{"answer":"Beaufort with the truest friendship and was deeply grieved by his retreat in these unfortunate circumstances. He bitterly deplored the false pride which led his friend to a conduct so little worthy of the affection that united them. He lost no time in endeavouring to seek him out, with the hope of persuading him to begin the world again through his credit and assistance.\n\nBeaufort had taken effectual measures to conceal himself, and it was ten months before my father discovered his abode. Overjoyed at this discovery, he hastened to the house, which was situated in a mean street near the Reuss. But when he entered, misery and despair alone welcomed him. Beaufort had saved but a very small sum of money from the wreck of his fortunes, but it was sufficient to provide him with sustenance for some months, and in the meantime he hoped to procure some respectable employment in a merchant\u2019s house. The interval was, consequently, spent in inaction; his grief only became more deep and rankling when he had leisure for reflection, and at length it took so fast hold of his mind that at the end of three months he lay on a bed of sickness, incapable of any exertion.\n\nHis daughter attended him with the greatest tenderness, but she saw with despair that their little fund was rapidly decreasing and that there was no other prospect of support. But Caroline Beaufort possessed a mind of an uncommon mould, and her courage rose to support her in","question":"I am by birth a Genevese, and my family is one of the most distinguished of that republic. My ancestors had been for many years counsellors and syndics, and my father had filled several public situations with honour and reputation. He was respected by all who knew him for his integrity and indefatigable attention to public business. He passed his younger days perpetually occupied by the affairs of his country; a variety of circumstances had prevented his marrying early, nor was it until the decline of life that he became a husband and the father of a family.\n\nAs the circumstances of his marriage illustrate his character, I cannot refrain from relating them. One of his most intimate friends was a merchant who, from a flourishing state, fell, through numerous mischances, into poverty. This man, whose name was Beaufort, was of a proud and unbending disposition and could not bear to live in poverty and oblivion in the same country where he had formerly been distinguished for his rank and magnificence. Having paid his debts, therefore, in the most honourable manner, he retreated with his daughter to the town of Lucerne, where he lived unknown and in wretchedness. My father loved"} {"answer":"Beaufort with the truest friendship and was deeply grieved by his retreat in these unfortunate circumstances. He bitterly deplored the false pride which led his friend to a conduct so little worthy of the affection that united them. He lost no time in endeavouring to seek him out, with the hope of persuading him to begin the world again through his credit and assistance.\n\nBeaufort had taken effectual measures to conceal himself, and it was ten months before my father discovered his abode. Overjoyed at this discovery, he hastened to the house, which was situated in a mean street near the Reuss. But when he entered, misery and despair alone welcomed him. Beaufort had saved but a very small sum of money from the wreck of his fortunes, but it was sufficient to provide him with sustenance for some months, and in the meantime he hoped to procure some respectable employment in a merchant\u2019s house. The interval was, consequently, spent in inaction; his grief only became more deep and rankling when he had leisure for reflection, and at length it took so fast hold of his mind that at the end of three months he lay on a bed of sickness, incapable of any exertion.\n\nHis daughter attended him with the greatest tenderness, but she saw with despair that their little fund was rapidly decreasing and that there was no other prospect of support. But Caroline Beaufort possessed a mind of an uncommon mould, and her courage rose to support her in","question":"I am by birth a Genevese, and my family is one of the most distinguished of that republic. My ancestors had been for many years counsellors and syndics, and my father had filled several public situations with honour and reputation. He was respected by all who knew him for his integrity and indefatigable attention to public business. He passed his younger days perpetually occupied by the affairs of his country; a variety of circumstances had prevented his marrying early, nor was it until the decline of life that he became a husband and the father of a family.\n\nAs the circumstances of his marriage illustrate his character, I cannot refrain from relating them. One of his most intimate friends was a merchant who, from a flourishing state, fell, through numerous mischances, into poverty. This man, whose name was Beaufort, was of a proud and unbending disposition and could not bear to live in poverty and oblivion in the same country where he had formerly been distinguished for his rank and magnificence. Having paid his debts, therefore, in the most honourable manner, he retreated with his daughter to the town of Lucerne, where he lived unknown and in wretchedness. My father loved"} {"answer":"Beaufort with the truest friendship and was deeply grieved by his retreat in these unfortunate circumstances. He bitterly deplored the false pride which led his friend to a conduct so little worthy of the affection that united them. He lost no time in endeavouring to seek him out, with the hope of persuading him to begin the world again through his credit and assistance.\n\nBeaufort had taken effectual measures to conceal himself, and it was ten months before my father discovered his abode. Overjoyed at this discovery, he hastened to the house, which was situated in a mean street near the Reuss. But when he entered, misery and despair alone welcomed him. Beaufort had saved but a very small sum of money from the wreck of his fortunes, but it was sufficient to provide him with sustenance for some months, and in the meantime he hoped to procure some respectable employment in a merchant\u2019s house. The interval was, consequently, spent in inaction; his grief only became more deep and rankling when he had leisure for reflection, and at length it took so fast hold of his mind that at the end of three months he lay on a bed of sickness, incapable of any exertion.\n\nHis daughter attended him with the greatest tenderness, but she saw with despair that their little fund was rapidly decreasing and that there was no other prospect of support. But Caroline Beaufort possessed a mind of an uncommon mould, and her courage rose to support her in","question":"I am by birth a Genevese, and my family is one of the most distinguished of that republic. My ancestors had been for many years counsellors and syndics, and my father had filled several public situations with honour and reputation. He was respected by all who knew him for his integrity and indefatigable attention to public business. He passed his younger days perpetually occupied by the affairs of his country; a variety of circumstances had prevented his marrying early, nor was it until the decline of life that he became a husband and the father of a family.\n\nAs the circumstances of his marriage illustrate his character, I cannot refrain from relating them. One of his most intimate friends was a merchant who, from a flourishing state, fell, through numerous mischances, into poverty. This man, whose name was Beaufort, was of a proud and unbending disposition and could not bear to live in poverty and oblivion in the same country where he had formerly been distinguished for his rank and magnificence. Having paid his debts, therefore, in the most honourable manner, he retreated with his daughter to the town of Lucerne, where he lived unknown and in wretchedness. My father loved"} {"answer":"of my intent, but only\nVaulting ambition, which o'erleaps itself,\nAnd falls on the other.\n\n[Enter Lady Macbeth.]\n\nHow now! what news?\n\nLADY MACBETH.\nHe has almost supp'd: why have you left the chamber?\n\nMACBETH.\nHath he ask'd for me?\n\nLADY MACBETH.\nKnow you not he has?\n\nMACBETH.\nWe will proceed no further in this business:\nHe hath honour'd me of late; and I have bought\nGolden opinions from all sorts of people,\nWhich would be worn now in their newest gloss,\nNot cast aside so soon.\n\nLADY MACBETH.\nWas the hope drunk\nWherein you dress'd yourself? hath it slept since?\nAnd wakes it now, to look so green and pale\nAt what it did so freely? From this time\nSuch I account thy love. Art thou afeard\nTo be the same in thine own act and valor\nAs thou art in desire? Wouldst thou have that\nWhich thou esteem'st the ornament of life,\nAnd live a coward in thine own esteem;\nLetting \"I dare not\" wait upon \"I would,\"\nLike the poor cat i' the adage?\n\nMACBETH.\nPr'ythee, peace!\nI dare do all that may become a man;\nWho dares do more is none.\n\nLADY MACBETH.\nWhat beast was't, then,\nThat made you break this enterprise to me?\nWhen you durst do it, then you were a man;\nAnd, to be more than what you were, you would\nBe so much more the man. Nor time nor place\nDid then adhere, and yet you would make both:\nThey have made themselves, and that their fitness now\nDoes unmake you. I have given suck, and know\nHow tender 'tis to love the babe that milks me:\nI would, while it was smiling in my face,\nHave pluck'd my nipple from his boneless gums\nAnd dash'd","question":"SCENE VII.\n\nThe same. A Lobby in the Castle.\n\n[Hautboys and torches. Enter, and pass over, a Sewer and divers\nServants with dishes and service. Then enter Macbeth.]\n\nMACBETH.\nIf it were done when 'tis done, then 'twere well\nIt were done quickly. If the assassination\nCould trammel up the consequence, and catch,\nWith his surcease, success; that but this blow\nMight be the be-all and the end-all--here,\nBut here, upon this bank and shoal of time,--\nWe'd jump the life to come. But in these cases\nWe still have judgement here; that we but teach\nBloody instructions, which being taught, return\nTo plague the inventor: this even-handed justice\nCommends the ingredients of our poison'd chalice\nTo our own lips. He's here in double trust:\nFirst, as I am his kinsman and his subject,\nStrong both against the deed: then, as his host,\nWho should against his murderer shut the door,\nNot bear the knife myself. Besides, this Duncan\nHath borne his faculties so meek, hath been\nSo clear in his great office, that his virtues\nWill plead like angels, trumpet-tongued, against\nThe deep damnation of his taking-off:\nAnd pity, like a naked new-born babe,\nStriding the blast, or heaven's cherubin, hors'd\nUpon the sightless couriers of the air,\nShall blow the horrid deed in every eye,\nThat tears shall drown the wind.--I have no spur\nTo prick the sides"} {"answer":"of my intent, but only\nVaulting ambition, which o'erleaps itself,\nAnd falls on the other.\n\n[Enter Lady Macbeth.]\n\nHow now! what news?\n\nLADY MACBETH.\nHe has almost supp'd: why have you left the chamber?\n\nMACBETH.\nHath he ask'd for me?\n\nLADY MACBETH.\nKnow you not he has?\n\nMACBETH.\nWe will proceed no further in this business:\nHe hath honour'd me of late; and I have bought\nGolden opinions from all sorts of people,\nWhich would be worn now in their newest gloss,\nNot cast aside so soon.\n\nLADY MACBETH.\nWas the hope drunk\nWherein you dress'd yourself? hath it slept since?\nAnd wakes it now, to look so green and pale\nAt what it did so freely? From this time\nSuch I account thy love. Art thou afeard\nTo be the same in thine own act and valor\nAs thou art in desire? Wouldst thou have that\nWhich thou esteem'st the ornament of life,\nAnd live a coward in thine own esteem;\nLetting \"I dare not\" wait upon \"I would,\"\nLike the poor cat i' the adage?\n\nMACBETH.\nPr'ythee, peace!\nI dare do all that may become a man;\nWho dares do more is none.\n\nLADY MACBETH.\nWhat beast was't, then,\nThat made you break this enterprise to me?\nWhen you durst do it, then you were a man;\nAnd, to be more than what you were, you would\nBe so much more the man. Nor time nor place\nDid then adhere, and yet you would make both:\nThey have made themselves, and that their fitness now\nDoes unmake you. I have given suck, and know\nHow tender 'tis to love the babe that milks me:\nI would, while it was smiling in my face,\nHave pluck'd my nipple from his boneless gums\nAnd dash'd","question":"SCENE VII.\n\nThe same. A Lobby in the Castle.\n\n[Hautboys and torches. Enter, and pass over, a Sewer and divers\nServants with dishes and service. Then enter Macbeth.]\n\nMACBETH.\nIf it were done when 'tis done, then 'twere well\nIt were done quickly. If the assassination\nCould trammel up the consequence, and catch,\nWith his surcease, success; that but this blow\nMight be the be-all and the end-all--here,\nBut here, upon this bank and shoal of time,--\nWe'd jump the life to come. But in these cases\nWe still have judgement here; that we but teach\nBloody instructions, which being taught, return\nTo plague the inventor: this even-handed justice\nCommends the ingredients of our poison'd chalice\nTo our own lips. He's here in double trust:\nFirst, as I am his kinsman and his subject,\nStrong both against the deed: then, as his host,\nWho should against his murderer shut the door,\nNot bear the knife myself. Besides, this Duncan\nHath borne his faculties so meek, hath been\nSo clear in his great office, that his virtues\nWill plead like angels, trumpet-tongued, against\nThe deep damnation of his taking-off:\nAnd pity, like a naked new-born babe,\nStriding the blast, or heaven's cherubin, hors'd\nUpon the sightless couriers of the air,\nShall blow the horrid deed in every eye,\nThat tears shall drown the wind.--I have no spur\nTo prick the sides"} {"answer":"her coughs,\" said her father; \"she times\nthem ill.\"\n\n\"I do not cough for my own amusement,\" replied Kitty fretfully.\n\n\"When is your next ball to be, Lizzy?\"\n\n\"To-morrow fortnight.\"\n\n\"Aye, so it is,\" cried her mother, \"and Mrs. Long does not come back\ntill the day before; so, it will be impossible for her to introduce him,\nfor she will not know him herself.\"\n\n\"Then, my dear, you may have the advantage of your friend, and introduce\nMr. Bingley to _her_.\"\n\n\"Impossible, Mr. Bennet, impossible, when I am not acquainted with him\nmyself; how can you be so teazing?\"\n\n\"I honour your circumspection. A fortnight's acquaintance is certainly\nvery little. One cannot know what a man really is by the end of a\nfortnight. But if _we_ do not venture, somebody else will; and after\nall, Mrs. Long and her nieces must stand their chance; and therefore, as\nshe will think it an act of kindness, if you decline the office, I will\ntake it on myself.\"\n\nThe girls stared at their father. Mrs. Bennet said only, \"Nonsense,\nnonsense!\"\n\n\"What can be the meaning of that emphatic exclamation?\" cried he. \"Do\nyou consider the forms of introduction, and the stress that is laid on\nthem, as nonsense? I cannot quite agree with you _there_. What say you,\nMary? for you are a young lady of deep reflection I know, and read great\nbooks, and make extracts.\"\n\nMary wished to say something very sensible, but knew not how.\n\n\"While Mary is adjusting her ideas,\" he continued, \"let us return to Mr.\nBingley.\"\n\n\"I am sick of Mr. Bingley,\" cried his wife.\n\n\"I am sorry to hear _that_; but why","question":"\n\nMr. Bennet was among the earliest of those who waited on Mr. Bingley. He\nhad always intended to visit him, though to the last always assuring his\nwife that he should not go; and till the evening after the visit was\npaid, she had no knowledge of it. It was then disclosed in the following\nmanner. Observing his second daughter employed in trimming a hat, he\nsuddenly addressed her with,\n\n\"I hope Mr. Bingley will like it Lizzy.\"\n\n\"We are not in a way to know _what_ Mr. Bingley likes,\" said her mother\nresentfully, \"since we are not to visit.\"\n\n\"But you forget, mama,\" said Elizabeth, \"that we shall meet him at the\nassemblies, and that Mrs. Long has promised to introduce him.\"\n\n\"I do not believe Mrs. Long will do any such thing. She has two nieces\nof her own. She is a selfish, hypocritical woman, and I have no opinion\nof her.\"\n\n\"No more have I,\" said Mr. Bennet; \"and I am glad to find that you do\nnot depend on her serving you.\"\n\nMrs. Bennet deigned not to make any reply; but unable to contain\nherself, began scolding one of her daughters.\n\n\"Don't keep coughing so, Kitty, for heaven's sake! Have a little\ncompassion on my nerves. You tear them to pieces.\"\n\n\"Kitty has no discretion in"} {"answer":"go with him; but Colonel Fitzwilliam had made it clear\nthat he had no intentions at all, and agreeable as he was, she did not\nmean to be unhappy about him.\n\nWhile settling this point, she was suddenly roused by the sound of the\ndoor bell, and her spirits were a little fluttered by the idea of its\nbeing Colonel Fitzwilliam himself, who had once before called late in\nthe evening, and might now come to enquire particularly after her. But\nthis idea was soon banished, and her spirits were very differently\naffected, when, to her utter amazement, she saw Mr. Darcy walk into the\nroom. In an hurried manner he immediately began an enquiry after her\nhealth, imputing his visit to a wish of hearing that she were better.\nShe answered him with cold civility. He sat down for a few moments, and\nthen getting up walked about the room. Elizabeth was surprised, but said\nnot a word. After a silence of several minutes he came towards her in an\nagitated manner, and thus began,\n\n\"In vain have I struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be\nrepressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love\nyou.\"\n\nElizabeth's astonishment was beyond expression. She stared, coloured,\ndoubted, and was silent. This he considered sufficient encouragement,\nand the avowal of all that he felt and had long felt for her,\nimmediately followed. He spoke well, but there were feelings besides\nthose of the heart to be detailed, and he was not more eloquent on the\nsubject of tenderness than of pride. His sense of her inferiority--of\nits being","question":"\n\nWhen they were gone, Elizabeth, as if intending to exasperate herself as\nmuch as possible against Mr. Darcy, chose for her employment the\nexamination of all the letters which Jane had written to her since her\nbeing in Kent. They contained no actual complaint, nor was there any\nrevival of past occurrences, or any communication of present suffering.