou be not then created York,
    I will not live to be accounted Warwick.
    Meantime, in signal of my love to thee,
    Against proud Somerset and William Pole,
    Will I upon thy party wear this rose;
    And here I prophesy: this brawl to-day,
    Grown to this faction in the Temple Garden,
    Shall send between the Red Rose and the White
    A thousand souls to death and deadly night.
  PLANTAGENET. Good Master Vernon, I am bound to you
    That you on my behalf would pluck a flower.
  VERNON. In your behalf still will I wear the same.
  LAWYER. And so will I.
  PLANTAGENET. Thanks, gentle sir.
    Come, let us four to dinner. I dare say
    This quarrel will drink blood another day.            Exeunt

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

completion: Things do not go well in this scene. Imagine a feud between high school cliques. Then imagine a feud between high school cliques where the members have huge political power and carry swords. This scene starts off with a quarrel: Richard Plantagenet is having some sort of fight with Somerset. Interestingly, we never find out what the fight was actually about, but it spirals out of control pretty fast. They already had to take it outside, as Suffolk says. Somerset decides that Warwick should arbitrate. Warwick declines in a tactful and eloquent speech, though, so Richard says he himself is obviously right, as anyone could see. Somerset says the same. You can almost hear them shouting, "Is not, is too!" Various people take sides, but the scene really gets interesting when everyone starts plucking roses. Wait, roses? Have we suddenly gone all Hallmark card? Nope. Here's the deal: Richard Plantagenet's family, known as the House of York, is symbolized by a white rose. The House of Lancaster is symbolized by a red rose. Later, a war will officially start between the two houses over the crown, and this will be the start of the Wars of the Roses, a turbulent period of civil war in English history. So this scene is ominous. Maybe storm clouds would be more appropriate than roses. Richard asks his followers to pluck a white rose. Somerset asks his followers to pluck a red rose. Warwick now does take sides with Richard, choosing a white rose. Suffolk sides with Somerset, choosing a red rose. Vernon's all hold up and points out that they should agree that whoever gets the most roses wins. Somerset and Richard agree. Final count: Somerset: 1 rose, Richard: 3 roses. Richard kind of rubs it in. They keep arguing, and Somerset insults Richard by calling him a "yeoman" , a much lower rank than his family actually holds. Warwick points out that Richard's grandfather was a Duke, and not only that, but also the third son of a king. Somerset says basically "So what? Richard's father was executed for treason. Doesn't that disqualify Richard from being a nobleman?" Richard says his father may have been executed for treason, but he wasn't actually a traitor. He says he won't forget these insults. The quarrelers part on bad terms, and Warwick says that Richard will be restored to the aristocracy at the next parliament, where he will be named the Duke of York. Warwick also says he'll keep wearing the white rose as a sign of support for Richard, a bit like wearing a campaign pin during an election. Warwick makes an ominous prophecy: Today's argument will bring about many deaths. This is a hint at the Wars of the Roses--it's like knowing that galactic war is coming as you watch the first three Star Wars films. However solid the Old Republic seems, you know it's going down. Richard thanks the other guys who sided with him, and they all head off to dinner. There's a lot of going to dinner in this play. Maybe Shakespeare and Co. were hungry when they wrote it.


prompt:
Chapter: SCENE 5.

                       The Tower of London

         Enter MORTIMER, brought in a chair, and GAOLERS

  MORTIMER. Kind keepers of my weak decaying age,
    Let dying Mortimer here rest himself.
    Even like a man new haled from the rack,
    So fare my limbs with long imprisonment;
    And these grey locks, the pursuivants of death,
    Nestor-like aged in an age of care,
    Argue the end of Edmund Mortimer.
    These eyes, like lamps whose wasting oil is spent,
    Wax dim, as drawing to their exigent;
    Weak shoulders, overborne with burdening grief,
    And pithless arms, like to a withered vine
    That droops his sapless branches to the ground.
    Yet are these feet, whose strengthless stay is numb,
    Unable to support this lump of clay,
    Swift-winged with desire to get a grave,
    As witting I no other comfort have.
    But tell me, keeper, will my nephew come?
  FIRST KEEPER. Richard Plantagenet, my lord, will come.
    We sent unto the Temple, unto his chamber;
    And answer was return'd that he will come.
  MORTIMER. Enough; my soul shall then be satisfied.
    Poor gentleman! his wrong doth equal mine.
    Since Henry Monmouth first began to reign,
    Before whose glory I was great in arms,
    This loathsome sequestration have I had;
    And even since then hath Richard been obscur'd,
    Depriv'd of honour and inheritance.
    But now the arbitrator of despairs,
    Just Death, kind umpire of men's miseries,
    With sweet enlargement doth dismiss me hence.
    I would his troubles likewise were expir'd,
    That so he might recover what was lost.

                     Enter RICHARD PLANTAGENET

  FIRST KEEPER. My lord, your loving nephew now is come.
  MORTIMER. Richard Plantagenet, my friend, is he come?
  PLANTAGENET. Ay, noble uncle, thus ignobly us'd,
    Your nephew, late despised Richard, comes.
  MORTIMER. Direct mine arms I may embrace his neck
    And in his bosom spend my latter gasp.
    O, tell me when my lips do touch his cheeks,
    That I may kindly give one fainting kiss.
    And now declare, sweet stem from York's great stock,
    Why didst thou say of late thou wert despis'd?
  PLANTAGENET. First, lean thine aged back against mine arm;
    And, in that ease, I'll tell thee my disease.
    This day, in argument upon a case,
    Some words there grew 'twixt Somerset and me;
    Among which terms he us'd his lavish tongue
    And did upbraid me with my father's death;
    Which obloquy set bars before my tongue,
    Else with the like I had requited him.
    Therefore, good uncle, for my father's sake,
    In honour of a true Plantagenet,
    And for alliance sake, declare the cause
    My father, Earl of Cambridge, lost his head.
  MORTIMER. That cause, fair nephew, that imprison'd me
    And hath detain'd me all my flow'ring youth
    Within a loathsome dungeon, there to pine,
    Was cursed instrument of his decease.
  PLANTAGENET. Discover more at large what cause that was,
    For I am ignorant and cannot guess.
  MORTIMER. I will, if that my fading breath permit
    And death approach not ere my tale be done.
    Henry the Fourth, grandfather to this king,
    Depos'd his nephew Richard, Edward's son,
    The first-begotten and the lawful heir
    Of Edward king, the third of that descent;
    During whose reign the Percies of the north,
    Finding his usurpation most unjust,
    Endeavour'd my advancement to the throne.
    The reason mov'd these warlike lords to this
    Was, for that-young Richard thus remov'd,
    Leaving no heir begotten of his body--
    I was the next by birth and parentage;
    For by my mother I derived am
    From Lionel Duke of Clarence, third son
    To King Edward the Third; whereas he
    From John of Gaunt doth bring his pedigree,
    Being but fourth of that heroic line.
    But mark: as in this haughty great attempt
    They laboured to plant the rightful heir,
    I lost my liberty, and they their lives.
    Long after this, when Henry the Fifth,
    Succeeding his father Bolingbroke, did reign,
    Thy father, Earl of Cambridge, then deriv'd
    From famous Edmund Langley, Duke of York,
    Marrying my sister, that thy mother was,
    Again, in pity of my hard distress,
    Levied an army, weening to redeem
    And have install'd me in the diadem;
    But, as the rest, so fell that noble earl,
    And was beheaded. Thus the Mortimers,
    In whom the title rested, were suppress'd.
  PLANTAGENET. Of Which, my lord, your honour is the last.
  MORTIMER. True; and thou seest that I no issue have,
    And that my fainting words do warrant death.
    Thou art my heir; the rest I wish thee gather;
    But yet be wary in thy studious care.
  PLANTAGENET. Thy grave admonishments prevail with me.
    But yet methinks my father's execution
    Was nothing less than bloody tyranny.
  MORTIMER. With silence, nephew, be thou politic;
    Strong fixed is the house of Lancaster
    And like a mountain not to be remov'd.
    But now thy uncle is removing hence,
    As princes do their courts when they are cloy'd
    With long continuance in a settled place.
  PLANTAGENET. O uncle, would some part of my young years
    Might but redeem the passage of your age!
  MORTIMER. Thou dost then wrong me, as that slaughterer
    doth
    Which giveth many wounds when one will kill.
    Mourn not, except thou sorrow for my good;
    Only give order for my funeral.
    And so, farewell; and fair be all thy hopes,
    And prosperous be thy life in peace and war!          [Dies]
  PLANTAGENET. And peace, no war, befall thy parting soul!
    In prison hast thou spent a pilgrimage,
    And like a hermit overpass'd thy days.
    Well, I will lock his counsel in my breast;
    And what I do imagine, let that rest.
    Keepers, convey him hence; and I myself
    Will see his burial better than his life.
                Exeunt GAOLERS, hearing out the body of MORTIMER
    Here dies the dusky torch of Mortimer,
    Chok'd with ambition of the meaner sort;
    And for those wrongs, those bitter injuries,
    Which Somerset hath offer'd to my house,
    I doubt not but with honour to redress;
    And therefore haste I to the Parliament,
    Either to be restored to my blood,
    Or make my ill th' advantage of my good.                Exit