\nBut in all, and in almost every line of each, there was a want of that\ncheerfulness which had been used to characterize her style, and which,\nproceeding from the serenity of a mind at ease with itself, and kindly\ndisposed towards every one, had been scarcely ever clouded. Elizabeth\nnoticed every sentence conveying the idea of uneasiness, with an\nattention which it had hardly received on the first perusal. Mr. Darcy's\nshameful boast of what misery he had been able to inflict, gave her a\nkeener sense of her sister's sufferings. It was some consolation to\nthink that his visit to Rosings was to end on the day after the next,\nand a still greater, that in less than a fortnight she should herself be\nwith Jane again, and enabled to contribute to the recovery of her\nspirits, by all that affection could do.\n\nShe could not think of Darcy's leaving Kent, without remembering that\nhis cousin was to"} {"answer":"the society of the\nneighbourhood, nor to his leaving his parish occasionally for a week or\ntwo, to visit his relations. She had even condescended to advise him to\nmarry as soon as he could, provided he chose with discretion; and had\nonce paid him a visit in his humble parsonage; where she had perfectly\napproved all the alterations he had been making, and had even vouchsafed\nto suggest some herself,--some shelves in the closets up stairs.\n\n\"That is all very proper and civil, I am sure,\" said Mrs. Bennet, \"and I\ndare say she is a very agreeable woman. It is a pity that great ladies\nin general are not more like her. Does she live near you, sir?\"\n\n\"The garden in which stands my humble abode, is separated only by a lane\nfrom Rosings Park, her ladyship's residence.\"\n\n\"I think you said she was a widow, sir? has she any family?\"\n\n\"She has one only daughter, the heiress of Rosings, and of very\nextensive property.\"\n\n\"Ah!\" cried Mrs. Bennet, shaking her head, \"then she is better off than\nmany girls. And what sort of young lady is she? is she handsome?\"\n\n\"She is a most charming young lady indeed. Lady Catherine herself says\nthat in point of true beauty, Miss De Bourgh is far superior to the\nhandsomest of her sex; because there is that in her features which marks\nthe young woman of distinguished birth. She is unfortunately of a sickly\nconstitution, which has prevented her making that progress in many\naccomplishments, which she could not otherwise have failed of; as I am\ninformed by the lady who superintended her","question":"\n\nDuring dinner, Mr. Bennet scarcely spoke at all; but when the servants\nwere withdrawn, he thought it time to have some conversation with his\nguest, and therefore started a subject in which he expected him to\nshine, by observing that he seemed very fortunate in his patroness. Lady\nCatherine de Bourgh's attention to his wishes, and consideration for his\ncomfort, appeared very remarkable. Mr. Bennet could not have chosen\nbetter. Mr. Collins was eloquent in her praise. The subject elevated him\nto more than usual solemnity of manner, and with a most important aspect\nhe protested that he had never in his life witnessed such behaviour in a\nperson of rank--such affability and condescension, as he had himself\nexperienced from Lady Catherine. She had been graciously pleased to\napprove of both the discourses, which he had already had the honour of\npreaching before her. She had also asked him twice to dine at Rosings,\nand had sent for him only the Saturday before, to make up her pool of\nquadrille in the evening. Lady Catherine was reckoned proud by many\npeople he knew, but _he_ had never seen any thing but affability in her.\nShe had always spoken to him as she would to any other gentleman; she\nmade not the smallest objection to his joining in"} {"answer":"pop down a large rabbit-hole, under\nthe hedge. In another moment, down went Alice after it!\n\n[Illustration]\n\nThe rabbit-hole went straight on like a tunnel for some way and then\ndipped suddenly down, so suddenly that Alice had not a moment to think\nabout stopping herself before she found herself falling down what seemed\nto be a very deep well.\n\nEither the well was very deep, or she fell very slowly, for she had\nplenty of time, as she went down, to look about her. First, she tried to\nmake out what she was coming to, but it was too dark to see anything;\nthen she looked at the sides of the well and noticed that they were\nfilled with cupboards and book-shelves; here and there she saw maps and\npictures hung upon pegs. She took down a jar from one of the shelves as\nshe passed. It was labeled \"ORANGE MARMALADE,\" but, to her great\ndisappointment, it was empty; she did not like to drop the jar, so\nmanaged to put it into one of the cupboards as she fell past it.\n\nDown, down, down! Would the fall never come to an end? There was nothing\nelse to do, so Alice soon began talking to herself. \"Dinah'll miss me\nvery much to-night, I should think!\" (Dinah was the cat.) \"I hope\nthey'll remember her saucer of milk at tea-time. Dinah, my dear, I wish\nyou were down here with me!\" Alice felt that she was dozing off, when\nsuddenly, thump! thump! down she came upon a heap of sticks and dry\nleaves, and the fall was over.\n\nAlice was not a bit","question":"\nAlice was beginning to get very tired of sitting by her sister on the\nbank, and of having nothing to do. Once or twice she had peeped into the\nbook her sister was reading, but it had no pictures or conversations in\nit, \"and what is the use of a book,\" thought Alice, \"without pictures or\nconversations?\"\n\nSo she was considering in her own mind (as well as she could, for the\nday made her feel very sleepy and stupid), whether the pleasure of\nmaking a daisy-chain would be worth the trouble of getting up and\npicking the daisies, when suddenly a White Rabbit with pink eyes ran\nclose by her.\n\nThere was nothing so very remarkable in that, nor did Alice think it so\nvery much out of the way to hear the Rabbit say to itself, \"Oh dear! Oh\ndear! I shall be too late!\" But when the Rabbit actually took a watch\nout of its waistcoat-pocket and looked at it and then hurried on, Alice\nstarted to her feet, for it flashed across her mind that she had never\nbefore seen a rabbit with either a waistcoat-pocket, or a watch to take\nout of it, and, burning with curiosity, she ran across the field after\nit and was just in time to see it"} {"answer":"kiss the ground before young Malcolm's feet,\nAnd to be baited with the rabble's curse.\nThough Birnam wood be come to Dunsinane,\nAnd thou oppos'd, being of no woman born,\nYet I will try the last. Before my body\nI throw my warlike shield: lay on, Macduff;\nAnd damn'd be him that first cries, \"Hold, enough!\"\n\n[Exeunt fighting.]\n\n[Retreat. Flourish. Enter, with drum and colours, Malcolm, old\nSiward, Ross, Lennox, Angus, Caithness, Menteith, and Soldiers.\n\nMALCOLM.\nI would the friends we miss were safe arriv'd.\n\nSIWARD.\nSome must go off; and yet, by these I see,\nSo great a day as this is cheaply bought.\n\nMALCOLM.\nMacduff is missing, and your noble son.\n\nROSS.\nYour son, my lord, has paid a soldier's debt:\nHe only liv'd but till he was a man;\nThe which no sooner had his prowess confirm'd\nIn the unshrinking station where he fought,\nBut like a man he died.\n\nSIWARD.\nThen he is dead?\n\nFLEANCE.\nAy, and brought off the field: your cause of sorrow\nMust not be measur'd by his worth, for then\nIt hath no end.\n\nSIWARD.\nHad he his hurts before?\n\nROSS.\nAy, on the front.\n\nSIWARD.\nWhy then, God's soldier be he!\nHad I as many sons as I have hairs,\nI would not wish them to a fairer death:\nAnd, so his knell is knoll'd.\n\nMALCOLM.\nHe's worth more sorrow,\nAnd that I'll spend for him.\n\nSIWARD.\nHe's worth no more:\nThey say he parted well, and paid his score:\nAnd so, God be with him!--Here comes newer comfort.\n\n[Re-enter Macduff, with Macbeth's head.]\n\nMACDUFF.\nHail, king, for so thou art: behold, where stands\nThe usurper's cursed head: the time is free:\nI see thee compass'd with thy kingdom's pearl\nThat speak my salutation in their minds;\nWhose voices I desire aloud","question":"SCENE VIII.\n\nThe same. Another part of the field.\n\n[Enter Macbeth.]\n\nMACBETH.\nWhy should I play the Roman fool, and die\nOn mine own sword? whiles I see lives, the gashes\nDo better upon them.\n\n[Enter Macduff.]\n\nMACDUFF.\nTurn, hell-hound, turn!\n\nMACBETH.\nOf all men else I have avoided thee:\nBut get thee back; my soul is too much charg'd\nWith blood of thine already.\n\nMACDUFF.\nI have no words,--\nMy voice is in my sword: thou bloodier villain\nThan terms can give thee out!\n\n[They fight.]\n\nMACBETH.\nThou losest labour:\nAs easy mayst thou the intrenchant air\nWith thy keen sword impress, as make me bleed:\nLet fall thy blade on vulnerable crests;\nI bear a charmed life, which must not yield\nTo one of woman born.\n\nMACDUFF.\nDespair thy charm;\nAnd let the angel whom thou still hast serv'd\nTell thee, Macduff was from his mother's womb\nUntimely ripp'd.\n\nMACBETH.\nAccursed be that tongue that tells me so,\nFor it hath cow'd my better part of man!\nAnd be these juggling fiends no more believ'd,\nThat palter with us in a double sense;\nThat keep the word of promise to our ear,\nAnd break it to our hope!--I'll not fight with thee.\n\nMACDUFF.\nThen yield thee, coward,\nAnd live to be the show and gaze o' the time:\nWe'll have thee, as our rarer monsters are,\nPainted upon a pole, and underwrit,\n\"Here may you see the tyrant.\"\n\nMACBETH.\nI will not yield,\nTo"} {"answer":"rubs her hands.\n\nGENTLEWOMAN.\nIt is an accustomed action with her, to seem thus washing her\nhands: I have known her continue in this a quarter of an hour.\n\nLADY MACBETH.\nYet here's a spot.\n\nDOCTOR.\nHark, she speaks: I will set down what comes from her, to\nsatisfy my remembrance the more strongly.\n\nLADY MACBETH.\nOut, damned spot! out, I say!-- One; two; why, then 'tis\ntime to do't ;--Hell is murky!--Fie, my lord, fie! a soldier,\nand afeard? What need we fear who knows it, when none can call\nour power to account?--Yet who would have thought the old man to\nhave had so much blood in him?\n\nDOCTOR.\nDo you mark that?\n\nLADY MACBETH.\nThe Thane of Fife had a wife; where is she now?--What,\nwill these hands ne'er be clean? No more o' that, my lord, no\nmore o' that: you mar all with this starting.\n\nDOCTOR.\nGo to, go to; you have known what you should not.\n\nGENTLEWOMAN.\nShe has spoke what she should not, I am sure of that:\nheaven knows what she has known.\n\nLADY MACBETH.\nHere's the smell of the blood still: all the perfumes\nof Arabia will not sweeten this little hand. Oh, oh, oh!\n\nDOCTOR.\nWhat a sigh is there! The heart is sorely charged.\n\nGENTLEWOMAN.\nI would not have such a heart in my bosom for the\ndignity of the whole body.\n\nDOCTOR.\nWell, well, well,--\n\nGENTLEWOMAN.\nPray God it be, sir.\n\nDOCTOR.\nThis disease is beyond my practice: yet I have known those\nwhich have walked in their sleep who have died holily in\ntheir beds.\n\nLADY MACBETH.\nWash your hands, put on your nightgown; look not so\npale:--I tell you yet again, Banquo's buried; he cannot come\nout on's grave.\n\nDOCTOR.\nEven so?\n\nLADY MACBETH.\nTo","question":"ACT V. SCENE I.\n\nDunsinane. A Room in the Castle.\n\n[Enter a Doctor of Physic and a Waiting-Gentlewoman.]\n\nDOCTOR.\nI have two nights watched with you, but can perceive no\ntruth in your report. When was it she last walked?\n\nGENTLEWOMAN.\nSince his majesty went into the field, I have seen her\nrise from her bed, throw her nightgown upon her, unlock her\ncloset, take forth paper, fold it, write upon it, read it,\nafterwards seal it, and again return to bed; yet all this\nwhile in a most fast sleep.\n\nDOCTOR.\nA great perturbation in nature,--to receive at once the\nbenefit of sleep, and do the effects of watching-- In this\nslumbery agitation, besides her walking and other actual\nperformances, what, at any time, have you heard her say?\n\nGENTLEWOMAN.\nThat, sir, which I will not report after her.\n\nDOCTOR.\nYou may to me; and 'tis most meet you should.\n\nGENTLEWOMAN.\nNeither to you nor any one; having no witness to confirm my\nspeech. Lo you, here she comes!\n\n[Enter Lady Macbeth, with a taper.]\n\nThis is her very guise; and, upon my life, fast asleep. Observe\nher; stand close.\n\nDOCTOR.\nHow came she by that light?\n\nGENTLEWOMAN.\nWhy, it stood by her: she has light by her continually; 'tis her\ncommand.\n\nDOCTOR.\nYou see, her eyes are open.\n\nGENTLEWOMAN.\nAy, but their sense is shut.\n\nDOCTOR.\nWhat is it she does now? Look how she"} {"answer":"his own;\n For he himself is subject to his birth.\n He may not, as unvalued persons do,\n Carve for himself, for on his choice depends\n The safety and health of this whole state,\n And therefore must his choice be circumscrib'd\n Unto the voice and yielding of that body\n Whereof he is the head. Then if he says he loves you,\n It fits your wisdom so far to believe it\n As he in his particular act and place\n May give his saying deed; which is no further\n Than the main voice of Denmark goes withal.\n Then weigh what loss your honour may sustain\n If with too credent ear you list his songs,\n Or lose your heart, or your chaste treasure open\n To his unmast'red importunity.\n Fear it, Ophelia, fear it, my dear sister,\n And keep you in the rear of your affection,\n Out of the shot and danger of desire.\n The chariest maid is prodigal enough\n If she unmask her beauty to the moon.\n Virtue itself scopes not calumnious strokes.\n The canker galls the infants of the spring\n Too oft before their","question":"Scene III.\nElsinore. A room in the house of Polonius.\n\nEnter Laertes and Ophelia.\n\n Laer. My necessaries are embark'd. Farewell.\n And, sister, as the winds give benefit\n And convoy is assistant, do not sleep,\n But let me hear from you.\n Oph. Do you doubt that?\n Laer. For Hamlet, and the trifling of his favour,\n Hold it a fashion, and a toy in blood;\n A violet in the youth of primy nature,\n Forward, not permanent- sweet, not lasting;\n The perfume and suppliance of a minute;\n No more.\n Oph. No more but so?\n Laer. Think it no more.\n For nature crescent does not grow alone\n In thews and bulk; but as this temple waxes,\n The inward service of the mind and soul\n Grows wide withal. Perhaps he loves you now,\n And now no soil nor cautel doth besmirch\n The virtue of his will; but you must fear,\n His greatness weigh'd, his will is not"} {"answer":"his own;\n For he himself is subject to his birth.\n He may not, as unvalued persons do,\n Carve for himself, for on his choice depends\n The safety and health of this whole state,\n And therefore must his choice be circumscrib'd\n Unto the voice and yielding of that body\n Whereof he is the head. Then if he says he loves you,\n It fits your wisdom so far to believe it\n As he in his particular act and place\n May give his saying deed; which is no further\n Than the main voice of Denmark goes withal.\n Then weigh what loss your honour may sustain\n If with too credent ear you list his songs,\n Or lose your heart, or your chaste treasure open\n To his unmast'red importunity.\n Fear it, Ophelia, fear it, my dear sister,\n And keep you in the rear of your affection,\n Out of the shot and danger of desire.\n The chariest maid is prodigal enough\n If she unmask her beauty to the moon.\n Virtue itself scopes not calumnious strokes.\n The canker galls the infants of the spring\n Too oft before their","question":"Scene III.\nElsinore. A room in the house of Polonius.\n\nEnter Laertes and Ophelia.\n\n Laer. My necessaries are embark'd. Farewell.\n And, sister, as the winds give benefit\n And convoy is assistant, do not sleep,\n But let me hear from you.\n Oph. Do you doubt that?\n Laer. For Hamlet, and the trifling of his favour,\n Hold it a fashion, and a toy in blood;\n A violet in the youth of primy nature,\n Forward, not permanent- sweet, not lasting;\n The perfume and suppliance of a minute;\n No more.\n Oph. No more but so?\n Laer. Think it no more.\n For nature crescent does not grow alone\n In thews and bulk; but as this temple waxes,\n The inward service of the mind and soul\n Grows wide withal. Perhaps he loves you now,\n And now no soil nor cautel doth besmirch\n The virtue of his will; but you must fear,\n His greatness weigh'd, his will is not"} {"answer":"in the other. He came trotting along in a\ngreat hurry, muttering to himself, \"Oh! the Duchess, the Duchess! Oh!\n_won't_ she be savage if I've kept her waiting!\"\n\nWhen the Rabbit came near her, Alice began, in a low, timid voice, \"If\nyou please, sir--\" The Rabbit started violently, dropped the white\nkid-gloves and the fan and skurried away into the darkness as hard as he\ncould go.\n\n[Illustration]\n\nAlice took up the fan and gloves and she kept fanning herself all the\ntime she went on talking. \"Dear, dear! How queer everything is to-day!\nAnd yesterday things went on just as usual. _Was_ I the same when I got\nup this morning? But if I'm not the same, the next question is, 'Who in\nthe world am I?' Ah, _that's_ the great puzzle!\"\n\nAs she said this, she looked down at her hands and was surprised to see\nthat she had put on one of the Rabbit's little white kid-gloves while\nshe was talking. \"How _can_ I have done that?\" she thought. \"I must be\ngrowing small again.\" She got up and went to the table to measure\nherself by it and found that she was now about two feet high and was\ngoing on shrinking rapidly. She soon found out that the cause of this\nwas the fan she was holding and she dropped it hastily, just in time to\nsave herself from shrinking away altogether.\n\n\"That _was_ a narrow escape!\" said Alice, a good deal frightened at the\nsudden change, but very glad to find herself still in existence. \"And\nnow for the garden!\" And she ran with all","question":"\n\"Curiouser and curiouser!\" cried Alice (she was so much surprised that\nfor the moment she quite forgot how to speak good English). \"Now I'm\nopening out like the largest telescope that ever was! Good-by, feet! Oh,\nmy poor little feet, I wonder who will put on your shoes and stockings\nfor you now, dears? I shall be a great deal too far off to trouble\nmyself about you.\"\n\nJust at this moment her head struck against the roof of the hall; in\nfact, she was now rather more than nine feet high, and she at once took\nup the little golden key and hurried off to the garden door.\n\nPoor Alice! It was as much as she could do, lying down on one side, to\nlook through into the garden with one eye; but to get through was more\nhopeless than ever. She sat down and began to cry again.\n\nShe went on shedding gallons of tears, until there was a large pool all\n'round her and reaching half down the hall.\n\nAfter a time, she heard a little pattering of feet in the distance and\nshe hastily dried her eyes to see what was coming. It was the White\nRabbit returning, splendidly dressed, with a pair of white kid-gloves in\none hand and a large fan"} {"answer":"fear to do\nThan wishest should be undone.\" Hie thee hither,\nThat I may pour my spirits in thine ear;\nAnd chastise with the valor of my tongue\nAll that impedes thee from the golden round,\nWhich fate and metaphysical aid doth seem\nTo have thee crown'd withal.\n\n[Enter an Attendant.]\n\nWhat is your tidings?\n\nATTENDANT.\nThe king comes here tonight.\n\nLADY MACBETH.\nThou'rt mad to say it:\nIs not thy master with him? who, were't so,\nWould have inform'd for preparation.\n\nATTENDANT.\nSo please you, it is true:--our thane is coming:\nOne of my fellows had the speed of him;\nWho, almost dead for breath, had scarcely more\nThan would make up his message.\n\nLADY MACBETH.\nGive him tending;\nHe brings great news.\n\n[Exit Attendant.]\n\nThe raven himself is hoarse\nThat croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan\nUnder my battlements. Come, you spirits\nThat tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here;\nAnd fill me, from the crown to the toe, top-full\nOf direst cruelty! make thick my blood,\nStop up the access and passage to remorse,\nThat no compunctious visitings of nature\nShake my fell purpose, nor keep peace between\nThe effect and it! Come to my woman's breasts,\nAnd take my milk for gall, your murdering ministers,\nWherever in your sightless substances\nYou wait on nature's mischief! Come, thick night,\nAnd pall thee in the dunnest smoke of hell\nThat my keen knife see not the wound it makes\nNor heaven peep through the blanket of the dark\nTo cry, \"Hold, hold!\"\n\n[Enter Macbeth.]\n\nGreat Glamis! Worthy Cawdor!\nGreater than both, by the all-hail hereafter!\nThy letters have transported me beyond\nThis ignorant present, and I feel now\nThe future in the instant.\n\nMACBETH.\nMy dearest love,\nDuncan comes here tonight.\n\nLADY MACBETH.\nAnd when goes hence?\n\nMACBETH.\nTo-morrow,--as he purposes.\n\nLADY","question":"SCENE V.\n\nInverness. A Room in Macbeth's Castle.\n\n[Enter Lady Macbeth, reading a letter.]\n\nLADY MACBETH.\n\"They met me in the day of success; and I have\nlearned by the perfectest report they have more in them than\nmortal knowledge. When I burned in desire to question them\nfurther, they made themselves air, into which they vanished.\nWhiles I stood rapt in the wonder of it, came missives from\nthe king, who all-hailed me, 'Thane of Cawdor'; by which title,\nbefore, these weird sisters saluted me, and referred me to the\ncoming on of time, with 'Hail, king that shalt be!' This have\nI thought good to deliver thee, my dearest partner of\ngreatness; that thou mightst not lose the dues of rejoicing, by\nbeing ignorant of what greatness is promised thee. Lay it to thy\nheart, and farewell.\"\n\nGlamis thou art, and Cawdor; and shalt be\nWhat thou art promis'd; yet do I fear thy nature;\nIt is too full o' the milk of human kindness\nTo catch the nearest way: thou wouldst be great;\nArt not without ambition; but without\nThe illness should attend it. What thou wouldst highly,\nThat wouldst thou holily; wouldst not play false,\nAnd yet wouldst wrongly win: thou'dst have, great Glamis,\nThat which cries, \"Thus thou must do, if thou have it:\nAnd that which rather thou dost"} {"answer":"upon\nneat's-leather have gone upon my handiwork.\n\nFLAVIUS.\nBut wherefore art not in thy shop today?\nWhy dost thou lead these men about the streets?\n\nSECOND CITIZEN.\nTruly, sir, to wear out their shoes to get myself into more\nwork. But indeed, sir, we make holiday to see Caesar and to\nrejoice in his triumph.\n\nMARULLUS.\nWherefore rejoice? What conquest brings he home?\nWhat tributaries follow him to Rome,\nTo grace in captive bonds his chariot wheels?\nYou blocks, you stones, you worse than senseless things!\nO you hard hearts, you cruel men of Rome,\nKnew you not Pompey? Many a time and oft\nHave you climb'd up to walls and battlements,\nTo towers and windows, yea, to chimney tops,\nYour infants in your arms, and there have sat\nThe livelong day with patient expectation\nTo see great Pompey pass the streets of Rome.\nAnd when you saw his chariot but appear,\nHave you not made an universal shout\nThat Tiber trembled underneath her banks\nTo hear the replication of your sounds\nMade in her concave shores?\nAnd do you now put on your best attire?\nAnd do you now cull out a holiday?\nAnd do you now strew flowers in his way\nThat comes in triumph over Pompey's blood?\nBe gone!\nRun to your houses, fall upon your knees,\nPray to the gods to intermit the plague\nThat needs must light on this ingratitude.\n\nFLAVIUS.\nGo, go, good countrymen, and, for this fault,\nAssemble all the poor men of your sort,\nDraw them to Tiber banks, and weep your tears\nInto the channel, till the lowest stream\nDo kiss the most exalted shores of all.\n\n[Exeunt CITIZENS.]\n\nSee whether their basest metal be not moved;\nThey vanish tongue-tied in their guiltiness.\nGo","question":"ACT I. SCENE I.\n\nRome. A street.\n\n[Enter Flavius, Marullus, and a Throng of Citizens.]\n\nFLAVIUS.\nHence! home, you idle creatures, get you home!\nIs this a holiday? What! know you not,\nBeing mechanical, you ought not walk\nUpon a laboring day without the sign\nOf your profession?--Speak, what trade art thou?\n\nFIRST CITIZEN.\nWhy, sir, a carpenter.\n\nMARULLUS.\nWhere is thy leather apron and thy rule?\nWhat dost thou with thy best apparel on?--\nYou, sir; what trade are you?\n\nSECOND CITIZEN.\nTruly, sir, in respect of a fine workman, I am but, as you\nwould say, a cobbler.\n\nMARULLUS.\nBut what trade art thou? Answer me directly.\n\nSECOND CITIZEN.\nA trade, sir, that, I hope, I may use with a safe\nconscience, which is indeed, sir, a mender of bad soles.\n\nMARULLUS.\nWhat trade, thou knave? Thou naughty knave, what trade?\n\nSECOND CITIZEN.\nNay, I beseech you, sir, be not out with me; yet,\nif you be out, sir, I can mend you.\n\nMARULLUS.\nWhat mean'st thou by that? Mend me, thou saucy fellow!\n\nSECOND CITIZEN.\nWhy, sir, cobble you.\n\nFLAVIUS.\nThou art a cobbler, art thou?\n\nSECOND CITIZEN.\nTruly, Sir, all that I live by is with the awl; I meddle with\nno tradesman's matters, nor women's matters, but with awl.\nI am indeed, sir, a surgeon to old shoes; when they are in\ngreat danger, I re-cover them. As proper men as ever trod"} {"answer":"upon\nneat's-leather have gone upon my handiwork.\n\nFLAVIUS.\nBut wherefore art not in thy shop today?\nWhy dost thou lead these men about the streets?\n\nSECOND CITIZEN.\nTruly, sir, to wear out their shoes to get myself into more\nwork. But indeed, sir, we make holiday to see Caesar and to\nrejoice in his triumph.\n\nMARULLUS.\nWherefore rejoice? What conquest brings he home?\nWhat tributaries follow him to Rome,\nTo grace in captive bonds his chariot wheels?\nYou blocks, you stones, you worse than senseless things!\nO you hard hearts, you cruel men of Rome,\nKnew you not Pompey? Many a time and oft\nHave you climb'd up to walls and battlements,\nTo towers and windows, yea, to chimney tops,\nYour infants in your arms, and there have sat\nThe livelong day with patient expectation\nTo see great Pompey pass the streets of Rome.\nAnd when you saw his chariot but appear,\nHave you not made an universal shout\nThat Tiber trembled underneath her banks\nTo hear the replication of your sounds\nMade in her concave shores?\nAnd do you now put on your best attire?\nAnd do you now cull out a holiday?\nAnd do you now strew flowers in his way\nThat comes in triumph over Pompey's blood?\nBe gone!\nRun to your houses, fall upon your knees,\nPray to the gods to intermit the plague\nThat needs must light on this ingratitude.\n\nFLAVIUS.\nGo, go, good countrymen, and, for this fault,\nAssemble all the poor men of your sort,\nDraw them to Tiber banks, and weep your tears\nInto the channel, till the lowest stream\nDo kiss the most exalted shores of all.\n\n[Exeunt CITIZENS.]\n\nSee whether their basest metal be not moved;\nThey vanish tongue-tied in their guiltiness.\nGo","question":"ACT I. SCENE I.\n\nRome. A street.\n\n[Enter Flavius, Marullus, and a Throng of Citizens.]\n\nFLAVIUS.\nHence! home, you idle creatures, get you home!\nIs this a holiday? What! know you not,\nBeing mechanical, you ought not walk\nUpon a laboring day without the sign\nOf your profession?--Speak, what trade art thou?\n\nFIRST CITIZEN.\nWhy, sir, a carpenter.\n\nMARULLUS.\nWhere is thy leather apron and thy rule?\nWhat dost thou with thy best apparel on?--\nYou, sir; what trade are you?\n\nSECOND CITIZEN.\nTruly, sir, in respect of a fine workman, I am but, as you\nwould say, a cobbler.\n\nMARULLUS.\nBut what trade art thou? Answer me directly.\n\nSECOND CITIZEN.\nA trade, sir, that, I hope, I may use with a safe\nconscience, which is indeed, sir, a mender of bad soles.\n\nMARULLUS.\nWhat trade, thou knave? Thou naughty knave, what trade?\n\nSECOND CITIZEN.\nNay, I beseech you, sir, be not out with me; yet,\nif you be out, sir, I can mend you.\n\nMARULLUS.\nWhat mean'st thou by that? Mend me, thou saucy fellow!\n\nSECOND CITIZEN.\nWhy, sir, cobble you.\n\nFLAVIUS.\nThou art a cobbler, art thou?\n\nSECOND CITIZEN.\nTruly, Sir, all that I live by is with the awl; I meddle with\nno tradesman's matters, nor women's matters, but with awl.\nI am indeed, sir, a surgeon to old shoes; when they are in\ngreat danger, I re-cover them. As proper men as ever trod"} {"answer":"hot tea upon its nose. The Dormouse shook its head impatiently\nand said, without opening its eyes, \"Of course, of course; just what I\nwas going to remark myself.\"\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\"Have you guessed the riddle yet?\" the Hatter said, turning to Alice\nagain.\n\n\"No, I give it up,\" Alice replied. \"What's the answer?\"\n\n\"I haven't the slightest idea,\" said the Hatter.\n\n\"Nor I,\" said the March Hare.\n\nAlice gave a weary sigh. \"I think you might do something better with the\ntime,\" she said, \"than wasting it in asking riddles that have no\nanswers.\"\n\n\"Take some more tea,\" the March Hare said to Alice, very earnestly.\n\n\"I've had nothing yet,\" Alice replied in an offended tone, \"so I can't\ntake more.\"\n\n\"You mean you can't take _less_,\" said the Hatter; \"it's very easy to\ntake _more_ than nothing.\"\n\nAt this, Alice got up and walked off. The Dormouse fell asleep instantly\nand neither of the others took the least notice of her going, though she\nlooked back once or twice; the last time she saw them, they were\ntrying to put the Dormouse into the tea-pot.\n\n[Illustration: The Trial of the Knave of Hearts.]\n\n\"At any rate, I'll never go _there_ again!\" said Alice, as she picked\nher way through the wood. \"It's the stupidest tea-party I ever was at in\nall my life!\" Just as she said this, she noticed that one of the trees\nhad a door leading right into it. \"That's very curious!\" she thought. \"I\nthink I may as well go in at once.\" And in she went.\n\nOnce more she found herself in the long hall and close to the little\nglass table.","question":"There was a table set out under a tree in front of the house, and the\nMarch Hare and the Hatter were having tea at it; a Dormouse was sitting\nbetween them, fast asleep.\n\nThe table was a large one, but the three were all crowded together at\none corner of it. \"No room! No room!\" they cried out when they saw Alice\ncoming. \"There's _plenty_ of room!\" said Alice indignantly, and she sat\ndown in a large arm-chair at one end of the table.\n\nThe Hatter opened his eyes very wide on hearing this, but all he said\nwas \"Why is a raven like a writing-desk?\"\n\n\"I'm glad they've begun asking riddles--I believe I can guess that,\" she\nadded aloud.\n\n\"Do you mean that you think you can find out the answer to it?\" said the\nMarch Hare.\n\n\"Exactly so,\" said Alice.\n\n\"Then you should say what you mean,\" the March Hare went on.\n\n\"I do,\" Alice hastily replied; \"at least--at least I mean what I\nsay--that's the same thing, you know.\"\n\n\"You might just as well say,\" added the Dormouse, which seemed to be\ntalking in its sleep, \"that 'I breathe when I sleep' is the same thing\nas 'I sleep when I breathe!'\"\n\n\"It _is_ the same thing with you,\" said the Hatter, and he poured a\nlittle"} {"answer":"honour'd in the breach than the observance.\n This heavy-headed revel east and west\n Makes us traduc'd and tax'd of other nations;\n They clip us drunkards and with swinish phrase\n Soil our addition; and indeed it takes\n From our achievements, though perform'd at height,\n The pith and marrow of our attribute.\n So oft it chances in particular men\n That, for some vicious mole of nature in them,\n As in their birth,- wherein they are not guilty,\n Since nature cannot choose his origin,-\n By the o'ergrowth of some complexion,\n Oft breaking down the pales and forts of reason,\n Or by some habit that too much o'erleavens\n The form of plausive manners, that these men\n Carrying, I say, the stamp of one defect,\n Being nature's livery, or fortune's star,\n Their virtues else- be they as pure as grace,\n As infinite as man may undergo-\n Shall in the general censure take corruption\n From that particular fault. The dram of e'il\n Doth all the noble substance often dout To his own scandal.\n\n ","question":"Scene IV.\nElsinore. The platform before the Castle.\n\nEnter Hamlet, Horatio, and Marcellus.\n\n Ham. The air bites shrewdly; it is very cold.\n Hor. It is a nipping and an eager air.\n Ham. What hour now?\n Hor. I think it lacks of twelve.\n Mar. No, it is struck.\n Hor. Indeed? I heard it not. It then draws near the season\n Wherein the spirit held his wont to walk.\n A flourish of trumpets, and two pieces go off.\n What does this mean, my lord?\n Ham. The King doth wake to-night and takes his rouse,\n Keeps wassail, and the swagg'ring upspring reels,\n And, as he drains his draughts of Rhenish down,\n The kettledrum and trumpet thus bray out\n The triumph of his pledge.\n Hor. Is it a custom?\n Ham. Ay, marry, is't;\n But to my mind, though I am native here\n And to the manner born, it is a custom\n More"} {"answer":"a plain dish\nto a ragout, had nothing to say to her.\n\nWhen dinner was over, she returned directly to Jane, and Miss Bingley\nbegan abusing her as soon as she was out of the room. Her manners were\npronounced to be very bad indeed, a mixture of pride and impertinence;\nshe had no conversation, no style, no taste, no beauty. Mrs. Hurst\nthought the same, and added,\n\n\"She has nothing, in short, to recommend her, but being an excellent\nwalker. I shall never forget her appearance this morning. She really\nlooked almost wild.\"\n\n\"She did indeed, Louisa. I could hardly keep my countenance. Very\nnonsensical to come at all! Why must _she_ be scampering about the\ncountry, because her sister had a cold? Her hair so untidy, so blowsy!\"\n\n\"Yes, and her petticoat; I hope you saw her petticoat, six inches deep\nin mud, I am absolutely certain; and the gown which had been let down to\nhide it, not doing its office.\"\n\n\"Your picture may be very exact, Louisa,\" said Bingley; \"but this was\nall lost upon me. I thought Miss Elizabeth Bennet looked remarkably\nwell, when she came into the room this morning. Her dirty petticoat\nquite escaped my notice.\"\n\n\"_You_ observed it, Mr. Darcy, I am sure,\" said Miss Bingley; \"and I am\ninclined to think that you would not wish to see _your sister_ make such\nan exhibition.\"\n\n\"Certainly not.\"\n\n\"To walk three miles, or four miles, or five miles, or whatever it is,\nabove her ancles in dirt, and alone, quite alone! what could she mean by\nit? It seems to me to shew an abominable sort of conceited independence,\na","question":"\n\nAt five o'clock the two ladies retired to dress, and at half past six\nElizabeth was summoned to dinner. To the civil enquiries which then\npoured in, and amongst which she had the pleasure of distinguishing the\nmuch superior solicitude of Mr. Bingley's, she could not make a very\nfavourable answer. Jane was by no means better. The sisters, on hearing\nthis, repeated three or four times how much they were grieved, how\nshocking it was to have a bad cold, and how excessively they disliked\nbeing ill themselves; and then thought no more of the matter: and their\nindifference towards Jane when not immediately before them, restored\nElizabeth to the enjoyment of all her original dislike.\n\nTheir brother, indeed, was the only one of the party whom she could\nregard with any complacency. His anxiety for Jane was evident, and his\nattentions to herself most pleasing, and they prevented her feeling\nherself so much an intruder as she believed she was considered by the\nothers. She had very little notice from any but him. Miss Bingley was\nengrossed by Mr. Darcy, her sister scarcely less so; and as for Mr.\nHurst, by whom Elizabeth sat, he was an indolent man, who lived only to\neat, drink, and play at cards, who when he found her prefer"} {"answer":"in great fear lest she should meet the\nreal Mary Ann and be turned out of the house before she had found the\nfan and gloves.\n\nBy this time, Alice had found her way into a tidy little room with a\ntable in the window, and on it a fan and two or three pairs of tiny\nwhite kid-gloves; she took up the fan and a pair of the gloves and was\njust going to leave the room, when her eyes fell upon a little bottle\nthat stood near the looking-glass. She uncorked it and put it to her\nlips, saying to herself, \"I do hope it'll make me grow large again, for,\nreally, I'm quite tired of being such a tiny little thing!\"\n\nBefore she had drunk half the bottle, she found her head pressing\nagainst the ceiling, and had to stoop to save her neck from being\nbroken. She hastily put down the bottle, remarking, \"That's quite\nenough--I hope I sha'n't grow any more.\"\n\nAlas! It was too late to wish that! She went on growing and growing and\nvery soon she had to kneel down on the floor. Still she went on growing,\nand, as a last resource, she put one arm out of the window and one foot\nup the chimney, and said to herself, \"Now I can do no more, whatever\nhappens. What _will_ become of me?\"\n\n[Illustration]\n\nLuckily for Alice, the little magic bottle had now had its full effect\nand she grew no larger. After a few minutes she heard a voice outside\nand stopped to listen.\n\n\"Mary Ann! Mary Ann!\" said the voice. \"Fetch me","question":"\nIt was the White Rabbit, trotting slowly back again and looking\nanxiously about as it went, as if it had lost something; Alice heard it\nmuttering to itself, \"The Duchess! The Duchess! Oh, my dear paws! Oh, my\nfur and whiskers! She'll get me executed, as sure as ferrets are\nferrets! Where _can_ I have dropped them, I wonder?\" Alice guessed in a\nmoment that it was looking for the fan and the pair of white kid-gloves\nand she very good-naturedly began hunting about for them, but they were\nnowhere to be seen--everything seemed to have changed since her swim in\nthe pool, and the great hall, with the glass table and the little door,\nhad vanished completely.\n\nVery soon the Rabbit noticed Alice, and called to her, in an angry tone,\n\"Why, Mary Ann, what _are_ you doing out here? Run home this moment and\nfetch me a pair of gloves and a fan! Quick, now!\"\n\n\"He took me for his housemaid!\" said Alice, as she ran off. \"How\nsurprised he'll be when he finds out who I am!\" As she said this, she\ncame upon a neat little house, on the door of which was a bright brass\nplate with the name \"W. RABBIT\" engraved upon it. She went in without\nknocking and hurried upstairs,"} {"answer":"and amiable as they were represented by common report.