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

completion: We meet Mortimer. He's dying, unable to walk, and in prison; he even says he has "desire to get a grave" . He does want to know if his nephew is coming, though. The Gaoler says that his nephew will come, revealing to the audience that Mortimer's nephew is none other than Richard. Guess he's finished dinner. Mortimer laments that he used to be a great warrior, but since Henry of Monmouth began to reign, he's been locked up. He says Henry's reign has been bad for Richard, too. He praises death again and wishes his nephew well. Richard arrives and they greet each other warmly, then Richard describes the quarrel he just had. He also asks Mortimer why his father was executed for treason. Turns out he doesn't know. Actually, it's the same reason Mortimer is in prison, and he says he'll tell Richard as long as he doesn't die before he finishes the story. Talk about heightening the suspense... Mortimer tells a long story. Basically, he says he had a better claim to the throne than Henry IV, the current King Henry VI's grandfather. When a group of noblemen tried to put Mortimer on the throne, though, they were killed and he was imprisoned. Then Henry V inherited the throne from Henry IV , and Richard's father, the Earl of Cambridge, tried to put Mortimer on the throne again. And again, it didn't work--Richard's father was beheaded, and Mortimer is still imprisoned. Richard and Mortimer now move on to the present. Mortimer has no son, so as his nephew, Richard is his heir. Basically, this means Richard could be king, at least if he and Mortimer are right about the succession. Mortimer warns him to be careful, especially since the house of Lancaster has been so successful. Mortimer tells his nephew not to be too sad, but to plan Mortimer's funeral. Then he wishes Richard well and dies. Talk about an intense scene. Richard wishes his uncle's soul well and says he'll give him a good funeral. Richard also seems to be thinking about his uncle's advice--he isn't telling anyone yet, but it sounds like he might be interested in the throne ). Richard heads off to Parliament, hoping to be restored to the title of Duke of York held by his family before his father's execution.


prompt:
Chapter: ACT III. SCENE 1.

London. The Parliament House

Flourish. Enter the KING, EXETER, GLOUCESTER, WARWICK, SOMERSET,
and SUFFOLK;
the BISHOP OF WINCHESTER, RICHARD PLANTAGENET, and others.
GLOUCESTER offers to put up a bill; WINCHESTER snatches it, and
tears it

  WINCHESTER. Com'st thou with deep premeditated lines,
    With written pamphlets studiously devis'd?
    Humphrey of Gloucester, if thou canst accuse
    Or aught intend'st to lay unto my charge,
    Do it without invention, suddenly;
    I with sudden and extemporal speech
    Purpose to answer what thou canst object.
  GLOUCESTER. Presumptuous priest, this place commands my
    patience,
    Or thou shouldst find thou hast dishonour'd me.
    Think not, although in writing I preferr'd
    The manner of thy vile outrageous crimes,
    That therefore I have forg'd, or am not able
    Verbatim to rehearse the method of my pen.
    No, prelate; such is thy audacious wickedness,
    Thy lewd, pestiferous, and dissentious pranks,
    As very infants prattle of thy pride.
    Thou art a most pernicious usurer;
    Froward by nature, enemy to peace;
    Lascivious, wanton, more than well beseems
    A man of thy profession and degree;
    And for thy treachery, what's more manifest
    In that thou laid'st a trap to take my life,
    As well at London Bridge as at the Tower?
    Beside, I fear me, if thy thoughts were sifted,
    The King, thy sovereign, is not quite exempt
    From envious malice of thy swelling heart.
  WINCHESTER. Gloucester, I do defy thee. Lords, vouchsafe
    To give me hearing what I shall reply.
    If I were covetous, ambitious, or perverse,
    As he will have me, how am I so poor?
    Or how haps it I seek not to advance
    Or raise myself, but keep my wonted calling?
    And for dissension, who preferreth peace
    More than I do, except I be provok'd?
    No, my good lords, it is not that offends;
    It is not that that incens'd hath incens'd the Duke:
    It is because no one should sway but he;
    No one but he should be about the King;
    And that engenders thunder in his breast
    And makes him roar these accusations forth.
    But he shall know I am as good
  GLOUCESTER. As good!
    Thou bastard of my grandfather!
  WINCHESTER. Ay, lordly sir; for what are you, I pray,
    But one imperious in another's throne?
  GLOUCESTER. Am I not Protector, saucy priest?
  WINCHESTER. And am not I a prelate of the church?
  GLOUCESTER. Yes, as an outlaw in a castle keeps,
    And useth it to patronage his theft.
  WINCHESTER. Unreverent Gloucester!
  GLOUCESTER. Thou art reverend
    Touching thy spiritual function, not thy life.
  WINCHESTER. Rome shall remedy this.
  WARWICK. Roam thither then.
  SOMERSET. My lord, it were your duty to forbear.
  WARWICK. Ay, see the bishop be not overborne.
  SOMERSET. Methinks my lord should be religious,
    And know the office that belongs to such.
  WARWICK. Methinks his lordship should be humbler;
    It fitteth not a prelate so to plead.
  SOMERSET. Yes, when his holy state is touch'd so near.
  WARWICK. State holy or unhallow'd, what of that?
    Is not his Grace Protector to the King?
  PLANTAGENET.  [Aside]  Plantagenet, I see, must hold his
    tongue,
    Lest it be said 'Speak, sirrah, when you should;
    Must your bold verdict enter talk with lords?'
    Else would I have a fling at Winchester.
  KING HENRY. Uncles of Gloucester and of Winchester,
    The special watchmen of our English weal,
    I would prevail, if prayers might prevail
    To join your hearts in love and amity.
    O, what a scandal is it to our crown
    That two such noble peers as ye should jar!
    Believe me, lords, my tender years can tell
    Civil dissension is a viperous worm
    That gnaws the bowels of the commonwealth.
                  [A noise within: 'Down with the tawny coats!']
    What tumult's this?
  WARWICK. An uproar, I dare warrant,
    Begun through malice of the Bishop's men.
                              [A noise again: 'Stones! Stones!']

                Enter the MAYOR OF LONDON, attended

  MAYOR. O, my good lords, and virtuous Henry,
    Pity the city of London, pity us!
    The Bishop and the Duke of Gloucester's men,
    Forbidden late to carry any weapon,
    Have fill'd their pockets full of pebble stones
    And, banding themselves in contrary parts,
    Do pelt so fast at one another's pate
    That many have their giddy brains knock'd out.
    Our windows are broke down in every street,
    And we for fear compell'd to shut our shops.

        Enter in skirmish, the retainers of GLOUCESTER and
               WINCHESTER, with bloody pates

  KING HENRY. We charge you, on allegiance to ourself,
    To hold your slaught'ring hands and keep the peace.
    Pray, uncle Gloucester, mitigate this strife.
  FIRST SERVING-MAN. Nay, if we be forbidden stones, we'll
    fall to it with our teeth.
  SECOND SERVING-MAN. Do what ye dare, we are as resolute.
                                                [Skirmish again]
  GLOUCESTER. You of my household, leave this peevish broil,
    And set this unaccustom'd fight aside.
  THIRD SERVING-MAN. My lord, we know your Grace to be a
    man
    Just and upright, and for your royal birth
    Inferior to none but to his Majesty;
    And ere that we will suffer such a prince,
    So kind a father of the commonweal,
    To be disgraced by an inkhorn mate,
    We and our wives and children all will fight
    And have our bodies slaught'red by thy foes.
  FIRST SERVING-MAN. Ay, and the very parings of our nails
    Shall pitch a field when we are dead.          [Begin again]
  GLOUCESTER. Stay, stay, I say!
    And if you love me, as you say you do,
    Let me persuade you to forbear awhile.
  KING HENRY. O, how this discord doth afflict my soul!
    Can you, my Lord of Winchester, behold
    My sighs and tears and will not once relent?
    Who should be pitiful, if you be not?
    Or who should study to prefer a peace,
    If holy churchmen take delight in broils?
  WARWICK. Yield, my Lord Protector; yield, Winchester;
    Except you mean with obstinate repulse
    To slay your sovereign and destroy the realm.
    You see what mischief, and what murder too,
    Hath been enacted through your enmity;
    Then be at peace, except ye thirst for blood.
  WINCHESTER. He shall submit, or I will never yield.
  GLOUCESTER. Compassion on the King commands me stoop,
    Or I would see his heart out ere the priest
    Should ever get that privilege of me.
  WARWICK. Behold, my Lord of Winchester, the Duke
    Hath banish'd moody discontented fury,
    As by his smoothed brows it doth appear;
    Why look you still so stem and tragical?
  GLOUCESTER. Here, Winchester, I offer thee my hand.
  KING HENRY. Fie, uncle Beaufort! I have heard you preach
    That malice was a great and grievous sin;
    And will not you maintain the thing you teach,
    But prove a chief offender in the same?
  WARWICK. Sweet King! The Bishop hath a kindly gird.
    For shame, my Lord of Winchester, relent;
    What, shall a child instruct you what to do?
  WINCHESTER. Well, Duke of Gloucester, I will yield to thee;
    Love for thy love and hand for hand I give.
  GLOUCESTER  [Aside]  Ay, but, I fear me, with a hollow
    heart.
    See here, my friends and loving countrymen:
    This token serveth for a flag of truce
    Betwixt ourselves and all our followers.
    So help me God, as I dissemble not!
  WINCHESTER  [Aside]  So help me God, as I intend it not!
  KING HENRY. O loving uncle, kind Duke of Gloucester,
    How joyful am I made by this contract!
    Away, my masters! trouble us no more;
    But join in friendship, as your lords have done.
  FIRST SERVING-MAN. Content: I'll to the surgeon's.
  SECOND SERVING-MAN. And so will I.
  THIRD SERVING-MAN. And I will see what physic the tavern
    affords.                         Exeunt servants, MAYOR, &C.
  WARWICK. Accept this scroll, most gracious sovereign;
    Which in the right of Richard Plantagenet
    We do exhibit to your Majesty.
  GLOUCESTER. Well urg'd, my Lord of Warwick; for, sweet
    prince,
    An if your Grace mark every circumstance,
    You have great reason to do Richard right;
    Especially for those occasions
    At Eltham Place I told your Majesty.
  KING HENRY. And those occasions, uncle, were of force;
    Therefore, my loving lords, our pleasure is
    That Richard be restored to his blood.
  WARWICK. Let Richard be restored to his blood;
    So shall his father's wrongs be recompens'd.
  WINCHESTER. As will the rest, so willeth Winchester.
  KING HENRY. If Richard will be true, not that alone
    But all the whole inheritance I give
    That doth belong unto the house of York,
    From whence you spring by lineal descent.
  PLANTAGENET. Thy humble servant vows obedience
    And humble service till the point of death.
  KING HENRY. Stoop then and set your knee against my foot;
    And in reguerdon of that duty done
    I girt thee with the valiant sword of York.
    Rise, Richard, like a true Plantagenet,
    And rise created princely Duke of York.
  PLANTAGENET. And so thrive Richard as thy foes may fall!
    And as my duty springs, so perish they
    That grudge one thought against your Majesty!
  ALL. Welcome, high Prince, the mighty Duke of York!
  SOMERSET.  [Aside]  Perish, base Prince, ignoble Duke of
    York!
  GLOUCESTER. Now will it best avail your Majesty
    To cross the seas and to be crown'd in France:
    The presence of a king engenders love
    Amongst his subjects and his loyal friends,
    As it disanimates his enemies.
  KING HENRY. When Gloucester says the word, King Henry
    goes;
    For friendly counsel cuts off many foes.
  GLOUCESTER. Your ships already are in readiness.
                         Sennet. Flourish. Exeunt all but EXETER
  EXETER. Ay, we may march in England or in France,
    Not seeing what is likely to ensue.
    This late dissension grown betwixt the peers
    Burns under feigned ashes of forg'd love
    And will at last break out into a flame;
    As fest'red members rot but by degree
    Till bones and flesh and sinews fall away,
    So will this base and envious discord breed.
    And now I fear that fatal prophecy.
    Which in the time of Henry nam'd the Fifth
    Was in the mouth of every sucking babe:
    That Henry born at Monmouth should win all,
    And Henry born at Windsor should lose all.
    Which is so plain that Exeter doth wish
    His days may finish ere that hapless time.              Exit