\nThis was his plan of amends--of atonement--for inheriting their father's\nestate; and he thought it an excellent one, full of eligibility and\nsuitableness, and excessively generous and disinterested on his own\npart.\n\nHis plan did not vary on seeing them.--Miss Bennet's lovely face\nconfirmed his views, and established all his strictest notions of what\nwas due to seniority; and for the first evening _she_ was his settled\nchoice. The next morning, however, made an alteration; for in a quarter\nof an hour's tete-a-tete with Mrs. Bennet before breakfast, a\nconversation beginning with his parsonage-house, and leading naturally\nto the avowal of his hopes, that a mistress for it might be found at\nLongbourn, produced from her, amid very complaisant smiles and general\nencouragement, a caution against the very Jane he had fixed on.--\"As to\nher _younger_ daughters she could not take upon her to say--she could\nnot positively answer--but she did not _know_ of any prepossession;--her\n_eldest_ daughter, she must just mention--she felt it incumbent on her\nto hint, was likely to be very soon engaged.\"\n\nMr. Collins had only to change from Jane to Elizabeth--and it was soon\ndone--done while Mrs. Bennet was stirring the fire. Elizabeth, equally\nnext to Jane in birth and beauty, succeeded her of course.\n\nMrs. Bennet treasured up the hint, and trusted that she might soon have\ntwo daughters married; and the man whom she could not bear to speak of\nthe day before, was now high in her good graces.\n\nLydia's intention of walking to Meryton was not forgotten; every sister\nexcept Mary agreed to go with her; and","question":"\n\nMr. Collins was not a sensible man, and the deficiency of nature had\nbeen but little assisted by education or society; the greatest part of\nhis life having been spent under the guidance of an illiterate and\nmiserly father; and though he belonged to one of the universities, he\nhad merely kept the necessary terms, without forming at it any useful\nacquaintance. The subjection in which his father had brought him up, had\ngiven him originally great humility of manner, but it was now a good\ndeal counteracted by the self-conceit of a weak head, living in\nretirement, and the consequential feelings of early and unexpected\nprosperity. A fortunate chance had recommended him to Lady Catherine de\nBourgh when the living of Hunsford was vacant; and the respect which he\nfelt for her high rank, and his veneration for her as his patroness,\nmingling with a very good opinion of himself, of his authority as a\nclergyman, and his rights as a rector, made him altogether a mixture of\npride and obsequiousness, self-importance and humility.\n\nHaving now a good house and very sufficient income, he intended to\nmarry; and in seeking a reconciliation with the Longbourn family he had\na wife in view, as he meant to chuse one of the daughters, if he found\nthem as handsome"} {"answer":"Fix'd on the summit of the highest mount,\n To whose huge spokes ten thousand lesser things\n Are mortis'd and adjoin'd; which when it falls,\n Each small annexment, petty consequence,\n Attends the boist'rous ruin. Never alone\n Did the king sigh, but with a general groan.\n King. Arm you, I pray you, to this speedy voyage;\n For we will fetters put upon this fear,\n Which now goes too free-footed.\n Both. We will haste us.\n Exeunt Gentlemen.\n\n Enter Polonius.\n\n Pol. My lord, he's going to his mother's closet.\n Behind the arras I'll convey myself\n To hear the process. I'll warrant she'll tax him home;\n And, as you said, and wisely was it said,\n 'Tis meet that some more audience than a mother,\n Since nature makes them partial, should o'erhear\n The speech, of vantage. Fare you well, my liege.\n I'll call upon you ere you","question":"Scene III.\nA room in the Castle.\n\nEnter King, Rosencrantz, and Guildenstern.\n\n King. I like him not, nor stands it safe with us\n To let his madness range. Therefore prepare you;\n I your commission will forthwith dispatch,\n And he to England shall along with you.\n The terms of our estate may not endure\n Hazard so near us as doth hourly grow\n Out of his lunacies.\n Guil. We will ourselves provide.\n Most holy and religious fear it is\n To keep those many many bodies safe\n That live and feed upon your Majesty.\n Ros. The single and peculiar life is bound\n With all the strength and armour of the mind\n To keep itself from noyance; but much more\n That spirit upon whose weal depends and rests\n The lives of many. The cesse of majesty\n Dies not alone, but like a gulf doth draw\n What's near it with it. It is a massy wheel,\n "} {"answer":"Fix'd on the summit of the highest mount,\n To whose huge spokes ten thousand lesser things\n Are mortis'd and adjoin'd; which when it falls,\n Each small annexment, petty consequence,\n Attends the boist'rous ruin. Never alone\n Did the king sigh, but with a general groan.\n King. Arm you, I pray you, to this speedy voyage;\n For we will fetters put upon this fear,\n Which now goes too free-footed.\n Both. We will haste us.\n Exeunt Gentlemen.\n\n Enter Polonius.\n\n Pol. My lord, he's going to his mother's closet.\n Behind the arras I'll convey myself\n To hear the process. I'll warrant she'll tax him home;\n And, as you said, and wisely was it said,\n 'Tis meet that some more audience than a mother,\n Since nature makes them partial, should o'erhear\n The speech, of vantage. Fare you well, my liege.\n I'll call upon you ere you","question":"Scene III.\nA room in the Castle.\n\nEnter King, Rosencrantz, and Guildenstern.\n\n King. I like him not, nor stands it safe with us\n To let his madness range. Therefore prepare you;\n I your commission will forthwith dispatch,\n And he to England shall along with you.\n The terms of our estate may not endure\n Hazard so near us as doth hourly grow\n Out of his lunacies.\n Guil. We will ourselves provide.\n Most holy and religious fear it is\n To keep those many many bodies safe\n That live and feed upon your Majesty.\n Ros. The single and peculiar life is bound\n With all the strength and armour of the mind\n To keep itself from noyance; but much more\n That spirit upon whose weal depends and rests\n The lives of many. The cesse of majesty\n Dies not alone, but like a gulf doth draw\n What's near it with it. It is a massy wheel,\n "} {"answer":"not found Miss Bennet worse than she expected.\n\n\"Indeed I have, Sir,\" was her answer. \"She is a great deal too ill to be\nmoved. Mr. Jones says we must not think of moving her. We must trespass\na little longer on your kindness.\"\n\n\"Removed!\" cried Bingley. \"It must not be thought of. My sister, I am\nsure, will not hear of her removal.\"\n\n\"You may depend upon it, Madam,\" said Miss Bingley, with cold civility,\n\"that Miss Bennet shall receive every possible attention while she\nremains with us.\"\n\nMrs. Bennet was profuse in her acknowledgments.\n\n\"I am sure,\" she added, \"if it was not for such good friends I do not\nknow what would become of her, for she is very ill indeed, and suffers a\nvast deal, though with the greatest patience in the world, which is\nalways the way with her, for she has, without exception, the sweetest\ntemper I ever met with. I often tell my other girls they are nothing to\n_her_. You have a sweet room here, Mr. Bingley, and a charming prospect\nover that gravel walk. I do not know a place in the country that is\nequal to Netherfield. You will not think of quitting it in a hurry I\nhope, though you have but a short lease.\"\n\n\"Whatever I do is done in a hurry,\" replied he; \"and therefore if I\nshould resolve to quit Netherfield, I should probably be off in five\nminutes. At present, however, I consider myself as quite fixed here.\"\n\n\"That is exactly what I should have supposed of you,\" said Elizabeth.\n\n\"You begin to comprehend me, do you?\" cried","question":"\n\nElizabeth passed the chief of the night in her sister's room, and in the\nmorning had the pleasure of being able to send a tolerable answer to the\nenquiries which she very early received from Mr. Bingley by a housemaid,\nand some time afterwards from the two elegant ladies who waited on his\nsisters. In spite of this amendment, however, she requested to have a\nnote sent to Longbourn, desiring her mother to visit Jane, and form her\nown judgment of her situation. The note was immediately dispatched, and\nits contents as quickly complied with. Mrs. Bennet, accompanied by her\ntwo youngest girls, reached Netherfield soon after the family breakfast.\n\nHad she found Jane in any apparent danger, Mrs. Bennet would have been\nvery miserable; but being satisfied on seeing her that her illness was\nnot alarming, she had no wish of her recovering immediately, as her\nrestoration to health would probably remove her from Netherfield. She\nwould not listen therefore to her daughter's proposal of being carried\nhome; neither did the apothecary, who arrived about the same time, think\nit at all advisable. After sitting a little while with Jane, on Miss\nBingley's appearance and invitation, the mother and three daughters all\nattended her into the breakfast parlour. Bingley met them with hopes\nthat Mrs. Bennet had"} {"answer":"Or for some frontier?\n Capt. Truly to speak, and with no addition,\n We go to gain a little patch of ground\n That hath in it no profit but the name.\n To pay five ducats, five, I would not farm it;\n Nor will it yield to Norway or the Pole\n A ranker rate, should it be sold in fee.\n Ham. Why, then the Polack never will defend it.\n Capt. Yes, it is already garrison'd.\n Ham. Two thousand souls and twenty thousand ducats\n Will not debate the question of this straw.\n This is th' imposthume of much wealth and peace,\n That inward breaks, and shows no cause without\n Why the man dies.- I humbly thank you, sir.\n Capt. God b' wi' you, sir. [Exit.]\n Ros. Will't please you go, my lord?\n Ham. I'll be with you straight. Go a little before.\n [Exeunt all but Hamlet.]\n How all occasions","question":"Scene IV.\nNear Elsinore.\n\nEnter Fortinbras with his Army over the stage.\n\n For. Go, Captain, from me greet the Danish king.\n Tell him that by his license Fortinbras\n Craves the conveyance of a promis'd march\n Over his kingdom. You know the rendezvous.\n If that his Majesty would aught with us,\n We shall express our duty in his eye;\n And let him know so.\n Capt. I will do't, my lord.\n For. Go softly on.\n Exeunt [all but the Captain].\n\n Enter Hamlet, Rosencrantz, [Guildenstern,] and others.\n\n Ham. Good sir, whose powers are these?\n Capt. They are of Norway, sir.\n Ham. How purpos'd, sir, I pray you?\n Capt. Against some part of Poland.\n Ham. Who commands them, sir?\n Capt. The nephew to old Norway, Fortinbras.\n Ham. Goes it against the main of Poland, sir,\n "} {"answer":"Or for some frontier?\n Capt. Truly to speak, and with no addition,\n We go to gain a little patch of ground\n That hath in it no profit but the name.\n To pay five ducats, five, I would not farm it;\n Nor will it yield to Norway or the Pole\n A ranker rate, should it be sold in fee.\n Ham. Why, then the Polack never will defend it.\n Capt. Yes, it is already garrison'd.\n Ham. Two thousand souls and twenty thousand ducats\n Will not debate the question of this straw.\n This is th' imposthume of much wealth and peace,\n That inward breaks, and shows no cause without\n Why the man dies.- I humbly thank you, sir.\n Capt. God b' wi' you, sir. [Exit.]\n Ros. Will't please you go, my lord?\n Ham. I'll be with you straight. Go a little before.\n [Exeunt all but Hamlet.]\n How all occasions","question":"Scene IV.\nNear Elsinore.\n\nEnter Fortinbras with his Army over the stage.\n\n For. Go, Captain, from me greet the Danish king.\n Tell him that by his license Fortinbras\n Craves the conveyance of a promis'd march\n Over his kingdom. You know the rendezvous.\n If that his Majesty would aught with us,\n We shall express our duty in his eye;\n And let him know so.\n Capt. I will do't, my lord.\n For. Go softly on.\n Exeunt [all but the Captain].\n\n Enter Hamlet, Rosencrantz, [Guildenstern,] and others.\n\n Ham. Good sir, whose powers are these?\n Capt. They are of Norway, sir.\n Ham. How purpos'd, sir, I pray you?\n Capt. Against some part of Poland.\n Ham. Who commands them, sir?\n Capt. The nephew to old Norway, Fortinbras.\n Ham. Goes it against the main of Poland, sir,\n "} {"answer":"Or for some frontier?\n Capt. Truly to speak, and with no addition,\n We go to gain a little patch of ground\n That hath in it no profit but the name.\n To pay five ducats, five, I would not farm it;\n Nor will it yield to Norway or the Pole\n A ranker rate, should it be sold in fee.\n Ham. Why, then the Polack never will defend it.\n Capt. Yes, it is already garrison'd.\n Ham. Two thousand souls and twenty thousand ducats\n Will not debate the question of this straw.\n This is th' imposthume of much wealth and peace,\n That inward breaks, and shows no cause without\n Why the man dies.- I humbly thank you, sir.\n Capt. God b' wi' you, sir. [Exit.]\n Ros. Will't please you go, my lord?\n Ham. I'll be with you straight. Go a little before.\n [Exeunt all but Hamlet.]\n How all occasions","question":"Scene IV.\nNear Elsinore.\n\nEnter Fortinbras with his Army over the stage.\n\n For. Go, Captain, from me greet the Danish king.\n Tell him that by his license Fortinbras\n Craves the conveyance of a promis'd march\n Over his kingdom. You know the rendezvous.\n If that his Majesty would aught with us,\n We shall express our duty in his eye;\n And let him know so.\n Capt. I will do't, my lord.\n For. Go softly on.\n Exeunt [all but the Captain].\n\n Enter Hamlet, Rosencrantz, [Guildenstern,] and others.\n\n Ham. Good sir, whose powers are these?\n Capt. They are of Norway, sir.\n Ham. How purpos'd, sir, I pray you?\n Capt. Against some part of Poland.\n Ham. Who commands them, sir?\n Capt. The nephew to old Norway, Fortinbras.\n Ham. Goes it against the main of Poland, sir,\n "} {"answer":"even the gate over which he leant manifested no\nsympathising movement to the words; and I think that circumstance\ndetermined me to accept the invitation: I felt interested in a man who\nseemed more exaggeratedly reserved than myself.\n\nWhen he saw my horse's breast fairly pushing the barrier, he did put out\nhis hand to unchain it, and then sullenly preceded me up the causeway,\ncalling, as we entered the court,--'Joseph, take Mr. Lockwood's horse;\nand bring up some wine.'\n\n'Here we have the whole establishment of domestics, I suppose,' was the\nreflection suggested by this compound order. 'No wonder the grass grows\nup between the flags, and cattle are the only hedge-cutters.'\n\nJoseph was an elderly, nay, an old man: very old, perhaps, though hale\nand sinewy. 'The Lord help us!' he soliloquised in an undertone of\npeevish displeasure, while relieving me of my horse: looking, meantime,\nin my face so sourly that I charitably conjectured he must have need of\ndivine aid to digest his dinner, and his pious ejaculation had no\nreference to my unexpected advent.\n\nWuthering Heights is the name of Mr. Heathcliff's dwelling. 'Wuthering'\nbeing a significant provincial adjective, descriptive of the atmospheric\ntumult to which its station is exposed in stormy weather. Pure, bracing\nventilation they must have up there at all times, indeed: one may guess\nthe power of the north wind blowing over the edge, by the excessive slant\nof a few stunted firs at the end of the house; and by a range of gaunt\nthorns all stretching their limbs one way, as if craving alms of the sun.\nHappily, the","question":"\n\n1801.--I have just returned from a visit to my landlord--the solitary\nneighbour that I shall be troubled with. This is certainly a beautiful\ncountry! In all England, I do not believe that I could have fixed on a\nsituation so completely removed from the stir of society. A perfect\nmisanthropist's heaven: and Mr. Heathcliff and I are such a suitable pair\nto divide the desolation between us. A capital fellow! He little\nimagined how my heart warmed towards him when I beheld his black eyes\nwithdraw so suspiciously under their brows, as I rode up, and when his\nfingers sheltered themselves, with a jealous resolution, still further in\nhis waistcoat, as I announced my name.\n\n'Mr. Heathcliff?' I said.\n\nA nod was the answer.\n\n'Mr. Lockwood, your new tenant, sir. I do myself the honour of calling\nas soon as possible after my arrival, to express the hope that I have not\ninconvenienced you by my perseverance in soliciting the occupation of\nThrushcross Grange: I heard yesterday you had had some thoughts--'\n\n'Thrushcross Grange is my own, sir,' he interrupted, wincing. 'I should\nnot allow any one to inconvenience me, if I could hinder it--walk in!'\n\nThe 'walk in' was uttered with closed teeth, and expressed the sentiment,\n'Go to the Deuce:'"} {"answer":"on his head;\nThe least a death to nature.\n\nMACBETH.\nThanks for that:\nThere the grown serpent lies; the worm that's fled\nHath nature that in time will venom breed,\nNo teeth for the present.--Get thee gone; to-morrow\nWe'll hear, ourselves, again.\n\n[Exit Murderer.]\n\nLADY MACBETH.\nMy royal lord,\nYou do not give the cheer: the feast is sold\nThat is not often vouch'd, while 'tis a-making,\n'Tis given with welcome; to feed were best at home;\nFrom thence the sauce to meat is ceremony;\nMeeting were bare without it.\n\nMACBETH.\nSweet remembrancer!--\nNow, good digestion wait on appetite,\nAnd health on both!\n\nLENNOX.\nMay't please your highness sit.\n\n[The Ghost of Banquo rises, and sits in Macbeth's place.]\n\nMACBETH.\nHere had we now our country's honor roof'd,\nWere the grac'd person of our Banquo present;\nWho may I rather challenge for unkindness\nThan pity for mischance!\n\nROSS.\nHis absence, sir,\nLays blame upon his promise. Please't your highness\nTo grace us with your royal company?\n\nMACBETH.\nThe table's full.\n\nLENNOX.\nHere is a place reserv'd, sir.\n\nMACBETH.\nWhere?\n\nLENNOX.\nHere, my good lord. What is't that moves your highness?\n\nMACBETH.\nWhich of you have done this?\n\nLORDS.\nWhat, my good lord?\n\nMACBETH.\nThou canst not say I did it: never shake\nThy gory locks at me.\n\nROSS.\nGentlemen, rise; his highness is not well.\n\nLADY MACBETH.\nSit, worthy friends:--my lord is often thus,\nAnd hath been from his youth: pray you, keep seat;\nThe fit is momentary; upon a thought\nHe will again be well: if much you note him,\nYou shall offend him, and extend his passion:\nFeed, and regard him not.--Are you a man?\n\nMACBETH.\nAy, and a bold one, that dare look on that\nWhich might appal the devil.\n\nLADY MACBETH.\nO proper stuff!\nThis is the very painting of your fear:\nThis is the air-drawn dagger which,","question":"SCENE IV.\n\nThe same. A Room of state in the Palace. A banquet prepared.\n\n[Enter Macbeth, Lady Macbeth, Ross, Lennox, Lords, and\nAttendants.]\n\nMACBETH.\nYou know your own degrees: sit down. At first\nAnd last the hearty welcome.\n\nLORDS.\nThanks to your majesty.\n\nMACBETH.