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

completion: You can probably guess what's going to happen in this one just by reading the stage direction. Where there's Gloucester and Winchester, there's going to be a quarrel--and in Parliament, no less. It's like if Obi-Wan and Anakin Skywalker started quarrelling in the vast galactic Senate meeting. But without the hovercraft, unfortunately. Gloucester is trying to bring up a bill listing Winchester's bad behavior in Parliament. Winchester grabs the paper from his hands, and--no kidding--complains that he wrote out what he wants to say. Picky, picky. Winchester says if Gloucester is going to accuse him, he should do it on the spot without planning ahead; apparently Winchester really respects improv. And guess what? He thinks he's pretty darn good at it: He says he'll answer Gloucester without having to plan it. Gloucester says he may have written down Winchester's crimes, but he's also perfectly able to recite them from memory. Then he gets going on everything that's wrong with Winchester. He throws the book at him, calling his actions "pestiferous" and "dissentious" . Gloucester accuses Winchester of basically being a loan shark, an enemy to peace, and lustful. This is pretty strong stuff anyway, but it's particularly pointed because Winchester is a priest in the Catholic Church and is doubly not supposed to be doing all this stuff. Gloucester finishes it off with the most dangerous accusation of all: Winchester is a traitor and has laid traps to kill Gloucester. Not only that, but Gloucester even suspects him of trying to kill the King. We know from the story of Richard's father that traitors can be executed, so Winchester can't be happy to be called one by the Lord Protector. Winchester says none of these accusations are true, and Gloucester just wants to run the Kingdom by influencing the young king. Gloucester interrupts to shout that Winchester is a "bastard" descended from his grandfather. We at Shmoop try not to use strong language, especially in Parliament, but Gloucester apparently has no such scruples. Winchester accuses Gloucester of pushing people around under the cover of King Henry VI's authority. Gloucester points out that he is officially the Protector of the realm, and Winchester points out that he's pretty high up in the Church . Gloucester and Winchester continue to bicker. Warwick and Somerset get in on the action, trying to settle the dispute. Richard says he has to hold his tongue and not interfere in the debate just now , but otherwise he'd argue with Winchester. The young King Henry VI makes a moving appeal to Gloucester and Winchester to make peace. There's a commotion outside as he speaks. The Mayor turns up again. This guy has a hard job--and last time he told Gloucester and Winchester that their men couldn't carry weapons, so now they're throwing stones. They really are like squabbling kids. He asks the lords and the king to stop the fight. Windows are getting knocked out in the city, and shops have to close. The King tells the men to stop fighting, and they say, "Tough luck! We're going to keep fighting even if we have to use our teeth." Or something like that. They go back to fighting. Gloucester tells his men to stop. One of his servants says they're fighting so Gloucester won't be disgraced, though, and another expresses enthusiasm--and then they start fighting again. Gloucester tells them to stop, the King pleads with Winchester to back off , and Warwick appeals to both the feuding nobles to make peace. Winchester says he won't yield. Gloucester says he'll stop for the King, but that's the only reason. Gloucester does try to make peace, but Winchester brushes him off.; finally the King and Warwick convince him to shake hands with Gloucester. Gloucester doubts that Winchester's sincere, but tries to convince Parliament and the public that the two are at peace. The King says how happy he is and tells the servants to stop fighting now that their lords have agreed. The servants head off to find a doctor. Warwick now introduces the topic of Richard becoming Duke of York again. Gloucester, the King, and Warwick all like the idea, and Winchester agrees to go along with it. The king says that he'll restore all of York's lost inheritance to Richard if Richard will be loyal to him. Richard vows obedience and service up to death. No small promise, that. They do the ceremony that makes Richard Duke, and the lords welcome Richard as one of them. Well, mostly. Somerset mutters to the audience: "Perish, base prince, ignoble Duke of York" . Apparently he's not of the forget-and-forgive school. Gloucester says to the king, "Hey, let's go get you crowned in France." The King says something like, "Whatever you say, my friend." Gloucester is still kind of running this show, even if it is Henry who's about to be crowned; Gloucester's even got the ships ready to go. But his advice is good, as Henry says . Exeter is pretty worried about the feuds among the nobles. He says it's like a fire hidden under ashes that will break out into a flame, or like an infection slowly rotting away a sick person's body. Then he quotes a prophecy that Henry born at Monmouth would win all, while Henry born at Windsor would lose all. Exeter is loyal, even if he doesn't expect things to go well. He says he wishes he would die before these bad things happen.


prompt:
Chapter: SCENE 2.

                      France. Before Rouen

       Enter LA PUCELLE disguis'd, with four soldiers dressed
            like countrymen, with sacks upon their backs

  PUCELLE. These are the city gates, the gates of Rouen,
    Through which our policy must make a breach.
    Take heed, be wary how you place your words;
    Talk like the vulgar sort of market-men
    That come to gather money for their corn.
    If we have entrance, as I hope we shall,
    And that we find the slothful watch but weak,
    I'll by a sign give notice to our friends,
    That Charles the Dauphin may encounter them.
  FIRST SOLDIER. Our sacks shall be a mean to sack the city,
    And we be lords and rulers over Rouen;
    Therefore we'll knock.                              [Knocks]
  WATCH.  [Within]  Qui est la?
  PUCELLE. Paysans, pauvres gens de France
    Poor market-folks that come to sell their corn.
  WATCH. Enter, go in; the market-bell is rung.
  PUCELLE. Now, Rouen, I'll shake thy bulwarks to the
    ground.

                               [LA PUCELLE, &c., enter the town]

        Enter CHARLES, BASTARD, ALENCON, REIGNIER, and forces

  CHARLES. Saint Denis bless this happy stratagem!
    And once again we'll sleep secure in Rouen.
  BASTARD. Here ent'red Pucelle and her practisants;
    Now she is there, how will she specify
    Here is the best and safest passage in?
  ALENCON. By thrusting out a torch from yonder tower;
    Which once discern'd shows that her meaning is
    No way to that, for weakness, which she ent'red.

             Enter LA PUCELLE, on the top, thrusting out
                         a torch burning

  PUCELLE. Behold, this is the happy wedding torch
    That joineth Rouen unto her countrymen,
    But burning fatal to the Talbotites.                    Exit
  BASTARD. See, noble Charles, the beacon of our friend;
    The burning torch in yonder turret stands.
  CHARLES. Now shine it like a comet of revenge,
    A prophet to the fall of all our foes!
  ALENCON. Defer no time, delays have dangerous ends;
    Enter, and cry 'The Dauphin!' presently,
    And then do execution on the watch.

Alarum.           Exeunt

              An alarum. Enter TALBOT in an excursion

  TALBOT. France, thou shalt rue this treason with thy tears,
    If Talbot but survive thy treachery.
  PUCELLE, that witch, that damned sorceress,
    Hath wrought this hellish mischief unawares,
    That hardly we escap'd the pride of France.             Exit

        An alarum; excursions. BEDFORD brought in sick in
          a chair. Enter TALBOT and BURGUNDY without;
         within, LA PUCELLE, CHARLES, BASTARD, ALENCON,
                 and REIGNIER, on the walls

  PUCELLE. Good morrow, gallants! Want ye corn for bread?
    I think the Duke of Burgundy will fast
    Before he'll buy again at such a rate.
    'Twas full of darnel--do you like the taste?
  BURGUNDY. Scoff on, vile fiend and shameless courtezan.
    I trust ere long to choke thee with thine own,
    And make thee curse the harvest of that corn.
  CHARLES. Your Grace may starve, perhaps, before that time.
  BEDFORD. O, let no words, but deeds, revenge this treason!
  PUCELLE. What you do, good grey beard? Break a
    lance,
    And run a tilt at death within a chair?
  TALBOT. Foul fiend of France and hag of all despite,
    Encompass'd with thy lustful paramours,
    Becomes it thee to taunt his valiant age
    And twit with cowardice a man half dead?
    Damsel, I'll have a bout with you again,
    Or else let Talbot perish with this shame.
  PUCELLE. Are ye so hot, sir? Yet, Pucelle, hold thy peace;
    If Talbot do but thunder, rain will follow.
                 [The English party whisper together in council]
    God speed the parliament! Who shall be the Speaker?
  TALBOT. Dare ye come forth and meet us in the field?
  PUCELLE. Belike your lordship takes us then for fools,
    To try if that our own be ours or no.
  TALBOT. I speak not to that railing Hecate,
    But unto thee, Alencon, and the rest.
    Will ye, like soldiers, come and fight it out?
  ALENCON. Signior, no.
  TALBOT. Signior, hang! Base muleteers of France!
    Like peasant foot-boys do they keep the walls,
    And dare not take up arms like gentlemen.
  PUCELLE. Away, captains! Let's get us from the walls;
    For Talbot means no goodness by his looks.
    God b'uy, my lord; we came but to tell you
    That we are here.                      Exeunt from the walls

  TALBOT. And there will we be too, ere it be long,
    Or else reproach be Talbot's greatest fame!
    Vow, Burgundy, by honour of thy house,
    Prick'd on by public wrongs sustain'd in France,
    Either to get the town again or die;
    And I, as sure as English Henry lives
    And as his father here was conqueror,
    As sure as in this late betrayed town
    Great Coeur-de-lion's heart was buried
    So sure I swear to get the town or die.
  BURGUNDY. My vows are equal partners with thy vows.
  TALBOT. But ere we go, regard this dying prince,
    The valiant Duke of Bedford. Come, my lord,
    We will bestow you in some better place,
    Fitter for sickness and for crazy age.
  BEDFORD. Lord Talbot, do not so dishonour me;
    Here will I sit before the walls of Rouen,
    And will be partner of your weal or woe.
  BURGUNDY. Courageous Bedford, let us now persuade you.
  BEDFORD. Not to be gone from hence; for once I read
    That stout Pendragon in his litter sick
    Came to the field, and vanquished his foes.
    Methinks I should revive the soldiers' hearts,
    Because I ever found them as myself.
  TALBOT. Undaunted spirit in a dying breast!
    Then be it so. Heavens keep old Bedford safe!
    And now no more ado, brave Burgundy,
    But gather we our forces out of hand
    And set upon our boasting enemy.
          Exeunt against the town all but BEDFORD and attendants

           An alarum; excursions. Enter SIR JOHN FASTOLFE,
                           and a CAPTAIN

  CAPTAIN. Whither away, Sir John Fastolfe, in such haste?
  FASTOLFE. Whither away? To save myself by flight:
    We are like to have the overthrow again.
  CAPTAIN. What! Will you and leave Lord Talbot?
  FASTOLFE. Ay,
    All the Talbots in the world, to save my life.          Exit

  CAPTAIN. Cowardly knight! ill fortune follow thee!
                                              Exit into the town

         Retreat; excursions. LA PUCELLE, ALENCON,
                      and CHARLES fly

  BEDFORD. Now, quiet soul, depart when heaven please,
    For I have seen our enemies' overthrow.
    What is the trust or strength of foolish man?
    They that of late were daring with their scoffs
    Are glad and fain by flight to save themselves.
            [BEDFORD dies and is carried in by two in his chair]

          An alarum. Re-enter TALBOT, BURGUNDY, and the rest

  TALBOT. Lost and recovered in a day again!
    This is a double honour, Burgundy.
    Yet heavens have glory for this victory!
  BURGUNDY. Warlike and martial Talbot, Burgundy
    Enshrines thee in his heart, and there erects
    Thy noble deeds as valour's monuments.
  TALBOT. Thanks, gentle Duke. But where is Pucelle now?
    I think her old familiar is asleep.
    Now where's the Bastard's braves, and Charles his gleeks?
    What, all amort? Rouen hangs her head for grief
    That such a valiant company are fled.
    Now will we take some order in the town,
    Placing therein some expert officers;
    And then depart to Paris to the King,
    For there young Henry with his nobles lie.
  BURGUNDY. What Lord Talbot pleaseth Burgundy.
  TALBOT. But yet, before we go, let's not forget
    The noble Duke of Bedford, late deceas'd,
    But see his exequies fulfill'd in Rouen.
    A braver soldier never couched lance,
    A gentler heart did never sway in court;
    But kings and mightiest potentates must die,
    For that's the end of human misery.                   Exeunt

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

completion: Back to France, where some sneaky spy stuff is going down. Joan Pucelle turns up in disguise--she and a few soldiers are trying to sneak into the city of Rouen disguised as poor farmers selling corn. The Watch of the city is totally fooled, and lets them in. Apparently the Watch didn't watch their James Bond... The French nobles turn up and wait for a signal from Joan. She'll hold out a torch from the window of a tower to show the weakest place to attack, and then they'll storm the town. They charge in, planning to kill the watchmen and take over. Talbot realizes what's happening and rallies to fight. He blames Joan Pucelle and says she's a witch. Soon Joan and the French nobles are on the walls of the town, proving they've taken it over. She taunts the English and Burgundy, now outside the city. Burgundy insults her back, saying she's a fiend and courtesan . He basically says, "You'll regret this!" Charles gets in on the act, taunting Burgundy as well, and pretty soon the insults are flying back and forth from all over. It gets particularly bad when an older English lord who has to be carried in a chair says something and Joan picks on him about his age. This enrages Talbot, who calls her "Foul fiend of France and hag of all despite" ; he says she shouldn't pick on a brave old man and challenges her to combat. She says the French aren't going to fight for what's already theirs. Talbot says he's not talking to her, but to the French lords. They also decline to fight. The French leave the walls and go about their business. Talbot encourages Burgundy to take the town again, and then promises to take it himself or die. He lists English heroes who make him want to fight: the current king, the king's father Henry V who took Rouen originally, and Richard the lionhearted, whose heart was buried in Rouen. Burgundy says he'll vow just as strongly as Talbot to take Rouen back. Talbot offers to move the ailing Bedford to somewhere more comfortable, and Bedford insists on staying with them before the walls and suffering with them. Talbot congratulates his courage and invites Burgundy to gather the troops and charge. They fight. Sir John Fastolfe runs away from battle. Again. Even though his side wins--he isn't sure who's winning, so he deserts the lines. Bedford dies, proud that the English are winning. Talbot and Burgundy come in, gleeful because they've just taken back Rouen. They congratulate each other and thank heaven for the victory, then Talbot makes fun of Joan and the French. They set up some government for the town, then head off to meet King Henry, who's now in France. They also plan to honor Bedford with a good funeral before they go.


prompt:
Chapter: SCENE 3.

                      The plains near Rouen

        Enter CHARLES, the BASTARD, ALENCON, LA PUCELLE,
                          and forces

  PUCELLE. Dismay not, Princes, at this accident,
    Nor grieve that Rouen is so recovered.
    Care is no cure, but rather corrosive,
    For things that are not to be remedied.
    Let frantic Talbot triumph for a while
    And like a peacock sweep along his tail;
    We'll pull his plumes and take away his train,
    If Dauphin and the rest will be but rul'd.
  CHARLES. We have guided by thee hitherto,
    And of thy cunning had no diffidence;
    One sudden foil shall never breed distrust
  BASTARD. Search out thy wit for secret policies,
    And we will make thee famous through the world.
    ALENCON. We'll set thy statue in some holy place,
    And have thee reverenc'd like a blessed saint.
    Employ thee, then, sweet virgin, for our good.
  PUCELLE. Then thus it must be; this doth Joan devise:
    By fair persuasions, mix'd with sug'red words,
    We will entice the Duke of Burgundy
    To leave the Talbot and to follow us.
  CHARLES. Ay, marry, sweeting, if we could do that,
    France were no place for Henry's warriors;
    Nor should that nation boast it so with us,
    But be extirped from our provinces.
  ALENCON. For ever should they be expuls'd from France,
    And not have tide of an earldom here.
  PUCELLE. Your honours shall perceive how I will work
    To bring this matter to the wished end.
                                          [Drum sounds afar off]
    Hark! by the sound of drum you may perceive
    Their powers are marching unto Paris-ward.

          Here sound an English march. Enter, and pass over
                at a distance, TALBOT and his forces

    There goes the Talbot, with his colours spread,
    And all the troops of English after him.