\nOurself will mingle with society,\nAnd play the humble host.\nOur hostess keeps her state; but, in best time,\nWe will require her welcome.\n\nLADY MACBETH.\nPronounce it for me, sir, to all our friends;\nFor my heart speaks they are welcome.\n\nMACBETH.\nSee, they encounter thee with their hearts' thanks.--\nBoth sides are even: here I'll sit i' the midst:\n\n[Enter first Murderer to the door.]\n\nBe large in mirth; anon we'll drink a measure\nThe table round.--There's blood upon thy face.\n\nMURDERER.\n'Tis Banquo's then.\n\nMACBETH.\n'Tis better thee without than he within.\nIs he despatch'd?\n\nMURDERER.\nMy lord, his throat is cut; that I did for him.\n\nMACBETH.\nThou art the best o' the cut-throats; yet he's good\nThat did the like for Fleance: if thou didst it,\nThou art the nonpareil.\n\nMURDERER.\nMost royal sir,\nFleance is 'scap'd.\n\nMACBETH.\nThen comes my fit again: I had else been perfect;\nWhole as the marble, founded as the rock;\nAs broad and general as the casing air:\nBut now I am cabin'd, cribb'd, confin'd, bound in\nTo saucy doubts and fears. But Banquo's safe?\n\nMURDERER.\nAy, my good lord: safe in a ditch he bides,\nWith twenty trenched gashes"} {"answer":"know\nwhat 'it' means.\"\n\n\"I know what 'it' means well enough, when _I_ find a thing,\" said the\nDuck; \"it's generally a frog or a worm. The question is, what did the\narchbishop find?\"\n\nThe Mouse did not notice this question, but hurriedly went on, \"'--found\nit advisable to go with Edgar Atheling to meet William and offer him the\ncrown.'--How are you getting on now, my dear?\" it continued, turning to\nAlice as it spoke.\n\n\"As wet as ever,\" said Alice in a melancholy tone; \"it doesn't seem to\ndry me at all.\"\n\n\"In that case,\" said the Dodo solemnly, rising to its feet, \"I move that\nthe meeting adjourn, for the immediate adoption of more energetic\nremedies--\"\n\n\"Speak English!\" said the Eaglet. \"I don't know the meaning of half\nthose long words, and, what's more, I don't believe you do either!\"\n\n\"What I was going to say,\" said the Dodo in an offended tone, \"is that\nthe best thing to get us dry would be a Caucus-race.\"\n\n\"What _is_ a Caucus-race?\" said Alice.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\"Why,\" said the Dodo, \"the best way to explain it is to do it.\" First it\nmarked out a race-course, in a sort of circle, and then all the party\nwere placed along the course, here and there. There was no \"One, two,\nthree and away!\" but they began running when they liked and left off\nwhen they liked, so that it was not easy to know when the race was over.\nHowever, when they had been running half an hour or so and were quite\ndry again, the Dodo suddenly called out, \"The race is over!\" and they\nall crowded","question":"\n\nThey were indeed a queer-looking party that assembled on the bank--the\nbirds with draggled feathers, the animals with their fur clinging close\nto them, and all dripping wet, cross and uncomfortable.\n\n[Illustration]\n\nThe first question, of course, was how to get dry again. They had a\nconsultation about this and after a few minutes, it seemed quite natural\nto Alice to find herself talking familiarly with them, as if she had\nknown them all her life.\n\nAt last the Mouse, who seemed to be a person of some authority among\nthem, called out, \"Sit down, all of you, and listen to me! _I'll_ soon\nmake you dry enough!\" They all sat down at once, in a large ring, with\nthe Mouse in the middle.\n\n\"Ahem!\" said the Mouse with an important air. \"Are you all ready? This\nis the driest thing I know. Silence all 'round, if you please! 'William\nthe Conqueror, whose cause was favored by the pope, was soon submitted\nto by the English, who wanted leaders, and had been of late much\naccustomed to usurpation and conquest. Edwin and Morcar, the Earls of\nMercia and Northumbria'--\"\n\n\"Ugh!\" said the Lory, with a shiver.\n\n\"--'And even Stigand, the patriotic archbishop of Canterbury, found it\nadvisable'--\"\n\n\"Found _what_?\" said the Duck.\n\n\"Found _it_,\" the Mouse replied rather crossly; \"of course, you"} {"answer":"did; there's no name signed at the end.\"\n\n\"You _must_ have meant some mischief, or else you'd have signed your\nname like an honest man,\" said the King. There was a general clapping of\nhands at this.\n\n\"Read them,\" he added, turning to the White Rabbit.\n\nThere was dead silence in the court whilst the White Rabbit read out the\nverses.\n\n\"That's the most important piece of evidence we've heard yet,\" said the\nKing.\n\n\"_I_ don't believe there's an atom of meaning in it,\" ventured Alice.\n\n\"If there's no meaning in it,\" said the King, \"that saves a world of\ntrouble, you know, as we needn't try to find any. Let the jury consider\ntheir verdict.\"\n\n\"No, no!\" said the Queen. \"Sentence first--verdict afterwards.\"\n\n\"Stuff and nonsense!\" said Alice loudly. \"The idea of having the\nsentence first!\"\n\n\"Hold your tongue!\" said the Queen, turning purple.\n\n\"I won't!\" said Alice.\n\n\"Off with her head!\" the Queen shouted at the top of her voice. Nobody\nmoved.\n\n\"Who cares for _you_?\" said Alice (she had grown to her full size by\nthis time). \"You're nothing but a pack of cards!\"\n\nAt this, the whole pack rose up in the air and came flying down upon\nher; she gave a little scream, half of fright and half of anger, and\ntried to beat them off, and found herself lying on the bank, with her\nhead in the lap of her sister, who was gently brushing away some dead\nleaves that had fluttered down from the trees upon her face.\n\n\"Wake up, Alice dear!\" said her sister. \"Why, what a long sleep you've\nhad!\"\n\n\"Oh, I've had such a curious dream!\" said Alice. And","question":"\"Here!\" cried Alice. She jumped up in such a hurry that she tipped over\nthe jury-box, upsetting all the jurymen on to the heads of the crowd\nbelow.\n\n\"Oh, I _beg_ your pardon!\" she exclaimed in a tone of great dismay.\n\n\"The trial cannot proceed,\" said the King, \"until all the jurymen are\nback in their proper places--_all_,\" he repeated with great emphasis,\nlooking hard at Alice.\n\n\"What do you know about this business?\" the King said to Alice.\n\n\"Nothing whatever,\" said Alice.\n\nThe King then read from his book: \"Rule forty-two. _All persons more\nthan a mile high to leave the court_.\"\n\n\"_I'm_ not a mile high,\" said Alice.\n\n\"Nearly two miles high,\" said the Queen.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\"Well, I sha'n't go, at any rate,\" said Alice.\n\nThe King turned pale and shut his note-book hastily. \"Consider your\nverdict,\" he said to the jury, in a low, trembling voice.\n\n\"There's more evidence to come yet, please Your Majesty,\" said the White\nRabbit, jumping up in a great hurry. \"This paper has just been picked\nup. It seems to be a letter written by the prisoner to--to somebody.\" He\nunfolded the paper as he spoke and added, \"It isn't a letter, after all;\nit's a set of verses.\"\n\n\"Please, Your Majesty,\" said the Knave, \"I didn't write it and they\ncan't prove that I"} {"answer":"did; there's no name signed at the end.\"\n\n\"You _must_ have meant some mischief, or else you'd have signed your\nname like an honest man,\" said the King. There was a general clapping of\nhands at this.\n\n\"Read them,\" he added, turning to the White Rabbit.\n\nThere was dead silence in the court whilst the White Rabbit read out the\nverses.\n\n\"That's the most important piece of evidence we've heard yet,\" said the\nKing.\n\n\"_I_ don't believe there's an atom of meaning in it,\" ventured Alice.\n\n\"If there's no meaning in it,\" said the King, \"that saves a world of\ntrouble, you know, as we needn't try to find any. Let the jury consider\ntheir verdict.\"\n\n\"No, no!\" said the Queen. \"Sentence first--verdict afterwards.\"\n\n\"Stuff and nonsense!\" said Alice loudly. \"The idea of having the\nsentence first!\"\n\n\"Hold your tongue!\" said the Queen, turning purple.\n\n\"I won't!\" said Alice.\n\n\"Off with her head!\" the Queen shouted at the top of her voice. Nobody\nmoved.\n\n\"Who cares for _you_?\" said Alice (she had grown to her full size by\nthis time). \"You're nothing but a pack of cards!\"\n\nAt this, the whole pack rose up in the air and came flying down upon\nher; she gave a little scream, half of fright and half of anger, and\ntried to beat them off, and found herself lying on the bank, with her\nhead in the lap of her sister, who was gently brushing away some dead\nleaves that had fluttered down from the trees upon her face.\n\n\"Wake up, Alice dear!\" said her sister. \"Why, what a long sleep you've\nhad!\"\n\n\"Oh, I've had such a curious dream!\" said Alice. And","question":"\"Here!\" cried Alice. She jumped up in such a hurry that she tipped over\nthe jury-box, upsetting all the jurymen on to the heads of the crowd\nbelow.\n\n\"Oh, I _beg_ your pardon!\" she exclaimed in a tone of great dismay.\n\n\"The trial cannot proceed,\" said the King, \"until all the jurymen are\nback in their proper places--_all_,\" he repeated with great emphasis,\nlooking hard at Alice.\n\n\"What do you know about this business?\" the King said to Alice.\n\n\"Nothing whatever,\" said Alice.\n\nThe King then read from his book: \"Rule forty-two. _All persons more\nthan a mile high to leave the court_.\"\n\n\"_I'm_ not a mile high,\" said Alice.\n\n\"Nearly two miles high,\" said the Queen.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\"Well, I sha'n't go, at any rate,\" said Alice.\n\nThe King turned pale and shut his note-book hastily. \"Consider your\nverdict,\" he said to the jury, in a low, trembling voice.\n\n\"There's more evidence to come yet, please Your Majesty,\" said the White\nRabbit, jumping up in a great hurry. \"This paper has just been picked\nup. It seems to be a letter written by the prisoner to--to somebody.\" He\nunfolded the paper as he spoke and added, \"It isn't a letter, after all;\nit's a set of verses.\"\n\n\"Please, Your Majesty,\" said the Knave, \"I didn't write it and they\ncan't prove that I"} {"answer":"a raven's back.\n Come, gentle night; come, loving, black-brow'd night;\n Give me my Romeo; and, when he shall die,\n Take him and cut him out in little stars,\n And he will make the face of heaven so fine\n That all the world will be in love with night\n And pay no worship to the garish sun.\n O, I have bought the mansion of a love,\n But not possess'd it; and though I am sold,\n Not yet enjoy'd. So tedious is this day\n As is the night before some festival\n To an impatient child that hath new robes\n And may not wear them. O, here comes my nurse,\n\n Enter Nurse, with cords.\n\n And she brings news; and every tongue that speaks\n But Romeo's name speaks heavenly eloquence.\n Now, nurse, what news? What hast thou there? the cords\n That Romeo bid thee fetch?\n\n Nurse. Ay, ay, the cords.\n ","question":"Scene II.\nCapulet's orchard.\n\nEnter Juliet alone.\n\n\n Jul. Gallop apace, you fiery-footed steeds,\n Towards Phoebus' lodging! Such a wagoner\n As Phaeton would whip you to the West\n And bring in cloudy night immediately.\n Spread thy close curtain, love-performing night,\n That runaway eyes may wink, and Romeo\n Leap to these arms untalk'd of and unseen.\n Lovers can see to do their amorous rites\n By their own beauties; or, if love be blind,\n It best agrees with night. Come, civil night,\n Thou sober-suited matron, all in black,\n And learn me how to lose a winning match,\n Play'd for a pair of stainless maidenhoods.\n Hood my unmann'd blood, bating in my cheeks,\n With thy black mantle till strange love, grown bold,\n Think true love acted simple modesty.\n Come, night; come, Romeo; come, thou day in night;\n For thou wilt lie upon the wings of night\n Whiter than new snow upon"} {"answer":"in sand,\nVailing her high top lower than her ribs\nTo kiss her burial. Should I go to church\nAnd see the holy edifice of stone,\nAnd not bethink me straight of dangerous rocks,\nWhich, touching but my gentle vessel's side,\nWould scatter all her spices on the stream,\nEnrobe the roaring waters with my silks,\nAnd, in a word, but even now worth this,\nAnd now worth nothing? Shall I have the thought\nTo think on this, and shall I lack the thought\nThat such a thing bechanc'd would make me sad?\nBut tell not me; I know Antonio\nIs sad to think upon his merchandise.\n\nANTONIO.\nBelieve me, no; I thank my fortune for it,\nMy ventures are not in one bottom trusted,\nNor to one place; nor is my whole estate\nUpon the fortune of this present year;\nTherefore my merchandise makes me not sad.\n\nSALARINO.\nWhy, then you are in love.\n\nANTONIO.\nFie, fie!\n\nSALARINO.\nNot in love neither? Then let us say you are sad\nBecause you are not merry; and 'twere as easy\nFor you to laugh and leap and say you are merry,\nBecause you are not sad. Now, by two-headed Janus,\nNature hath fram'd strange fellows in her time:\nSome that will evermore peep through their eyes,\nAnd laugh like parrots at a bag-piper;\nAnd other of such vinegar aspect\nThat they'll not show their teeth in way of smile\nThough Nestor swear the jest be laughable.\n\n[Enter BASSANIO, LORENZO, and GRATIANO.]\n\nSALANIO.\nHere comes Bassanio, your most noble kinsman,\nGratiano, and Lorenzo. Fare ye well;\nWe leave you now with better company.\n\nSALARINO.\nI would have stay'd till I had made you merry,\nIf worthier friends had not prevented me.\n\nANTONIO.\nYour worth is very","question":"ACT 1. SCENE I.\n\nVenice. A street\n\n[Enter ANTONIO, SALARINO, and SALANIO]\n\nANTONIO.\nIn sooth, I know not why I am so sad;\nIt wearies me; you say it wearies you;\nBut how I caught it, found it, or came by it,\nWhat stuff 'tis made of, whereof it is born,\nI am to learn;\nAnd such a want-wit sadness makes of me\nThat I have much ado to know myself.\n\nSALARINO.\nYour mind is tossing on the ocean;\nThere where your argosies, with portly sail--\nLike signiors and rich burghers on the flood,\nOr as it were the pageants of the sea--\nDo overpeer the petty traffickers,\nThat curtsy to them, do them reverence,\nAs they fly by them with their woven wings.\n\nSALANIO.\nBelieve me, sir, had I such venture forth,\nThe better part of my affections would\nBe with my hopes abroad. I should be still\nPlucking the grass to know where sits the wind,\nPeering in maps for ports, and piers, and roads;\nAnd every object that might make me fear\nMisfortune to my ventures, out of doubt\nWould make me sad.\n\nSALARINO.\nMy wind, cooling my broth\nWould blow me to an ague, when I thought\nWhat harm a wind too great might do at sea.\nI should not see the sandy hour-glass run\nBut I should think of shallows and of flats,\nAnd see my wealthy Andrew dock'd"} {"answer":"must\nhave sufficed to place it, to a discerning eye, in a very favorable\nlight, I shall here content myself with offering only some supplementary\nremarks, principally with a view to the objections which have been just\nstated.\n\nWith regard to the intermixture of powers, I shall rely upon the\nexplanations already given in other places, of the true sense of\nthe rule upon which that objection is founded; and shall take it for\ngranted, as an inference from them, that the union of the Executive with\nthe Senate, in the article of treaties, is no infringement of that rule.\nI venture to add, that the particular nature of the power of making\ntreaties indicates a peculiar propriety in that union. Though several\nwriters on the subject of government place that power in the class of\nexecutive authorities, yet this is evidently an arbitrary disposition;\nfor if we attend carefully to its operation, it will be found to partake\nmore of the legislative than of the executive character, though it does\nnot seem strictly to fall within the definition of either of them. The\nessence of the legislative authority is to enact laws, or, in other\nwords, to prescribe rules for the regulation of the society; while the\nexecution of the laws, and the employment of the common strength, either\nfor this purpose or for the common defense, seem to comprise all the\nfunctions of the executive magistrate. The power of making treaties\nis, plainly, neither the one nor the other. It relates neither to the\nexecution of the subsisting laws, nor to the enaction of new ones;\nand still less to an exertion","question":"\nThe Treaty-Making Power of the Executive\n\nFor the Independent Journal. Wednesday, March 26, 1788\n\nHAMILTON\n\nTo the People of the State of New York:\n\nTHE President is to have power, \"by and with the advice and consent\nof the Senate, to make treaties, provided two thirds of the senators\npresent concur.\" Though this provision has been assailed, on different\ngrounds, with no small degree of vehemence, I scruple not to declare\nmy firm persuasion, that it is one of the best digested and most\nunexceptionable parts of the plan. One ground of objection is the trite\ntopic of the intermixture of powers; some contending that the President\nought alone to possess the power of making treaties; others, that it\nought to have been exclusively deposited in the Senate. Another source\nof objection is derived from the small number of persons by whom a\ntreaty may be made. Of those who espouse this objection, a part are of\nopinion that the House of Representatives ought to have been associated\nin the business, while another part seem to think that nothing more was\nnecessary than to have substituted two thirds of all the members of the\nSenate, to two thirds of the members present. As I flatter myself the\nobservations made in a preceding number upon this part of the plan"} {"answer":" And took them quite away!\"\n\n\"Call the first witness,\" said the King; and the White Rabbit blew three\nblasts on the trumpet and called out, \"First witness!\"\n\nThe first witness was the Hatter. He came in with a teacup in one hand\nand a piece of bread and butter in the other.\n\n\"You ought to have finished,\" said the King. \"When did you begin?\"\n\nThe Hatter looked at the March Hare, who had followed him into the\ncourt, arm in arm with the Dormouse. \"Fourteenth of March, I _think_ it\nwas,\" he said.\n\n\"Give your evidence,\" said the King, \"and don't be nervous, or I'll have\nyou executed on the spot.\"\n\nThis did not seem to encourage the witness at all; he kept shifting from\none foot to the other, looking uneasily at the Queen, and, in his\nconfusion, he bit a large piece out of his teacup instead of the bread\nand butter.\n\nJust at this moment Alice felt a very curious sensation--she was\nbeginning to grow larger again.\n\nThe miserable Hatter dropped his teacup and bread and butter and went\ndown on one knee. \"I'm a poor man, Your Majesty,\" he began.\n\n\"You're a _very_ poor _speaker_,\" said the King.\n\n\"You may go,\" said the King, and the Hatter hurriedly left the court.\n\n\"Call the next witness!\" said the King.\n\nThe next witness was the Duchess's cook. She carried the pepper-box in\nher hand and the people near the door began sneezing all at once.\n\n\"Give your evidence,\" said the King.\n\n\"Sha'n't,\" said the cook.