            French march. Enter the DUKE OF BURGUNDY and
                         his forces

    Now in the rearward comes the Duke and his.
    Fortune in favour makes him lag behind.
    Summon a parley; we will talk with him.
                                       [Trumpets sound a parley]
  CHARLES. A parley with the Duke of Burgundy!
  BURGUNDY. Who craves a parley with the Burgundy?
  PUCELLE. The princely Charles of France, thy countryman.
  BURGUNDY. What say'st thou, Charles? for I am marching
    hence.
  CHARLES. Speak, Pucelle, and enchant him with thy words.
  PUCELLE. Brave Burgundy, undoubted hope of France!
    Stay, let thy humble handmaid speak to thee.
  BURGUNDY. Speak on; but be not over-tedious.
  PUCELLE. Look on thy country, look on fertile France,
    And see the cities and the towns defac'd
    By wasting ruin of the cruel foe;
    As looks the mother on her lowly babe
    When death doth close his tender dying eyes,
    See, see the pining malady of France;
    Behold the wounds, the most unnatural wounds,
    Which thou thyself hast given her woeful breast.
    O, turn thy edged sword another way;
    Strike those that hurt, and hurt not those that help!
    One drop of blood drawn from thy country's bosom
    Should grieve thee more than streams of foreign gore.
    Return thee therefore with a flood of tears,
    And wash away thy country's stained spots.
  BURGUNDY. Either she hath bewitch'd me with her words,
    Or nature makes me suddenly relent.
  PUCELLE. Besides, all French and France exclaims on thee,
    Doubting thy birth and lawful progeny.
    Who join'st thou with but with a lordly nation
    That will not trust thee but for profit's sake?
    When Talbot hath set footing once in France,
    And fashion'd thee that instrument of ill,
    Who then but English Henry will be lord,
    And thou be thrust out like a fugitive?
    Call we to mind-and mark but this for proof:
    Was not the Duke of Orleans thy foe?
    And was he not in England prisoner?
    But when they heard he was thine enemy
    They set him free without his ransom paid,
    In spite of Burgundy and all his friends.
    See then, thou fight'st against thy countrymen,
    And join'st with them will be thy slaughtermen.
    Come, come, return; return, thou wandering lord;
    Charles and the rest will take thee in their arms.
  BURGUNDY. I am vanquished; these haughty words of hers
    Have batt'red me like roaring cannon-shot
    And made me almost yield upon my knees.
    Forgive me, country, and sweet countrymen
    And, lords, accept this hearty kind embrace.
    My forces and my power of men are yours;
    So, farewell, Talbot; I'll no longer trust thee.
  PUCELLE. Done like a Frenchman-  [Aside]  turn and turn
    again.
  CHARLES. Welcome, brave Duke! Thy friendship makes us
    fresh.
  BASTARD. And doth beget new courage in our breasts.
  ALENCON. Pucelle hath bravely play'd her part in this,
    And doth deserve a coronet of gold.
  CHARLES. Now let us on, my lords, and join our powers,
    And seek how we may prejudice the foe.                Exeunt

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

completion: When the next scene opens, Joan is telling the French nobles that it's really not so bad--she says if they'll just listen to her, she'll straighten it all out. Charles says one small setback won't keep him from trusting Joan, and the others agree; Alencon even says they'll honor her like a saint. Joan unfolds her plan. More spy stuff going down. She thinks they can convince Burgundy to come over to their side, with a little persuasion and some "sugared words" . Everyone agrees that the plan is a good one. Joan says you can hear the English drums as they march toward Paris. The Duke of Burgundy is in the back, so they can talk to him alone. They manage to get an audience with Burgundy. He seems skeptical at first, but Joan gives a pretty awesome speech about how he has wounded France by helping the English. She begs him to turn his sword against the invading English and protect his country. Burgundy is impressed. He can't tell if Joan is bewitching him with words, or if by nature he should be supporting France and he is now just coming to realize it. Joan presses her advantage. She says when English Henry is lord of France, they'll shove Burgundy out of power--England has recently failed to do what Burgundy wants, and it will hardly get better when the English have more power. She welcomes Burgundy back and pleads with him to return to the French side. Burgundy says her words have battered him like shots from a cannon, and he can't hold out against them. He'll come back to the French side. The French have a big group hug to celebrate. The others welcome him back and Alencon praises Joan for getting Burgundy to change sides. According to Alencon, Joan deserves a coronet of gold. Charles encourages them all to battle.


prompt:
Chapter: SCENE 4.

                     Paris. The palace

         Enter the KING, GLOUCESTER, WINCHESTER, YORK,
             SUFFOLK, SOMERSET, WARWICK, EXETER,
           VERNON, BASSET, and others. To them, with
                     his soldiers, TALBOT

  TALBOT. My gracious Prince, and honourable peers,
    Hearing of your arrival in this realm,
    I have awhile given truce unto my wars
    To do my duty to my sovereign;
    In sign whereof, this arm that hath reclaim'd
    To your obedience fifty fortresses,
    Twelve cities, and seven walled towns of strength,
    Beside five hundred prisoners of esteem,
    Lets fall his sword before your Highness' feet,
    And with submissive loyalty of heart
    Ascribes the glory of his conquest got
    First to my God and next unto your Grace.           [Kneels]
  KING HENRY. Is this the Lord Talbot, uncle Gloucester,
    That hath so long been resident in France?
  GLOUCESTER. Yes, if it please your Majesty, my liege.
  KING HENRY. Welcome, brave captain and victorious lord!
    When I was young, as yet I am not old,
    I do remember how my father said
    A stouter champion never handled sword.
    Long since we were resolved of your truth,
    Your faithful service, and your toil in war;
    Yet never have you tasted our reward,
    Or been reguerdon'd with so much as thanks,
    Because till now we never saw your face.
    Therefore stand up; and for these good deserts
    We here create you Earl of Shrewsbury;
    And in our coronation take your place.
              Sennet. Flourish. Exeunt all but VERNON and BASSET
  VERNON. Now, sir, to you, that were so hot at sea,
    Disgracing of these colours that I wear
    In honour of my noble Lord of York
    Dar'st thou maintain the former words thou spak'st?
  BASSET. Yes, sir; as well as you dare patronage
    The envious barking of your saucy tongue
    Against my lord the Duke of Somerset.
  VERNON. Sirrah, thy lord I honour as he is.
  BASSET. Why, what is he? As good a man as York!
  VERNON. Hark ye: not so. In witness, take ye that.
                                                   [Strikes him]
  BASSET. Villain, thou knowest the law of arms is such
    That whoso draws a sword 'tis present death,
    Or else this blow should broach thy dearest blood.
    But I'll unto his Majesty and crave
    I may have liberty to venge this wrong;
    When thou shalt see I'll meet thee to thy cost.
  VERNON. Well, miscreant, I'll be there as soon as you;
    And, after, meet you sooner than you would.           Exeunt

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

completion: Unaware of the cloak and dagger stuff going on behind his back, Talbot is back with the English lords and the king, now in France. He greets the king, noting along the way that he's reclaimed fifty fortresses, twelve cities, and seven walled towns, not to mention five hundred esteemed prisoners. Not bad. He tells the king he's loyal and that he gives credit for all this first to God, then to the king. The king is pleased to meet him and recalls how his father used to praise Talbot. He praises Talbot himself, then makes him Earl of Shrewsbury. Meanwhile, the friends of York and Somerset are still quarrelling. The scene ends with an argument between Vernon and Basset about them.


prompt:
Chapter: ACT IV. SCENE 1.

Park. The palace

Enter the KING, GLOUCESTER, WINCHESTER, YORK, SUFFOLK, SOMERSET,
WARWICK, TALBOT, EXETER, the GOVERNOR OF PARIS, and others

  GLOUCESTER. Lord Bishop, set the crown upon his head.
  WINCHESTER. God save King Henry, of that name the Sixth!
  GLOUCESTER. Now, Governor of Paris, take your oath
                                               [GOVERNOR kneels]
    That you elect no other king but him,
    Esteem none friends but such as are his friends,
    And none your foes but such as shall pretend
    Malicious practices against his state.
    This shall ye do, so help you righteous God!
                                   Exeunt GOVERNOR and his train

                    Enter SIR JOHN FASTOLFE

  FASTOLFE. My gracious sovereign, as I rode from Calais,
    To haste unto your coronation,
    A letter was deliver'd to my hands,
    Writ to your Grace from th' Duke of Burgundy.
  TALBOT. Shame to the Duke of Burgundy and thee!
    I vow'd, base knight, when I did meet thee next
    To tear the Garter from thy craven's leg,  [Plucking it off]
    Which I have done, because unworthily
    Thou wast installed in that high degree.
    Pardon me, princely Henry, and the rest:
    This dastard, at the battle of Patay,
    When but in all I was six thousand strong,
    And that the French were almost ten to one,
    Before we met or that a stroke was given,
    Like to a trusty squire did run away;
    In which assault we lost twelve hundred men;
    Myself and divers gentlemen beside
    Were there surpris'd and taken prisoners.
    Then judge, great lords, if I have done amiss,
    Or whether that such cowards ought to wear
    This ornament of knighthood--yea or no.
  GLOUCESTER. To say the truth, this fact was infamous
    And ill beseeming any common man,
    Much more a knight, a captain, and a leader.
  TALBOT. When first this order was ordain'd, my lords,
    Knights of the Garter were of noble birth,
    Valiant and virtuous, full of haughty courage,
    Such as were grown to credit by the wars;
    Not fearing death nor shrinking for distress,
    But always resolute in most extremes.
    He then that is not furnish'd in this sort
    Doth but usurp the sacred name of knight,
    Profaning this most honourable order,
    And should, if I were worthy to be judge,
    Be quite degraded, like a hedge-born swain
    That doth presume to boast of gentle blood.
  KING HENRY. Stain to thy countrymen, thou hear'st thy
    doom.
    Be packing, therefore, thou that wast a knight;
    Henceforth we banish thee on pain of death.
                                                   Exit FASTOLFE