\n\nThe King looked anxiously at the White Rabbit, who said, in a low voice,\n\"Your","question":"The King and Queen of Hearts were seated on their throne when they\narrived, with a great crowd assembled about them--all sorts of little\nbirds and beasts, as well as the whole pack of cards: the Knave was\nstanding before them, in chains, with a soldier on each side to guard\nhim; and near the King was the White Rabbit, with a trumpet in one hand\nand a scroll of parchment in the other. In the very middle of the court\nwas a table, with a large dish of tarts upon it. \"I wish they'd get the\ntrial done,\" Alice thought, \"and hand 'round the refreshments!\"\n\nThe judge, by the way, was the King and he wore his crown over his great\nwig. \"That's the jury-box,\" thought Alice; \"and those twelve creatures\n(some were animals and some were birds) I suppose they are the jurors.\"\n\nJust then the White Rabbit cried out \"Silence in the court!\"\n\n\"Herald, read the accusation!\" said the King.\n\nOn this, the White Rabbit blew three blasts on the trumpet, then\nunrolled the parchment-scroll and read as follows:\n\n \"The Queen of Hearts, she made some tarts,\n All on a summer day;\n The Knave of Hearts, he stole those tarts\n"} {"answer":" And took them quite away!\"\n\n\"Call the first witness,\" said the King; and the White Rabbit blew three\nblasts on the trumpet and called out, \"First witness!\"\n\nThe first witness was the Hatter. He came in with a teacup in one hand\nand a piece of bread and butter in the other.\n\n\"You ought to have finished,\" said the King. \"When did you begin?\"\n\nThe Hatter looked at the March Hare, who had followed him into the\ncourt, arm in arm with the Dormouse. \"Fourteenth of March, I _think_ it\nwas,\" he said.\n\n\"Give your evidence,\" said the King, \"and don't be nervous, or I'll have\nyou executed on the spot.\"\n\nThis did not seem to encourage the witness at all; he kept shifting from\none foot to the other, looking uneasily at the Queen, and, in his\nconfusion, he bit a large piece out of his teacup instead of the bread\nand butter.\n\nJust at this moment Alice felt a very curious sensation--she was\nbeginning to grow larger again.\n\nThe miserable Hatter dropped his teacup and bread and butter and went\ndown on one knee. \"I'm a poor man, Your Majesty,\" he began.\n\n\"You're a _very_ poor _speaker_,\" said the King.\n\n\"You may go,\" said the King, and the Hatter hurriedly left the court.\n\n\"Call the next witness!\" said the King.\n\nThe next witness was the Duchess's cook. She carried the pepper-box in\nher hand and the people near the door began sneezing all at once.\n\n\"Give your evidence,\" said the King.\n\n\"Sha'n't,\" said the cook.\n\nThe King looked anxiously at the White Rabbit, who said, in a low voice,\n\"Your","question":"The King and Queen of Hearts were seated on their throne when they\narrived, with a great crowd assembled about them--all sorts of little\nbirds and beasts, as well as the whole pack of cards: the Knave was\nstanding before them, in chains, with a soldier on each side to guard\nhim; and near the King was the White Rabbit, with a trumpet in one hand\nand a scroll of parchment in the other. In the very middle of the court\nwas a table, with a large dish of tarts upon it. \"I wish they'd get the\ntrial done,\" Alice thought, \"and hand 'round the refreshments!\"\n\nThe judge, by the way, was the King and he wore his crown over his great\nwig. \"That's the jury-box,\" thought Alice; \"and those twelve creatures\n(some were animals and some were birds) I suppose they are the jurors.\"\n\nJust then the White Rabbit cried out \"Silence in the court!\"\n\n\"Herald, read the accusation!\" said the King.\n\nOn this, the White Rabbit blew three blasts on the trumpet, then\nunrolled the parchment-scroll and read as follows:\n\n \"The Queen of Hearts, she made some tarts,\n All on a summer day;\n The Knave of Hearts, he stole those tarts\n"} {"answer":"as she had always been disposed to like him, she\ncould not think without anger, hardly without contempt, on that easiness\nof temper, that want of proper resolution which now made him the slave\nof his designing friends, and led him to sacrifice his own happiness to\nthe caprice of their inclinations. Had his own happiness, however, been\nthe only sacrifice, he might have been allowed to sport with it in what\never manner he thought best; but her sister's was involved in it, as she\nthought he must be sensible himself. It was a subject, in short, on\nwhich reflection would be long indulged, and must be unavailing. She\ncould think of nothing else, and yet whether Bingley's regard had really\ndied away, or were suppressed by his friends' interference; whether he\nhad been aware of Jane's attachment, or whether it had escaped his\nobservation; whichever were the case, though her opinion of him must be\nmaterially affected by the difference, her sister's situation remained\nthe same, her peace equally wounded.\n\nA day or two passed before Jane had courage to speak of her feelings to\nElizabeth; but at last on Mrs. Bennet's leaving them together, after a\nlonger irritation than usual about Netherfield and its master, she could\nnot help saying,\n\n\"Oh! that my dear mother had more command over herself; she can have no\nidea of the pain she gives me by her continual reflections on him. But I\nwill not repine. It cannot last long. He will be forgot, and we shall\nall be as we were before.\"\n\nElizabeth looked at her sister with incredulous solicitude, but said\nnothing.\n\n\"You doubt","question":"\n\nMiss Bingley's letter arrived, and put an end to doubt. The very first\nsentence conveyed the assurance of their being all settled in London for\nthe winter, and concluded with her brother's regret at not having had\ntime to pay his respects to his friends in Hertfordshire before he left\nthe country.\n\nHope was over, entirely over; and when Jane could attend to the rest of\nthe letter, she found little, except the professed affection of the\nwriter, that could give her any comfort. Miss Darcy's praise occupied\nthe chief of it. Her many attractions were again dwelt on, and Caroline\nboasted joyfully of their increasing intimacy, and ventured to predict\nthe accomplishment of the wishes which had been unfolded in her former\nletter. She wrote also with great pleasure of her brother's being an\ninmate of Mr. Darcy's house, and mentioned with raptures, some plans of\nthe latter with regard to new furniture.\n\nElizabeth, to whom Jane very soon communicated the chief of all this,\nheard it in silent indignation. Her heart was divided between concern\nfor her sister, and resentment against all the others. To Caroline's\nassertion of her brother's being partial to Miss Darcy she paid no\ncredit. That he was really fond of Jane, she doubted no more than she\nhad ever done; and much"} {"answer":" Dismiss me?\n DESDEMONA. It was his bidding; therefore, good Emilia,\n Give me my nightly wearing, and adieu.\n We must not now displease him.\n EMILIA. I would you had never seen him!\n DESDEMONA. So would not I. My love doth so approve him,\n That even his stubbornness, his checks, his frowns--\n Prithee, unpin me--have grace and favor in them.\n EMILIA. I have laid those sheets you bade me on the bed.\n DESDEMONA. All's one. Good faith, how foolish are our minds!\n If I do die before thee, prithee shroud me\n In one of those same sheets.\n EMILIA. Come, come, you talk.\n DESDEMONA. My mother had a maid call'd Barbary;\n She was in love, and he she loved proved mad\n And did forsake her. She had a song of \"willow\";\n An old thing 'twas, but it express'd her fortune,\n And she died singing it. That song tonight\n Will not go from my mind; I have much to do\n But to go hang my head all","question":"SCENE III.\nAnother room in the castle.\n\nEnter Othello, Lodovico, Desdemona, Emilia, and Attendants.\n\n LODOVICO. I do beseech you, sir, trouble yourself no further.\n OTHELLO. O, pardon me; 'twill do me good to walk.\n LODOVICO. Madam, good night; I humbly thank your ladyship.\n DESDEMONA. Your honor is most welcome.\n OTHELLO. Will you walk, sir?\n O--Desdemona--\n DESDEMONA. My lord?\n OTHELLO. Get you to bed on the instant; I will be returned\n forthwith. Dismiss your attendant there; look it be done.\n DESDEMONA. I will, my lord.\n Exeunt Othello, Lodovico, and\nAttendants.\n EMILIA. How goes it now? He looks gentler than he did.\n DESDEMONA. He says he will return incontinent.\n He hath commanded me to go to bed,\n And bade me to dismiss you.\n EMILIA. "} {"answer":" Dismiss me?\n DESDEMONA. It was his bidding; therefore, good Emilia,\n Give me my nightly wearing, and adieu.\n We must not now displease him.\n EMILIA. I would you had never seen him!\n DESDEMONA. So would not I. My love doth so approve him,\n That even his stubbornness, his checks, his frowns--\n Prithee, unpin me--have grace and favor in them.\n EMILIA. I have laid those sheets you bade me on the bed.\n DESDEMONA. All's one. Good faith, how foolish are our minds!\n If I do die before thee, prithee shroud me\n In one of those same sheets.\n EMILIA. Come, come, you talk.\n DESDEMONA. My mother had a maid call'd Barbary;\n She was in love, and he she loved proved mad\n And did forsake her. She had a song of \"willow\";\n An old thing 'twas, but it express'd her fortune,\n And she died singing it. That song tonight\n Will not go from my mind; I have much to do\n But to go hang my head all","question":"SCENE III.\nAnother room in the castle.\n\nEnter Othello, Lodovico, Desdemona, Emilia, and Attendants.\n\n LODOVICO. I do beseech you, sir, trouble yourself no further.\n OTHELLO. O, pardon me; 'twill do me good to walk.\n LODOVICO. Madam, good night; I humbly thank your ladyship.\n DESDEMONA. Your honor is most welcome.\n OTHELLO. Will you walk, sir?\n O--Desdemona--\n DESDEMONA. My lord?\n OTHELLO. Get you to bed on the instant; I will be returned\n forthwith. Dismiss your attendant there; look it be done.\n DESDEMONA. I will, my lord.\n Exeunt Othello, Lodovico, and\nAttendants.\n EMILIA. How goes it now? He looks gentler than he did.\n DESDEMONA. He says he will return incontinent.\n He hath commanded me to go to bed,\n And bade me to dismiss you.\n EMILIA. "} {"answer":" Dismiss me?\n DESDEMONA. It was his bidding; therefore, good Emilia,\n Give me my nightly wearing, and adieu.\n We must not now displease him.\n EMILIA. I would you had never seen him!\n DESDEMONA. So would not I. My love doth so approve him,\n That even his stubbornness, his checks, his frowns--\n Prithee, unpin me--have grace and favor in them.\n EMILIA. I have laid those sheets you bade me on the bed.\n DESDEMONA. All's one. Good faith, how foolish are our minds!\n If I do die before thee, prithee shroud me\n In one of those same sheets.\n EMILIA. Come, come, you talk.\n DESDEMONA. My mother had a maid call'd Barbary;\n She was in love, and he she loved proved mad\n And did forsake her. She had a song of \"willow\";\n An old thing 'twas, but it express'd her fortune,\n And she died singing it. That song tonight\n Will not go from my mind; I have much to do\n But to go hang my head all","question":"SCENE III.\nAnother room in the castle.\n\nEnter Othello, Lodovico, Desdemona, Emilia, and Attendants.\n\n LODOVICO. I do beseech you, sir, trouble yourself no further.\n OTHELLO. O, pardon me; 'twill do me good to walk.\n LODOVICO. Madam, good night; I humbly thank your ladyship.\n DESDEMONA. Your honor is most welcome.\n OTHELLO. Will you walk, sir?\n O--Desdemona--\n DESDEMONA. My lord?\n OTHELLO. Get you to bed on the instant; I will be returned\n forthwith. Dismiss your attendant there; look it be done.\n DESDEMONA. I will, my lord.\n Exeunt Othello, Lodovico, and\nAttendants.\n EMILIA. How goes it now? He looks gentler than he did.\n DESDEMONA. He says he will return incontinent.\n He hath commanded me to go to bed,\n And bade me to dismiss you.\n EMILIA. "} {"answer":"of ones owne wisdome,\nwhich almost all men think they have in a greater degree, than the\nVulgar; that is, than all men but themselves, and a few others, whom by\nFame, or for concurring with themselves, they approve. For such is the\nnature of men, that howsoever they may acknowledge many others to be\nmore witty, or more eloquent, or more learned; Yet they will hardly\nbelieve there be many so wise as themselves: For they see their own wit\nat hand, and other mens at a distance. But this proveth rather that men\nare in that point equall, than unequall. For there is not ordinarily a\ngreater signe of the equall distribution of any thing, than that every\nman is contented with his share.\n\n\n\n\nFrom Equality Proceeds Diffidence\n\nFrom this equality of ability, ariseth equality of hope in the attaining\nof our Ends. And therefore if any two men desire the same thing, which\nneverthelesse they cannot both enjoy, they become enemies; and in the\nway to their End, (which is principally their owne conservation, and\nsometimes their delectation only,) endeavour to destroy, or subdue one\nan other. And from hence it comes to passe, that where an Invader hath\nno more to feare, than an other mans single power; if one plant, sow,\nbuild, or possesse a convenient Seat, others may probably be expected to\ncome prepared with forces united, to dispossesse, and deprive him, not\nonly of the fruit of his labour, but also of his life, or liberty. And\nthe Invader again is in the like danger of another.\n\n\n\n\nFrom Diffidence Warre\n\nAnd from this diffidence of one another,","question":"CHAPTER XIII. OF THE NATURALL CONDITION OF MANKIND, AS CONCERNING THEIR FELICITY, AND MISERY\n\n\n\n\nNature hath made men so equall, in the faculties of body, and mind; as\nthat though there bee found one man sometimes manifestly stronger\nin body, or of quicker mind then another; yet when all is reckoned\ntogether, the difference between man, and man, is not so considerable,\nas that one man can thereupon claim to himselfe any benefit, to which\nanother may not pretend, as well as he. For as to the strength of body,\nthe weakest has strength enough to kill the strongest, either by secret\nmachination, or by confederacy with others, that are in the same danger\nwith himselfe.\n\nAnd as to the faculties of the mind, (setting aside the arts grounded\nupon words, and especially that skill of proceeding upon generall, and\ninfallible rules, called Science; which very few have, and but in few\nthings; as being not a native faculty, born with us; nor attained,\n(as Prudence,) while we look after somewhat els,) I find yet a greater\nequality amongst men, than that of strength. For Prudence, is but\nExperience; which equall time, equally bestowes on all men, in those\nthings they equally apply themselves unto. That which may perhaps make\nsuch equality incredible, is but a vain conceipt"} {"answer":"was\nthen sorry that she had proposed the delay, for her jealousy and dislike\nof one sister much exceeded her affection for the other.\n\nThe master of the house heard with real sorrow that they were to go so\nsoon, and repeatedly tried to persuade Miss Bennet that it would not be\nsafe for her--that she was not enough recovered; but Jane was firm where\nshe felt herself to be right.\n\nTo Mr. Darcy it was welcome intelligence--Elizabeth had been at\nNetherfield long enough. She attracted him more than he liked--and Miss\nBingley was uncivil to _her_, and more teazing than usual to himself.\nHe wisely resolved to be particularly careful that no sign of admiration\nshould _now_ escape him, nothing that could elevate her with the hope of\ninfluencing his felicity; sensible that if such an idea had been\nsuggested, his behaviour during the last day must have material weight\nin confirming or crushing it. Steady to his purpose, he scarcely spoke\nten words to her through the whole of Saturday, and though they were at\none time left by themselves for half an hour, he adhered most\nconscientiously to his book, and would not even look at her.\n\nOn Sunday, after morning service, the separation, so agreeable to almost\nall, took place. Miss Bingley's civility to Elizabeth increased at last\nvery rapidly, as well as her affection for Jane; and when they parted,\nafter assuring the latter of the pleasure it would always give her to\nsee her either at Longbourn or Netherfield, and embracing her most\ntenderly, she even shook hands with the former.--Elizabeth took leave of\nthe whole party in","question":"\n\nIn consequence of an agreement between the sisters, Elizabeth wrote the\nnext morning to her mother, to beg that the carriage might be sent for\nthem in the course of the day. But Mrs. Bennet, who had calculated on\nher daughters remaining at Netherfield till the following Tuesday, which\nwould exactly finish Jane's week, could not bring herself to receive\nthem with pleasure before. Her answer, therefore, was not propitious, at\nleast not to Elizabeth's wishes, for she was impatient to get home. Mrs.\nBennet sent them word that they could not possibly have the carriage\nbefore Tuesday; and in her postscript it was added, that if Mr. Bingley\nand his sister pressed them to stay longer, she could spare them very\nwell.--Against staying longer, however, Elizabeth was positively\nresolved--nor did she much expect it would be asked; and fearful, on the\ncontrary, as being considered as intruding themselves needlessly long,\nshe urged Jane to borrow Mr. Bingley's carriage immediately, and at\nlength it was settled that their original design of leaving Netherfield\nthat morning should be mentioned, and the request made.\n\nThe communication excited many professions of concern; and enough was\nsaid of wishing them to stay at least till the following day to work on\nJane; and till the morrow, their going was deferred. Miss Bingley"} {"answer":"be ill if she be well.\n\n Man. Then she is well, and nothing can be ill.\n Her body sleeps in Capel's monument,\n And her immortal part with angels lives.\n I saw her laid low in her kindred's vault\n And presently took post to tell it you.\n O, pardon me for bringing these ill news,\n Since you did leave it for my office, sir.\n\n Rom. Is it e'en so? Then I defy you, stars!\n Thou knowest my lodging. Get me ink and paper\n And hire posthorses. I will hence to-night.\n\n Man. I do beseech you, sir, have patience.\n Your looks are pale and wild and do import\n Some misadventure.\n\n Rom. Tush, thou art deceiv'd.\n Leave me and do the thing I bid thee do.\n Hast thou no letters to me from the friar?\n\n Man. No, my good lord.\n\n Rom. No matter. Get thee gone\n And hire those horses. I'll be with thee straight.\n Exit [Balthasar].\n Well, Juliet,","question":"ACT V. Scene I.\nMantua. A street.\n\nEnter Romeo.\n\n\n Rom. If I may trust the flattering truth of sleep\n My dreams presage some joyful news at hand.\n My bosom's lord sits lightly in his throne,\n And all this day an unaccustom'd spirit\n Lifts me above the ground with cheerful thoughts.\n I dreamt my lady came and found me dead\n (Strange dream that gives a dead man leave to think!)