    And now, my Lord Protector, view the letter
    Sent from our uncle Duke of Burgundy.
  GLOUCESTER.  [Viewing the superscription]  What means his
    Grace, that he hath chang'd his style?
    No more but plain and bluntly 'To the King!'
    Hath he forgot he is his sovereign?
    Or doth this churlish superscription
    Pretend some alteration in good-will?
    What's here?  [Reads]  'I have, upon especial cause,
    Mov'd with compassion of my country's wreck,
    Together with the pitiful complaints
    Of such as your oppression feeds upon,
    Forsaken your pernicious faction,
    And join'd with Charles, the rightful King of France.'
    O monstrous treachery! Can this be so
    That in alliance, amity, and oaths,
    There should be found such false dissembling guile?
  KING HENRY. What! Doth my uncle Burgundy revolt?
  GLOUCESTER. He doth, my lord, and is become your foe.
  KING HENRY. Is that the worst this letter doth contain?
  GLOUCESTER. It is the worst, and all, my lord, he writes.
  KING HENRY. Why then Lord Talbot there shall talk with
    him
    And give him chastisement for this abuse.
    How say you, my lord, are you not content?
  TALBOT. Content, my liege! Yes; but that I am prevented,
    I should have begg'd I might have been employ'd.
  KING HENRY. Then gather strength and march unto him
    straight;
    Let him perceive how ill we brook his treason.
    And what offence it is to flout his friends.
  TALBOT. I go, my lord, in heart desiring still
    You may behold confusion of your foes.                  Exit

                       Enter VERNON and BASSET

  VERNON. Grant me the combat, gracious sovereign.
  BASSET. And me, my lord, grant me the combat too.
  YORK. This is my servant: hear him, noble Prince.
  SOMERSET. And this is mine: sweet Henry, favour him.
  KING HENRY. Be patient, lords, and give them leave to speak.
    Say, gentlemen, what makes you thus exclaim,
    And wherefore crave you combat, or with whom?
  VERNON. With him, my lord; for he hath done me wrong.
  BASSET. And I with him; for he hath done me wrong.
  KING HENRY. What is that wrong whereof you both
    complain? First let me know, and then I'll answer you.
  BASSET. Crossing the sea from England into France,
    This fellow here, with envious carping tongue,
    Upbraided me about the rose I wear,
    Saying the sanguine colour of the leaves
    Did represent my master's blushing cheeks
    When stubbornly he did repugn the truth
    About a certain question in the law
    Argu'd betwixt the Duke of York and him;
    With other vile and ignominious terms
    In confutation of which rude reproach
    And in defence of my lord's worthiness,
    I crave the benefit of law of arms.
  VERNON. And that is my petition, noble lord;
    For though he seem with forged quaint conceit
    To set a gloss upon his bold intent,
    Yet know, my lord, I was provok'd by him,
    And he first took exceptions at this badge,
    Pronouncing that the paleness of this flower
    Bewray'd the faintness of my master's heart.
  YORK. Will not this malice, Somerset, be left?
  SOMERSET. Your private grudge, my Lord of York, will out,
    Though ne'er so cunningly you smother it.
  KING HENRY. Good Lord, what madness rules in brainsick
    men, When for so slight and frivolous a cause
    Such factious emulations shall arise!
    Good cousins both, of York and Somerset,
    Quiet yourselves, I pray, and be at peace.
  YORK. Let this dissension first be tried by fight,
    And then your Highness shall command a peace.
  SOMERSET. The quarrel toucheth none but us alone;
    Betwixt ourselves let us decide it then.
  YORK. There is my pledge; accept it, Somerset.
  VERNON. Nay, let it rest where it began at first.
  BASSET. Confirm it so, mine honourable lord.
  GLOUCESTER. Confirm it so? Confounded be your strife;
    And perish ye, with your audacious prate!
    Presumptuous vassals, are you not asham'd
    With this immodest clamorous outrage
    To trouble and disturb the King and us?
    And you, my lords--methinks you do not well
    To bear with their perverse objections,
    Much less to take occasion from their mouths
    To raise a mutiny betwixt yourselves.
    Let me persuade you take a better course.
  EXETER. It grieves his Highness. Good my lords, be friends.
  KING HENRY. Come hither, you that would be combatants:
    Henceforth I charge you, as you love our favour,
    Quite to forget this quarrel and the cause.
    And you, my lords, remember where we are:
    In France, amongst a fickle wavering nation;
    If they perceive dissension in our looks
    And that within ourselves we disagree,
    How will their grudging stomachs be provok'd
    To wilful disobedience, and rebel!
    Beside, what infamy will there arise
    When foreign princes shall be certified
    That for a toy, a thing of no regard,
    King Henry's peers and chief nobility
    Destroy'd themselves and lost the realm of France!
    O, think upon the conquest of my father,
    My tender years; and let us not forgo
    That for a trifle that was bought with blood!
    Let me be umpire in this doubtful strife.
    I see no reason, if I wear this rose,
                                         [Putting on a red rose]
    That any one should therefore be suspicious
    I more incline to Somerset than York:
    Both are my kinsmen, and I love them both.
    As well they may upbraid me with my crown,
    Because, forsooth, the King of Scots is crown'd.
    But your discretions better can persuade
    Than I am able to instruct or teach;
    And, therefore, as we hither came in peace,
    So let us still continue peace and love.
    Cousin of York, we institute your Grace
    To be our Regent in these parts of France.
    And, good my Lord of Somerset, unite
    Your troops of horsemen with his bands of foot;
    And like true subjects, sons of your progenitors,
    Go cheerfully together and digest
    Your angry choler on your enemies.
    Ourself, my Lord Protector, and the rest,
    After some respite will return to Calais;
    From thence to England, where I hope ere long
    To be presented by your victories
    With Charles, Alencon, and that traitorous rout.
                         Flourish. Exeunt all but YORK, WARWICK,
                                                  EXETER, VERNON
  WARWICK. My Lord of York, I promise you, the King
    Prettily, methought, did play the orator.
  YORK. And so he did; but yet I like it not,
    In that he wears the badge of Somerset.
  WARWICK. Tush, that was but his fancy; blame him not;
    I dare presume, sweet prince, he thought no harm.
  YORK. An if I wist he did-but let it rest;
    Other affairs must now be managed.
                                           Exeunt all but EXETER
  EXETER. Well didst thou, Richard, to suppress thy voice;
    For had the passions of thy heart burst out,
    I fear we should have seen decipher'd there
    More rancorous spite, more furious raging broils,
    Than yet can be imagin'd or suppos'd.
    But howsoe'er, no simple man that sees
    This jarring discord of nobility,
    This shouldering of each other in the court,
    This factious bandying of their favourites,
    But that it doth presage some ill event.
    'Tis much when sceptres are in children's hands;
    But more when envy breeds unkind division:
    There comes the ruin, there begins confusion.           Exit

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

completion: Henry VI has his coronation at Paris. Confetti all around, yo. Only it would be a tiny bit better if Fastolfe didn't arrive right after with the news that Burgundy has switched sides. Talbot is really angry with Fastolfe. You can see why, of course--it's not so easy to be cheerful when someone's cowardice has led to your imprisonment. Especially if the guy ran away again when you were winning. And now he's back saying one of your most powerful allies has switched sides. Talbot actually tears the garter off Fastolfe's leg. The garter in this case is a symbol of a particular kind of knighthood Fastolfe holds--the knights of the Garter are a particular kind of English knight. Talbot reminds the lords of Fastolfe's cowardice. He apologizes for losing it in front of the king and lords, but he asks if he wasn't right to do it. Gloucester agrees that Fastolfe is pretty cowardly. Talbot describes all the awesome things that used to be true of the knights of the Garter--they used to be "valiant and virtuous" , full of courage, proven in battle, all that good stuff. Fastolfe doesn't deserve to be one of them. The King agrees, strips Fastolfe of his knighthood, and sends him packing, banished on pain of death. They then turn their attention to the letter from Burgundy announcing his defection to the French side. It's not very respectful, for a letter addressed to a king, and the King decides to send Talbot to talk to Burgundy and give him a hard time. Talbot says he would have begged for the assignment if the King hadn't given it, then heads off to argue with Burgundy. Remember Vernon and Basset? They spent the last act fighting over the quarrel between York and Somerset. Now they turn up and ask the king if they can duel each other. The king sensibly says he'd like to know why they want to duel before he makes a decision. They explain the quarrel, mentioning the red and white roses that proved so symbolic earlier. York asks if they can't leave this malice behind. He may be sincere or he may be sarcastic, but either way, Somerset isn't convinced--he assumes York still has a grudge against him and shows little inclination to make peace. The King tries to make peace, but York and Somerset push for a duel first. Somerset says he and York should duel directly, and York literally throws down the gauntlet. Vernon and Basset egg their masters on. Gloucester yells at them for disturbing the King. More politely, he tells York and Somerset they shouldn't duel and proposes another way. Exeter also says York and Somerset should be friends. The King gives a speech, telling them that they should forget the quarrel. He reminds them that they are in France, "a fickle wavering nation" , and says that any disunity will make the French more likely to rebel against the English. He asks them to make up for the sake of his father and his own youth, and he says "let us not forgo/That for a trifle that was bought with blood" , meaning the lands in France. This is all pretty good. Henry is showing leadership, and his rhetoric's not half bad. It's all pretty king-y of him. But then Henry does something suddenly and disastrously wrong: He takes the red rose and pins it on, claiming quite sincerely that he's equally fond of Somerset and York and no one will think he's favoring one over the other. This is kind of like putting on the campaign badge of one presidential candidate the day before the election and saying you don't really care who wins. You may be sincere, but no one's going to believe you. Then Henry VI puts York in charge of this part of France. He also asks Somerset to work with him there and fight their enemies, not each other. The king says he's heading back to England soon but hopes they will be victorious shortly. Afterward, Warwick says the King did a pretty good job at the old oratory. York agrees, but says he isn't too happy about the King wearing Somerset's badge. Warwick says the King didn't mean anything by it, which is likely all too true . York sounds like he would have been pretty unhappy if the King had meant to take Somerset's side over his, but he checks himself and says there are other things to do. Then everyone but Exeter leaves the stage. Exeter speculates to the audience that Richard, Duke of York, may be an angry type; he also says the fighting in the court is a bad sign, and something bad is coming. He says it's tough to make things work when the king is a child, but what makes things really go south is when envy causes strife.


prompt:
Chapter: SCENE 2.