\n And breath'd such life with kisses in my lips\n That I reviv'd and was an emperor.\n Ah me! how sweet is love itself possess'd,\n When but love's shadows are so rich in joy!\n\n Enter Romeo's Man Balthasar, booted.\n\n News from Verona! How now, Balthasar?\n Dost thou not bring me letters from the friar?\n How doth my lady? Is my father well?\n How fares my Juliet? That I ask again,\n For nothing can"} {"answer":"A fortnight and odd days.\n\n Nurse. Even or odd, of all days in the year,\n Come Lammas Eve at night shall she be fourteen.\n Susan and she (God rest all Christian souls!)\n Were of an age. Well, Susan is with God;\n She was too good for me. But, as I said,\n On Lammas Eve at night shall she be fourteen;\n That shall she, marry; I remember it well.\n 'Tis since the earthquake now eleven years;\n And she was wean'd (I never shall forget it),\n Of all the days of the year, upon that day;\n For I had then laid wormwood to my dug,\n Sitting in the sun under the dovehouse wall.\n My lord and you were then at Mantua.\n Nay, I do bear a brain. But, as I said,\n When it did taste the wormwood on the nipple\n Of my dug and felt it bitter, pretty fool,\n To see it tetchy and fall out with the dug!\n Shake, quoth the dovehouse! 'Twas no need, I trow,\n To bid me trudge.\n And since that time it is eleven years,\n For then she could stand high-lone; nay, by th' rood,\n ","question":"Scene III.\nCapulet's house.\n\nEnter Capulet's Wife, and Nurse.\n\n\n Wife. Nurse, where's my daughter? Call her forth to me.\n\n Nurse. Now, by my maidenhead at twelve year old,\n I bade her come. What, lamb! what ladybird!\n God forbid! Where's this girl? What, Juliet!\n\n Enter Juliet.\n\n\n Jul. How now? Who calls?\n\n Nurse. Your mother.\n\n Jul. Madam, I am here.\n What is your will?\n\n Wife. This is the matter- Nurse, give leave awhile,\n We must talk in secret. Nurse, come back again;\n I have rememb'red me, thou's hear our counsel.\n Thou knowest my daughter's of a pretty age.\n\n Nurse. Faith, I can tell her age unto an hour.\n\n Wife. She's not fourteen.\n\n Nurse. I'll lay fourteen of my teeth-\n And yet, to my teen be it spoken, I have but four-\n She is not fourteen. How long is it now\n To Lammastide?\n\n Wife."} {"answer":"dark lank hair, and strong\nfeatures--so much for her person; and not less unpropitious for heroism\nseemed her mind. She was fond of all boy's plays, and greatly preferred\ncricket not merely to dolls, but to the more heroic enjoyments of\ninfancy, nursing a dormouse, feeding a canary-bird, or watering a\nrose-bush. Indeed she had no taste for a garden; and if she gathered\nflowers at all, it was chiefly for the pleasure of mischief--at least\nso it was conjectured from her always preferring those which she was\nforbidden to take. Such were her propensities--her abilities were quite\nas extraordinary. She never could learn or understand anything\nbefore she was taught; and sometimes not even then, for she was often\ninattentive, and occasionally stupid. Her mother was three months in\nteaching her only to repeat the \"Beggar's Petition\"; and after all, her\nnext sister, Sally, could say it better than she did. Not that Catherine\nwas always stupid--by no means; she learnt the fable of \"The Hare and\nMany Friends\" as quickly as any girl in England. Her mother wished her\nto learn music; and Catherine was sure she should like it, for she was\nvery fond of tinkling the keys of the old forlorn spinnet; so, at eight\nyears old she began. She learnt a year, and could not bear it; and Mrs.\nMorland, who did not insist on her daughters being accomplished in\nspite of incapacity or distaste, allowed her to leave off. The day which\ndismissed the music-master was one of the happiest of Catherine's life.\nHer taste for drawing was not superior; though whenever she could obtain\nthe outside","question":"\n\nNo one who had ever seen Catherine Morland in her infancy would have\nsupposed her born to be an heroine. Her situation in life, the character\nof her father and mother, her own person and disposition, were\nall equally against her. Her father was a clergyman, without being\nneglected, or poor, and a very respectable man, though his name\nwas Richard--and he had never been handsome. He had a considerable\nindependence besides two good livings--and he was not in the least\naddicted to locking up his daughters. Her mother was a woman of useful\nplain sense, with a good temper, and, what is more remarkable, with a\ngood constitution. She had three sons before Catherine was born; and\ninstead of dying in bringing the latter into the world, as anybody might\nexpect, she still lived on--lived to have six children more--to see them\ngrowing up around her, and to enjoy excellent health herself. A family\nof ten children will be always called a fine family, where there are\nheads and arms and legs enough for the number; but the Morlands had\nlittle other right to the word, for they were in general very plain, and\nCatherine, for many years of her life, as plain as any. She had a thin\nawkward figure, a sallow skin without colour,"} {"answer":"and his sisters were well, I hope, when you left London.\"\n\n\"Perfectly so--I thank you.\"\n\nShe found that she was to receive no other answer--and, after a short\npause, added,\n\n\"I think I have understood that Mr. Bingley has not much idea of ever\nreturning to Netherfield again?\"\n\n\"I have never heard him say so; but it is probable that he may spend\nvery little of his time there in future. He has many friends, and he is\nat a time of life when friends and engagements are continually\nincreasing.\"\n\n\"If he means to be but little at Netherfield, it would be better for the\nneighbourhood that he should give up the place entirely, for then we\nmight possibly get a settled family there. But perhaps Mr. Bingley did\nnot take the house so much for the convenience of the neighbourhood as\nfor his own, and we must expect him to keep or quit it on the same\nprinciple.\"\n\n\"I should not be surprised,\" said Darcy, \"if he were to give it up, as\nsoon as any eligible purchase offers.\"\n\nElizabeth made no answer. She was afraid of talking longer of his\nfriend; and, having nothing else to say, was now determined to leave the\ntrouble of finding a subject to him.\n\nHe took the hint, and soon began with, \"This seems a very comfortable\nhouse. Lady Catherine, I believe, did a great deal to it when Mr.\nCollins first came to Hunsford.\"\n\n\"I believe she did--and I am sure she could not have bestowed her\nkindness on a more grateful object.\"\n\n\"Mr. Collins appears very fortunate in his choice of a wife.\"\n\n\"Yes, indeed; his friends","question":"\n\nElizabeth was sitting by herself the next morning, and writing to Jane,\nwhile Mrs. Collins and Maria were gone on business into the village,\nwhen she was startled by a ring at the door, the certain signal of a\nvisitor. As she had heard no carriage, she thought it not unlikely to be\nLady Catherine, and under that apprehension was putting away her\nhalf-finished letter that she might escape all impertinent questions,\nwhen the door opened, and to her very great surprise, Mr. Darcy, and Mr.\nDarcy only, entered the room.\n\nHe seemed astonished too on finding her alone, and apologised for his\nintrusion, by letting her know that he had understood all the ladies to\nbe within.\n\nThey then sat down, and when her enquiries after Rosings were made,\nseemed in danger of sinking into total silence. It was absolutely\nnecessary, therefore, to think of something, and in this emergence\nrecollecting _when_ she had seen him last in Hertfordshire, and feeling\ncurious to know what he would say on the subject of their hasty\ndeparture, she observed,\n\n\"How very suddenly you all quitted Netherfield last November, Mr. Darcy!\nIt must have been a most agreeable surprise to Mr. Bingley to see you\nall after him so soon; for, if I recollect right, he went but the day\nbefore. He"} {"answer":"a part.\n An she agree, within her scope of choice\n Lies my consent and fair according voice.\n This night I hold an old accustom'd feast,\n Whereto I have invited many a guest,\n Such as I love; and you among the store,\n One more, most welcome, makes my number more.\n At my poor house look to behold this night\n Earth-treading stars that make dark heaven light.\n Such comfort as do lusty young men feel\n When well apparell'd April on the heel\n Of limping Winter treads, even such delight\n Among fresh female buds shall you this night\n Inherit at my house. Hear all, all see,\n And like her most whose merit most shall be;\n Which, on more view of many, mine, being one,\n May stand in number, though in reck'ning none.\n Come, go with me. [To Servant, giving him a paper] Go,\n sirrah, trudge about\n Through fair Verona; find those persons out\n Whose names are written there, and to them say,\n My house and welcome on their pleasure stay-\n ","question":"Scene II.\nA Street.\n\nEnter Capulet, County Paris, and [Servant] -the Clown.\n\n\n Cap. But Montague is bound as well as I,\n In penalty alike; and 'tis not hard, I think,\n For men so old as we to keep the peace.\n\n Par. Of honourable reckoning are you both,\n And pity 'tis you liv'd at odds so long.\n But now, my lord, what say you to my suit?\n\n Cap. But saying o'er what I have said before:\n My child is yet a stranger in the world,\n She hath not seen the change of fourteen years;\n Let two more summers wither in their pride\n Ere we may think her ripe to be a bride.\n\n Par. Younger than she are happy mothers made.\n\n Cap. And too soon marr'd are those so early made.\n The earth hath swallowed all my hopes but she;\n She is the hopeful lady of my earth.\n But woo her, gentle Paris, get her heart;\n My will to her consent is but"} {"answer":"a part.\n An she agree, within her scope of choice\n Lies my consent and fair according voice.\n This night I hold an old accustom'd feast,\n Whereto I have invited many a guest,\n Such as I love; and you among the store,\n One more, most welcome, makes my number more.\n At my poor house look to behold this night\n Earth-treading stars that make dark heaven light.\n Such comfort as do lusty young men feel\n When well apparell'd April on the heel\n Of limping Winter treads, even such delight\n Among fresh female buds shall you this night\n Inherit at my house. Hear all, all see,\n And like her most whose merit most shall be;\n Which, on more view of many, mine, being one,\n May stand in number, though in reck'ning none.\n Come, go with me. [To Servant, giving him a paper] Go,\n sirrah, trudge about\n Through fair Verona; find those persons out\n Whose names are written there, and to them say,\n My house and welcome on their pleasure stay-\n ","question":"Scene II.\nA Street.\n\nEnter Capulet, County Paris, and [Servant] -the Clown.\n\n\n Cap. But Montague is bound as well as I,\n In penalty alike; and 'tis not hard, I think,\n For men so old as we to keep the peace.\n\n Par. Of honourable reckoning are you both,\n And pity 'tis you liv'd at odds so long.\n But now, my lord, what say you to my suit?\n\n Cap. But saying o'er what I have said before:\n My child is yet a stranger in the world,\n She hath not seen the change of fourteen years;\n Let two more summers wither in their pride\n Ere we may think her ripe to be a bride.\n\n Par. Younger than she are happy mothers made.\n\n Cap. And too soon marr'd are those so early made.\n The earth hath swallowed all my hopes but she;\n She is the hopeful lady of my earth.\n But woo her, gentle Paris, get her heart;\n My will to her consent is but"} {"answer":"seemed never to have known\na youthful era. Before this ugly edifice, and between it and the\nwheel-track of the street, was a grass-plot, much overgrown with\nburdock, pigweed, apple-peru, and such unsightly vegetation, which\nevidently found something congenial in the soil that had so early\nborne the black flower of civilized society, a prison. But on one side\nof the portal, and rooted almost at the threshold, was a wild\nrose-bush, covered, in this month of June, with its delicate gems,\nwhich might be imagined to offer their fragrance and fragile beauty to\nthe prisoner as he went in, and to the condemned criminal as he came\nforth to his doom, in token that the deep heart of Nature could pity\nand be kind to him.\n\nThis rose-bush, by a strange chance, has been kept alive in history;\nbut whether it had merely survived out of the stern old wilderness, so\nlong after the fall of the gigantic pines and oaks that originally\novershadowed it,--or whether, as there is fair authority for\nbelieving, it had sprung up under the footsteps of the sainted Ann\nHutchinson, as she entered the prison-door,--we shall not take upon us\nto determine. Finding it so directly on the threshold of our\nnarrative, which is now about to issue from that inauspicious portal,\nwe could hardly do otherwise than pluck one of its flowers, and\npresent it to the reader. It may serve, let us hope, to symbolize some\nsweet moral blossom, that may be found along the track, or relieve the\ndarkening close of a tale of human frailty and sorrow.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n ","question":"I. THE PRISON-DOOR.\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nA throng of bearded men, in sad-colored garments, and gray,\nsteeple-crowned hats, intermixed with women, some wearing hoods and\nothers bareheaded, was assembled in front of a wooden edifice, the\ndoor of which was heavily timbered with oak, and studded with iron\nspikes.\n\nThe founders of a new colony, whatever Utopia of human virtue and\nhappiness they might originally project, have invariably recognized it\namong their earliest practical necessities to allot a portion of the\nvirgin soil as a cemetery, and another portion as the site of a\nprison. In accordance with this rule, it may safely be assumed that\nthe forefathers of Boston had built the first prison-house somewhere\nin the vicinity of Cornhill, almost as seasonably as they marked out\nthe first burial-ground, on Isaac Johnson's lot, and round about his\ngrave, which subsequently became the nucleus of all the congregated\nsepulchres in the old churchyard of King's Chapel. Certain it is,\nthat, some fifteen or twenty years after the settlement of the town,\nthe wooden jail was already marked with weather-stains and other\nindications of age, which gave a yet darker aspect to its\nbeetle-browed and gloomy front. The rust on the ponderous iron-work of\nits oaken door looked more antique than anything else in the New\nWorld. Like all that pertains to crime, it"} {"answer":"judged that his religion and wealth, rather than the crime\nalleged against him, had been the cause of his condemnation.\n\n\"Felix had been present at the trial; his horror and indignation were\nuncontrollable, when he heard the decision of the court. He made, at\nthat moment, a solemn vow to deliver him, and then looked around for the\nmeans. After many fruitless attempts to gain admittance to the prison,\nhe found a strongly grated window in an unguarded part of the building,\nwhich lighted the dungeon of the unfortunate Mahometan; who, loaded with\nchains, waited in despair the execution of the barbarous sentence. Felix\nvisited the grate at night, and made known to the prisoner his\nintentions in his favour. The Turk, amazed and delighted, endeavoured to\nkindle the zeal of his deliverer by promises of reward and wealth. Felix\nrejected his offers with contempt; yet when he saw the lovely Safie, who\nwas allowed to visit her father, and who, by her gestures, expressed her\nlively gratitude, the youth could not help owning to his own mind, that\nthe captive possessed a treasure which would fully reward his toil and\nhazard.\n\n\"The Turk quickly perceived the impression that his daughter had made on\nthe heart of Felix, and endeavoured to secure him more entirely in his\ninterests by the promise of her hand in marriage, so soon as he should\nbe conveyed to a place of safety. Felix was too delicate to accept this\noffer; yet he looked forward to the probability of that event as to the\nconsummation of his happiness.\n\n\"During the ensuing days, while the preparations were going forward","question":"\n\n\"Some time elapsed before I learned the history of my friends. It was\none which could not fail to impress itself deeply on my mind, unfolding\nas it did a number of circumstances each interesting and wonderful to\none so utterly inexperienced as I was.\n\n\"The name of the old man was De Lacey. He was descended from a good\nfamily in France, where he had lived for many years in affluence,\nrespected by his superiors, and beloved by his equals. His son was bred\nin the service of his country; and Agatha had ranked with ladies of the\nhighest distinction. A few months before my arrival, they had lived in a\nlarge and luxurious city, called Paris, surrounded by friends, and\npossessed of every enjoyment which virtue, refinement of intellect, or\ntaste, accompanied by a moderate fortune, could afford.\n\n\"The father of Safie had been the cause of their ruin. He was a Turkish\nmerchant, and had inhabited Paris for many years, when, for some reason\nwhich I could not learn, he became obnoxious to the government. He was\nseized and cast into prison the very day that Safie arrived from\nConstantinople to join him. He was tried, and condemned to death. The\ninjustice of his sentence was very flagrant; all Paris was indignant;\nand it was"} {"answer":"to the world in general as to Caesar.\n\nCALPURNIA.\nWhen beggars die, there are no comets seen;\nThe heavens themselves blaze forth the death of princes.\n\nCAESAR.\nCowards die many times before their deaths;\nThe valiant never taste of death but once.\nOf all the wonders that I yet have heard,\nIt seems to me most strange that men should fear;\nSeeing that death, a necessary end,\nWill come when it will come.--\n\n[Re-enter Servant.]\n\nWhat say the augurers?\n\nSERVANT.\nThey would not have you to stir forth to-day.\nPlucking the entrails of an offering forth,\nThey could not find a heart within the beast.\n\nCAESAR.\nThe gods do this in shame of cowardice:\nCaesar should be a beast without a heart,\nIf he should stay at home today for fear.\nNo, Caesar shall not: danger knows full well\nThat Caesar is more dangerous than he:\nWe are two lions litter'd in one day,\nAnd I the elder and more terrible;\nAnd Caesar shall go forth.\n\nCALPURNIA.\nAlas, my lord,\nYour wisdom is consumed in confidence!\nDo not go forth to-day: call it my fear\nThat keeps you in the house, and not your own.\nWe'll send Mark Antony to the Senate-house,\nAnd he shall say you are not well to-day:\nLet me, upon my knee, prevail in this.\n\nCAESAR.\nMark Antony shall say I am not well,\nAnd, for thy humor, I will stay at home.\n\n[Enter Decius.]\n\nHere's Decius Brutus, he shall tell them so.\n\nDECIUS.\nCaesar, all hail! Good morrow, worthy Caesar:\nI come to fetch you to the Senate-house.\n\nCAESAR.\nAnd you are come in very happy time\nTo bear my greeting to the Senators,\nAnd tell them that I will not come to-day.