                        France. Before Bordeaux

                   Enter TALBOT, with trump and drum

  TALBOT. Go to the gates of Bordeaux, trumpeter;
    Summon their general unto the wall.

             Trumpet sounds a parley. Enter, aloft, the
                 GENERAL OF THE FRENCH, and others

    English John Talbot, Captains, calls you forth,
    Servant in arms to Harry King of England;
    And thus he would open your city gates,
    Be humble to us, call my sovereign yours
    And do him homage as obedient subjects,
    And I'll withdraw me and my bloody power;
    But if you frown upon this proffer'd peace,
    You tempt the fury of my three attendants,
    Lean famine, quartering steel, and climbing fire;
    Who in a moment even with the earth
    Shall lay your stately and air braving towers,
    If you forsake the offer of their love.
  GENERAL OF THE FRENCH. Thou ominous and fearful owl of
    death,
    Our nation's terror and their bloody scourge!
    The period of thy tyranny approacheth.
    On us thou canst not enter but by death;
    For, I protest, we are well fortified,
    And strong enough to issue out and fight.
    If thou retire, the Dauphin, well appointed,
    Stands with the snares of war to tangle thee.
    On either hand thee there are squadrons pitch'd
    To wall thee from the liberty of flight,
    And no way canst thou turn thee for redress
    But death doth front thee with apparent spoil
    And pale destruction meets thee in the face.
    Ten thousand French have ta'en the sacrament
    To rive their dangerous artillery
    Upon no Christian soul but English Talbot.
    Lo, there thou stand'st, a breathing valiant man,
    Of an invincible unconquer'd spirit!
    This is the latest glory of thy praise
    That I, thy enemy, due thee withal;
    For ere the glass that now begins to run
    Finish the process of his sandy hour,
    These eyes that see thee now well coloured
    Shall see thee withered, bloody, pale, and dead.
                                                 [Drum afar off]
    Hark! hark! The Dauphin's drum, a warning bell,
    Sings heavy music to thy timorous soul;
    And mine shall ring thy dire departure out.             Exit
  TALBOT. He fables not; I hear the enemy.
    Out, some light horsemen, and peruse their wings.
    O, negligent and heedless discipline!
    How are we park'd and bounded in a pale
    A little herd of England's timorous deer,
    Maz'd with a yelping kennel of French curs!
    If we be English deer, be then in blood;
    Not rascal-like to fall down with a pinch,
    But rather, moody-mad and desperate stags,
    Turn on the bloody hounds with heads of steel
    And make the cowards stand aloof at bay.
    Sell every man his life as dear as mine,
    And they shall find dear deer of us, my friends.
    God and Saint George, Talbot and England's right,
    Prosper our colours in this dangerous fight!          Exeunt

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

completion: Meanwhile, Talbot is back at war. He comes to the French town of Bordeaux and demands surrender. Bordeaux says it will fight back, and on top of that, ten thousand French warriors have promised to shoot at no one but Talbot. Good times. The spokesman for the French says he is pretty impressed with Talbot's courage, but Talbot will be dead within an hour. Talbot admits to himself, not to the herald, that things do look pretty bad for the English. But he rallies the troops and says they can fight with courage.


prompt:
Chapter: SCENE 3.

                      Plains in Gascony

        Enter YORK, with trumpet and many soldiers. A
                   MESSENGER meets him

  YORK. Are not the speedy scouts return'd again
    That dogg'd the mighty army of the Dauphin?
  MESSENGER. They are return'd, my lord, and give it out
    That he is march'd to Bordeaux with his power
    To fight with Talbot; as he march'd along,
    By your espials were discovered
    Two mightier troops than that the Dauphin led,
    Which join'd with him and made their march for
    Bordeaux.
  YORK. A plague upon that villain Somerset
    That thus delays my promised supply
    Of horsemen that were levied for this siege!
    Renowned Talbot doth expect my aid,
    And I am louted by a traitor villain
    And cannot help the noble chevalier.
    God comfort him in this necessity!
    If he miscarry, farewell wars in France.

                      Enter SIR WILLIAM LUCY

  LUCY. Thou princely leader of our English strength,
    Never so needful on the earth of France,
    Spur to the rescue of the noble Talbot,
    Who now is girdled with a waist of iron
    And hemm'd about with grim destruction.
    To Bordeaux, warlike Duke! to Bordeaux, York!
    Else, farewell Talbot, France, and England's honour.
  YORK. O God, that Somerset, who in proud heart
    Doth stop my cornets, were in Talbot's place!
    So should we save a valiant gentleman
    By forfeiting a traitor and a coward.
    Mad ire and wrathful fury makes me weep
    That thus we die while remiss traitors sleep.
  LUCY. O, send some succour to the distress'd lord!
  YORK. He dies; we lose; I break my warlike word.
    We mourn: France smiles. We lose: they daily get-
    All long of this vile traitor Somerset.
  LUCY. Then God take mercy on brave Talbot's soul,
    And on his son, young John, who two hours since
    I met in travel toward his warlike father.
    This seven years did not Talbot see his son;
    And now they meet where both their lives are done.
  YORK. Alas, what joy shall noble Talbot have
    To bid his young son welcome to his grave?
    Away! vexation almost stops my breath,
    That sund'red friends greet in the hour of death.
    Lucy, farewell; no more my fortune can
    But curse the cause I cannot aid the man.
    Maine, Blois, Poictiers, and Tours, are won away
    Long all of Somerset and his delay.         Exit with forces
  LUCY. Thus, while the vulture of sedition
    Feeds in the bosom of such great commanders,
    Sleeping neglection doth betray to loss
    The conquest of our scarce cold conqueror,
    That ever-living man of memory,
    Henry the Fifth. Whiles they each other cross,
    Lives, honours, lands, and all, hurry to loss.          Exit

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

completion: Talbot might get help, if York and Somerset could just agree. Messengers keep trying to convince them to help Talbot, and each says he can't and blames the other. We find out that Talbot's son has come out to help his father, and they may die together if York and Somerset don't find a way to help. One of the messengers, Sir William Lucy, says the feud between Somerset and York is betraying the memory of Henry V, because it's causing the English to lose what he won. Somerset finally says he'll send some horsemen, but Sir William Lucy fears it will be too late, since they will take six hours to get there. Lucy tells Somerset if Talbot is dead "His fame lives in the world, his shame in you" , likely meaning that Talbot's courage will be remembered, but that Talbot would have been ashamed of Somerset's behavior.


prompt:
Chapter: SCENE 4.

                     Other plains of Gascony

        Enter SOMERSET, With his forces; an OFFICER of
                     TALBOT'S with him

  SOMERSET. It is too late; I cannot send them now.
    This expedition was by York and Talbot
    Too rashly plotted; all our general force
    Might with a sally of the very town
    Be buckled with. The over daring Talbot
    Hath sullied all his gloss of former honour
    By this unheedful, desperate, wild adventure.
    York set him on to fight and die in shame.
    That, Talbot dead, great York might bear the name.
  OFFICER. Here is Sir William Lucy, who with me
    Set from our o'er-match'd forces forth for aid.

                       Enter SIR WILLIAM LUCY

  SOMERSET. How now, Sir William! Whither were you sent?
  LUCY. Whither, my lord! From bought and sold Lord
    Talbot,
    Who, ring'd about with bold adversity,
    Cries out for noble York and Somerset
    To beat assailing death from his weak legions;
    And whiles the honourable captain there
    Drops bloody sweat from his war-wearied limbs
    And, in advantage ling'ring, looks for rescue,
    You, his false hopes, the trust of England's honour,
    Keep off aloof with worthless emulation.
    Let not your private discord keep away
    The levied succours that should lend him aid,
    While he, renowned noble gentleman,
    Yield up his life unto a world of odds.
    Orleans the Bastard, Charles, Burgundy,
    Alencon, Reignier, compass him about,
    And Talbot perisheth by your default.
  SOMERSET. York set him on; York should have sent him aid.
  LUCY. And York as fast upon your Grace exclaims,
    Swearing that you withhold his levied host,
    Collected for this expedition.
  SOMERSET. York lies; he might have sent and had the horse.
    I owe him little duty and less love,
    And take foul scorn to fawn on him by sending.
  LUCY. The fraud of England, not the force of France,
    Hath now entrapp'd the noble minded Talbot.
    Never to England shall he bear his life,
    But dies betray'd to fortune by your strife.
  SOMERSET. Come, go; I will dispatch the horsemen straight;
    Within six hours they will be at his aid.
  LUCY. Too late comes rescue; he is ta'en or slain,
    For fly he could not if he would have fled;
    And fly would Talbot never, though he might.
  SOMERSET. If he be dead, brave Talbot, then, adieu!
  LUCY. His fame lives in the world, his shame in you.
Exeunt

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

completion: Imagine the scene: Talbot is swinging his sword in slow motion, fending off the French who are swarming around him, dodging arrows, all of that. Then suddenly his son arrives. Talbot tells his son that he called him here to teach him arts of war, so that Talbot's courage can live on in his son. But now, Talbot says, his son will die if he stays, and the Talbot line will be cut off. He tells the boy to take his swiftest horse and fly the scene. John Talbot, the son, is having none of it. "Is my name Talbot? And am I your son? And shall I fly?" Yep, Hollywood would be all over this dialogue. Talbot and his son debate the point, Talbot telling John to flee so that he can revenge his father and John insisting that someone who would fly in these circumstances would never come back for revenge. John says that he'll stay, and his father can flee. But of course the older Talbot doesn't agree to this plan. They debate it, each trying to save the other's life, until finally they decide to fight side by side until they die. This is definitely the scene where the music would surge and the camera would pan out for a long zoom showing the grim battlefield and the hopeless odds and the Talbots side by side on white horses. The French nobles rush in at this point and surround John Talbot, but his father swoops in to the rescue, shouting "Saint George and victory!" The Talbots really are all they're cracked up to be: bold, loyal, courageous, and strong. So the audience is likely to enjoy it when Talbot gives a speech about his son's courage and his rescue effort. He again asks if his son would like to flee so that he can avenge Talbot later, now that John has proven his courage. John Talbot says in no uncertain terms that he's ashamed even by the suggestion that he would flee, and that he will stay and die with his father if that's what it takes. Talbot accepts his son's decision and says they will fight side by side until they die, full of pride. More fighting ensues. Talbot starts to talk again, saying that young Talbot rescued him from the French, his son being "like a hungry lion" . Sounds pretty fierce. Talbot describes how his son then leapt into the French, ferociously attacking them, and there died. Talbot is immensely proud of his son. Soldiers enter, carrying John Talbot, who is actually not yet dead, but is dying. Talbot celebrates the fact that he and John will escape death together today by entering immortality. This was a standard idea in the Renaissance, since belief in the Christian idea of resurrection after death was widespread. . Talbot takes his son in his arms and dies, celebrating courage and valor as he does. The French nobles and Joan turn up. Charles says that if York and Somerset had gotten their act together, it would have been hard on the French. This just underlines what a tragedy it is from the English perspective that the two couldn't cooperate: They might have saved the Talbots and won the battle. The Bastard says that Talbot's son was raging and spilt a lot of French blood. Joan says she tried to fight him, but he refused her as being unworthy to fight and went off to attack the other French forces. Burgundy says that John Talbot would undoubtedly have made a noble knight. The Bastard wants to chop the Talbots to pieces, which seems like a pretty brash insult, but Charles says they should show more respect to the dead bodies of those who made them flee in life. Sir William Lucy comes in, wanting to know who has won, who the prisoners are, and who has been killed. Lucy is especially looking for Talbot. Here he lists all of Talbot's titles, which takes upward of ten lines . They just go on, including a bunch we haven't even heard before in the play: Earl of Washford, Waterford and Valence; Lord Talbot of Goodrig and Urchinfield; Lord Strange of Blackmere; Lord Verdon of Alton, and more. Joan says this is a silly way of putting it, and then goes on to call Lucy's style "tedious" and say that the person Lucy gives all these titles lies "stinking and flyblown...here at our feet" . Joan's very brave, but she could work on the chivalry a bit. Lucy cries out in grief. He wishes that his eyes would turn into bullets so he could shoot the French, and that even the picture of Talbot would be a stumbling block to the French. He asks for the bodies of the Talbots and says he'll give them the burial they deserve. Joan says they should definitely give Lucy the bodies--you know, because otherwise they will stink up the air. Again, you can tell that certain kinds of chivalry aren't her thing. Charles gives the bodies to Lucy, who says that from their ashes will rise a phoenix to terrify the French. Charles heads off to Paris, hopeful that he'll win everything now that Talbot isn't standing in the way.


prompt:
Chapter: ACT V. SCENE 1.

London. The palace

Sennet. Enter the KING, GLOUCESTER, and EXETER

  KING HENRY. Have you perus'd the letters from the Pope,
    The Emperor, and the Earl of Armagnac?
  GLOUCESTER. I have, my lord; and their intent is this:
    They humbly sue unto your Excellence
    To have a godly peace concluded of
    Between the realms of England and of France.
  KING HENRY. How doth your Grace affect their motion?
  GLOUCESTER. Well, my good lord, and as the only means
    To stop effusion of our Christian blood
    And stablish quietness on every side.
  KING HENRY. Ay, marry, uncle; for I always thought
    It was both impious and unnatural
    That such immanity and bloody strife
    Should reign among professors of one faith.
  GLOUCESTER. Beside, my lord, the sooner to effect
    And surer bind this knot of amity,
    The Earl of Armagnac, near knit to Charles,
    A man of great authority in France,
    Proffers his only daughter to your Grace
    In marriage, with a large and sumptuous dowry.
  KING HENRY. Marriage, uncle! Alas, my years are young
    And fitter is my study and my books
    Than wanton dalliance with a paramour.
    Yet call th' ambassadors, and, as you please,
    So let them have their answers every one.
    I shall be well content with any choice
    Tends to God's glory and my country's weal.

                   Enter in Cardinal's habit
        BEAUFORT, the PAPAL LEGATE, and two AMBASSADORS

  EXETER. What! Is my Lord of Winchester install'd
    And call'd unto a cardinal's degree?
    Then I perceive that will be verified
    Henry the Fifth did sometime prophesy:
    'If once he come to be a cardinal,
    He'll make his cap co-equal with the crown.'
  KING HENRY. My Lords Ambassadors, your several suits
    Have been consider'd and debated on.
    Your purpose is both good and reasonable,
    And therefore are we certainly resolv'd
    To draw conditions of a friendly peace,
    Which by my Lord of Winchester we mean
    Shall be transported presently to France.
  GLOUCESTER. And for the proffer of my lord your master,
    I have inform'd his Highness so at large,
    As, liking of the lady's virtuous gifts,
    Her beauty, and the value of her dower,
    He doth intend she shall be England's Queen.
  KING HENRY.  [To AMBASSADOR]  In argument and proof of
    which contract,
    Bear her this jewel, pledge of my affection.
    And so, my Lord Protector, see them guarded
    And safely brought to Dover; where inshipp'd,
    Commit them to the fortune of the sea.

                        Exeunt all but WINCHESTER and the LEGATE
  WINCHESTER. Stay, my Lord Legate; you shall first receive
    The sum of money which I promised
    Should be delivered to his Holiness
    For clothing me in these grave ornaments.
  LEGATE. I will attend upon your lordship's leisure.
  WINCHESTER.  [Aside]  Now Winchester will not submit, I
    trow,
    Or be inferior to the proudest peer.
    Humphrey of Gloucester, thou shalt well perceive
    That neither in birth or for authority
    The Bishop will be overborne by thee.
    I'll either make thee stoop and bend thy knee,
    Or sack this country with a mutiny.                   Exeunt

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

completion: The King, Gloucester, and Exeter are discussing the King's mail. The Pope, who is a figure of great political power as well as spiritual significance, has written and asked England and France to make peace. The King asks Gloucester's advice, and Gloucester says it would be nice if they could stop killing each other and live a quiet life. We also learn that the Earl of Armagnac, a powerful man in France, has offered his daughter in marriage with a magnificent dowry if that will help conclude the peace deal. The King says he's pretty young to get married, and should probably be doing his homework instead of wooing a bride. He calls the marriage a "wanton dalliance," which seems a little harsh on poor Mademoiselle Armagnac--it sounds more like the way you'd describe a mistress than a wife. Henry may just be too young and clueless to realize that this could be offensive; he certainly doesn't seem to know much about love. He does say he'll be content with any choice that will advance God's glory and the good of his country. This is a noble sentiment, but doesn't seem like the most passionate idea of marriage out there. Winchester and some ambassadors turn up. Exeter gives Winchester a hard time about advancing to the rank of cardinal, and says that Henry the Fifth thought Winchester would be trying to equal the King if he got the Cardinal's role. The King says he's good with peace and it will all be arranged. Gloucester tells the ambassador from the Earl of Armagnac that the King likes the Earl's daughter and wants to make her queen. This is kind of odd: Shouldn't Henry be saying this himself? And shouldn't he have decided one way or the other earlier in the scene? This is probably another way of showing his youth and naivete. The King does send a jewel to the Earl's daughter at least. Fingers crossed it's a nice one. As the scene ends, we get a presumably private moment where Winchester pays off the Pope's representative for making him a cardinal. He also says how happy he is that he'll now be of equal rank with Gloucester, adding that he'll make Gloucester bow to him or else he'll sack the whole country with a mutiny. Which seems a little excessive.