\nCannot, is false; and that I dare not,","question":"SCENE II.\n\nA room in Caesar's palace.\n\n[Thunder and lightning. Enter Caesar, in his nightgown.]\n\nCAESAR.\nNor heaven nor earth have been at peace tonight:\nThrice hath Calpurnia in her sleep cried out,\n\"Help, ho! They murder Caesar!\"--Who's within?\n\n[Enter a Servant.]\n\nSERVANT.\nMy lord?\n\nCAESAR.\nGo bid the priests do present sacrifice,\nAnd bring me their opinions of success.\n\nSERVANT.\nI will, my lord.\n\n[Exit.]\n\n[Enter Calpurnia.]\n\nCALPURNIA.\nWhat mean you, Caesar? Think you to walk forth?\nYou shall not stir out of your house to-day.\n\nCAESAR.\nCaesar shall forth: the things that threaten me\nNe'er look but on my back; when they shall see\nThe face of Caesar, they are vanished.\n\nCALPURNIA.\nCaesar, I never stood on ceremonies,\nYet now they fright me. There is one within,\nBesides the things that we have heard and seen,\nRecounts most horrid sights seen by the watch.\nA lioness hath whelped in the streets;\nAnd graves have yawn'd, and yielded up their dead;\nFierce fiery warriors fight upon the clouds,\nIn ranks and squadrons and right form of war,\nWhich drizzled blood upon the Capitol;\nThe noise of battle hurtled in the air,\nHorses did neigh, and dying men did groan;\nAnd ghosts did shriek and squeal about the streets.\nO Caesar,these things are beyond all use,\nAnd I do fear them!\n\nCAESAR.\nWhat can be avoided\nWhose end is purposed by the mighty gods?\nYet Caesar shall go forth; for these predictions\nAre"} {"answer":"restraint and grievance\n The law, with all his might to enforce it on,\n Will give him cable.\n OTHELLO. Let him do his spite.\n My services, which I have done the signiory,\n Shall out--tongue his complaints. 'Tis yet to know--\n Which, when I know that boasting is an honor,\n I shall promulgate--I fetch my life and being\n From men of royal siege, and my demerits\n May speak unbonneted to as proud a fortune\n As this that I have reach'd. For know, Iago,\n But that I love the gentle Desdemona,\n I would not my unhoused free condition\n Put into circumscription and confine\n For the sea's worth. But, look! What lights come yond?\n IAGO. Those are the raised father and his friends.\n You were best go in.\n OTHELLO. Not I; I must be found.\n My parts, my title, and my perfect soul\n Shall manifest me rightly. Is it they?\n IAGO. By Janus, I think no.\n\n Enter Cassio and certain Officers with torches.\n\n ","question":"SCENE II.\nAnother street.\n\nEnter Othello, Iago, and Attendants with torches.\n\n IAGO. Though in the trade of war I have slain men,\n Yet do I hold it very stuff o' the conscience\n To do no contrived murther. I lack iniquity\n Sometimes to do me service. Nine or ten times\n I had thought to have yerk'd him here under the ribs.\n OTHELLO. 'Tis better as it is.\n IAGO. Nay, but he prated\n And spoke such scurvy and provoking terms\n Against your honor\n That, with the little godliness I have,\n I did full hard forbear him. But I pray you, sir,\n Are you fast married? Be assured of this,\n That the magnifico is much beloved,\n And hath in his effect a voice potential\n As double as the Duke's. He will divorce you,\n Or put upon you what"} {"answer":"restraint and grievance\n The law, with all his might to enforce it on,\n Will give him cable.\n OTHELLO. Let him do his spite.\n My services, which I have done the signiory,\n Shall out--tongue his complaints. 'Tis yet to know--\n Which, when I know that boasting is an honor,\n I shall promulgate--I fetch my life and being\n From men of royal siege, and my demerits\n May speak unbonneted to as proud a fortune\n As this that I have reach'd. For know, Iago,\n But that I love the gentle Desdemona,\n I would not my unhoused free condition\n Put into circumscription and confine\n For the sea's worth. But, look! What lights come yond?\n IAGO. Those are the raised father and his friends.\n You were best go in.\n OTHELLO. Not I; I must be found.\n My parts, my title, and my perfect soul\n Shall manifest me rightly. Is it they?\n IAGO. By Janus, I think no.\n\n Enter Cassio and certain Officers with torches.\n\n ","question":"SCENE II.\nAnother street.\n\nEnter Othello, Iago, and Attendants with torches.\n\n IAGO. Though in the trade of war I have slain men,\n Yet do I hold it very stuff o' the conscience\n To do no contrived murther. I lack iniquity\n Sometimes to do me service. Nine or ten times\n I had thought to have yerk'd him here under the ribs.\n OTHELLO. 'Tis better as it is.\n IAGO. Nay, but he prated\n And spoke such scurvy and provoking terms\n Against your honor\n That, with the little godliness I have,\n I did full hard forbear him. But I pray you, sir,\n Are you fast married? Be assured of this,\n That the magnifico is much beloved,\n And hath in his effect a voice potential\n As double as the Duke's. He will divorce you,\n Or put upon you what"} {"answer":"restraint and grievance\n The law, with all his might to enforce it on,\n Will give him cable.\n OTHELLO. Let him do his spite.\n My services, which I have done the signiory,\n Shall out--tongue his complaints. 'Tis yet to know--\n Which, when I know that boasting is an honor,\n I shall promulgate--I fetch my life and being\n From men of royal siege, and my demerits\n May speak unbonneted to as proud a fortune\n As this that I have reach'd. For know, Iago,\n But that I love the gentle Desdemona,\n I would not my unhoused free condition\n Put into circumscription and confine\n For the sea's worth. But, look! What lights come yond?\n IAGO. Those are the raised father and his friends.\n You were best go in.\n OTHELLO. Not I; I must be found.\n My parts, my title, and my perfect soul\n Shall manifest me rightly. Is it they?\n IAGO. By Janus, I think no.\n\n Enter Cassio and certain Officers with torches.\n\n ","question":"SCENE II.\nAnother street.\n\nEnter Othello, Iago, and Attendants with torches.\n\n IAGO. Though in the trade of war I have slain men,\n Yet do I hold it very stuff o' the conscience\n To do no contrived murther. I lack iniquity\n Sometimes to do me service. Nine or ten times\n I had thought to have yerk'd him here under the ribs.\n OTHELLO. 'Tis better as it is.\n IAGO. Nay, but he prated\n And spoke such scurvy and provoking terms\n Against your honor\n That, with the little godliness I have,\n I did full hard forbear him. But I pray you, sir,\n Are you fast married? Be assured of this,\n That the magnifico is much beloved,\n And hath in his effect a voice potential\n As double as the Duke's. He will divorce you,\n Or put upon you what"} {"answer":"restraint and grievance\n The law, with all his might to enforce it on,\n Will give him cable.\n OTHELLO. Let him do his spite.\n My services, which I have done the signiory,\n Shall out--tongue his complaints. 'Tis yet to know--\n Which, when I know that boasting is an honor,\n I shall promulgate--I fetch my life and being\n From men of royal siege, and my demerits\n May speak unbonneted to as proud a fortune\n As this that I have reach'd. For know, Iago,\n But that I love the gentle Desdemona,\n I would not my unhoused free condition\n Put into circumscription and confine\n For the sea's worth. But, look! What lights come yond?\n IAGO. Those are the raised father and his friends.\n You were best go in.\n OTHELLO. Not I; I must be found.\n My parts, my title, and my perfect soul\n Shall manifest me rightly. Is it they?\n IAGO. By Janus, I think no.\n\n Enter Cassio and certain Officers with torches.\n\n ","question":"SCENE II.\nAnother street.\n\nEnter Othello, Iago, and Attendants with torches.\n\n IAGO. Though in the trade of war I have slain men,\n Yet do I hold it very stuff o' the conscience\n To do no contrived murther. I lack iniquity\n Sometimes to do me service. Nine or ten times\n I had thought to have yerk'd him here under the ribs.\n OTHELLO. 'Tis better as it is.\n IAGO. Nay, but he prated\n And spoke such scurvy and provoking terms\n Against your honor\n That, with the little godliness I have,\n I did full hard forbear him. But I pray you, sir,\n Are you fast married? Be assured of this,\n That the magnifico is much beloved,\n And hath in his effect a voice potential\n As double as the Duke's. He will divorce you,\n Or put upon you what"} {"answer":"earth some special good doth give;\n Nor aught so good but, strain'd from that fair use,\n Revolts from true birth, stumbling on abuse.\n Virtue itself turns vice, being misapplied,\n And vice sometime's by action dignified.\n Within the infant rind of this small flower\n Poison hath residence, and medicine power;\n For this, being smelt, with that part cheers each part;\n Being tasted, slays all senses with the heart.\n Two such opposed kings encamp them still\n In man as well as herbs- grace and rude will;\n And where the worser is predominant,\n Full soon the canker death eats up that plant.\n\n Enter Romeo.\n\n\n Rom. Good morrow, father.\n\n Friar. Benedicite!\n What early tongue so sweet saluteth me?\n Young son, it argues a distempered head\n So soon to bid good morrow to thy bed.\n Care keeps his watch in every old man's eye,\n And where care lodges sleep will never lie;\n But where unbruised youth with unstuff'd brain\n Doth couch his limbs, there golden sleep doth reign.\n Therefore thy","question":"Scene III.\nFriar Laurence's cell.\n\nEnter Friar, [Laurence] alone, with a basket.\n\n\n Friar. The grey-ey'd morn smiles on the frowning night,\n Check'ring the Eastern clouds with streaks of light;\n And flecked darkness like a drunkard reels\n From forth day's path and Titan's fiery wheels.\n Non, ere the sun advance his burning eye\n The day to cheer and night's dank dew to dry,\n I must up-fill this osier cage of ours\n With baleful weeds and precious-juiced flowers.\n The earth that's nature's mother is her tomb.\n What is her burying gave, that is her womb;\n And from her womb children of divers kind\n We sucking on her natural bosom find;\n Many for many virtues excellent,\n None but for some, and yet all different.\n O, mickle is the powerful grace that lies\n In plants, herbs, stones, and their true qualities;\n For naught so vile that on the earth doth live\n But to the"} {"answer":"Lydia was Lydia still; untamed, unabashed, wild, noisy, and\nfearless. She turned from sister to sister, demanding their\ncongratulations, and when at length they all sat down, looked eagerly\nround the room, took notice of some little alteration in it, and\nobserved, with a laugh, that it was a great while since she had been\nthere.\n\nWickham was not at all more distressed than herself, but his manners\nwere always so pleasing, that had his character and his marriage been\nexactly what they ought, his smiles and his easy address, while he\nclaimed their relationship, would have delighted them all. Elizabeth had\nnot before believed him quite equal to such assurance; but she sat down,\nresolving within herself, to draw no limits in future to the impudence\nof an impudent man. _She_ blushed, and Jane blushed; but the cheeks of\nthe two who caused their confusion, suffered no variation of colour.\n\nThere was no want of discourse. The bride and her mother could neither\nof them talk fast enough; and Wickham, who happened to sit near\nElizabeth, began enquiring after his acquaintance in that neighbourhood,\nwith a good humoured ease, which she felt very unable to equal in her\nreplies. They seemed each of them to have the happiest memories in the\nworld. Nothing of the past was recollected with pain; and Lydia led\nvoluntarily to subjects, which her sisters would not have alluded to for\nthe world.\n\n\"Only think of its being three months,\" she cried, \"since I went away;\nit seems but a fortnight I declare; and yet there have been things\nenough happened in the time. Good gracious! when I went","question":"\n\nTheir sister's wedding day arrived; and Jane and Elizabeth felt for her\nprobably more than she felt for herself. The carriage was sent to meet\nthem at ----, and they were to return in it, by dinner-time. Their\narrival was dreaded by the elder Miss Bennets; and Jane more especially,\nwho gave Lydia the feelings which would have attended herself, had _she_\nbeen the culprit, was wretched in the thought of what her sister must\nendure.\n\nThey came. The family were assembled in the breakfast room, to receive\nthem. Smiles decked the face of Mrs. Bennet, as the carriage drove up to\nthe door; her husband looked impenetrably grave; her daughters, alarmed,\nanxious, uneasy.\n\nLydia's voice was heard in the vestibule; the door was thrown open, and\nshe ran into the room. Her mother stepped forwards, embraced her, and\nwelcomed her with rapture; gave her hand with an affectionate smile to\nWickham, who followed his lady, and wished them both joy, with an\nalacrity which shewed no doubt of their happiness.\n\nTheir reception from Mr. Bennet, to whom they then turned, was not quite\nso cordial. His countenance rather gained in austerity; and he scarcely\nopened his lips. The easy assurance of the young couple, indeed, was\nenough to provoke him. Elizabeth was disgusted, and even Miss Bennet was\nshocked."} {"answer":" Young Adam Cupid, he that shot so trim\n When King Cophetua lov'd the beggar maid!\n He heareth not, he stirreth not, be moveth not;\n The ape is dead, and I must conjure him.\n I conjure thee by Rosaline's bright eyes.\n By her high forehead and her scarlet lip,\n By her fine foot, straight leg, and quivering thigh,\n And the demesnes that there adjacent lie,\n That in thy likeness thou appear to us!\n\n Ben. An if he hear thee, thou wilt anger him.\n\n Mer. This cannot anger him. 'Twould anger him\n To raise a spirit in his mistress' circle\n Of some strange nature, letting it there stand\n Till she had laid it and conjur'd it down.\n That were some spite; my invocation\n Is fair and honest: in his mistress' name,\n I conjure only but to raise up him.\n\n Ben. Come, he hath hid himself among these trees\n To be consorted with the humorous night.\n Blind is his love and best befits the dark.\n\n Mer. If love be blind, love cannot hit the mark.\n Now will he sit under a medlar tree\n And wish his mistress were that kind of fruit\n ","question":"ACT II. Scene I.\nA lane by the wall of Capulet's orchard.\n\nEnter Romeo alone.\n\n\n Rom. Can I go forward when my heart is here?\n Turn back, dull earth, and find thy centre out.\n [Climbs the wall and leaps down within it.]\n\n Enter Benvolio with Mercutio.\n\n\n Ben. Romeo! my cousin Romeo! Romeo!\n\n Mer. He is wise,\n And, on my life, hath stol'n him home to bed.\n\n Ben. He ran this way, and leapt this orchard wall.\n Call, good Mercutio.\n\n Mer. Nay, I'll conjure too.\n Romeo! humours! madman! passion! lover!\n Appear thou in the likeness of a sigh;\n Speak but one rhyme, and I am satisfied!\n Cry but 'Ay me!' pronounce but 'love' and 'dove';\n Speak to my gossip Venus one fair word,\n One nickname for her purblind son and heir,\n "} {"answer":"pains you\ntook to disguise yourself, your feelings were always noble and just; and\nin your heart, you thoroughly despised the persons who so assiduously\ncourted you. There--I have saved you the trouble of accounting for it;\nand really, all things considered, I begin to think it perfectly\nreasonable. To be sure, you knew no actual good of me--but nobody thinks\nof _that_ when they fall in love.\"\n\n\"Was there no good in your affectionate behaviour to Jane, while she was\nill at Netherfield?\"\n\n\"Dearest Jane! who could have done less for her? But make a virtue of it\nby all means. My good qualities are under your protection, and you are\nto exaggerate them as much as possible; and, in return, it belongs to me\nto find occasions for teazing and quarrelling with you as often as may\nbe; and I shall begin directly by asking you what made you so unwilling\nto come to the point at last. What made you so shy of me, when you first\ncalled, and afterwards dined here? Why, especially, when you called, did\nyou look as if you did not care about me?\"\n\n\"Because you were grave and silent, and gave me no encouragement.\"\n\n\"But I was embarrassed.\"\n\n\"And so was I.\"\n\n\"You might have talked to me more when you came to dinner.\"\n\n\"A man who had felt less, might.\"\n\n\"How unlucky that you should have a reasonable answer to give, and that\nI should be so reasonable as to admit it! But I wonder how long you\n_would_ have gone on, if you had been left to yourself. I wonder when\nyou _would_ have spoken,","question":"\n\nElizabeth's spirits soon rising to playfulness again, she wanted Mr.\nDarcy to account for his having ever fallen in love with her. \"How could\nyou begin?\" said she. \"I can comprehend your going on charmingly, when\nyou had once made a beginning; but what could set you off in the first\nplace?\"\n\n\"I cannot fix on the hour, or the spot, or the look, or the words, which\nlaid the foundation. It is too long ago. I was in the middle before I\nknew that I _had_ begun.\"\n\n\"My beauty you had early withstood, and as for my manners--my behaviour\nto _you_ was at least always bordering on the uncivil, and I never spoke\nto you without rather wishing to give you pain than not. Now be sincere;\ndid you admire me for my impertinence?\"\n\n\"For the liveliness of your mind, I did.\"\n\n\"You may as well call it impertinence at once. It was very little less.\nThe fact is, that you were sick of civility, of deference, of officious\nattention. You were disgusted with the women who were always speaking\nand looking, and thinking for _your_ approbation alone. I roused, and\ninterested you, because I was so unlike _them_. Had you not been really\namiable you would have hated me for it; but in spite of the"} {"answer":"disagreeably. We have certainly done our best; and most\nfortunately having it in our power to introduce you to very superior\nsociety, and from our connection with Rosings, the frequent means of\nvarying the humble home scene, I think we may flatter ourselves that\nyour Hunsford visit cannot have been entirely irksome. Our situation\nwith regard to Lady Catherine's family is indeed the sort of\nextraordinary advantage and blessing which few can boast. You see on\nwhat a footing we are. You see how continually we are engaged there. In\ntruth I must acknowledge that, with all the disadvantages of this humble\nparsonage, I should not think any one abiding in it an object of\ncompassion, while they are sharers of our intimacy at Rosings.\"\n\nWords were insufficient for the elevation of his feelings; and he was\nobliged to walk about the room, while Elizabeth tried to unite civility\nand truth in a few short sentences.\n\n\"You may, in fact, carry a very favourable report of us into\nHertfordshire, my dear cousin. I flatter myself at least that you will\nbe able to do so. Lady Catherine's great attentions to Mrs. Collins you\nhave been a daily witness of; and altogether I trust it does not appear\nthat your friend has drawn an unfortunate--but on this point it will be\nas well to be silent. Only let me assure you, my dear Miss Elizabeth,\nthat I can from my heart most cordially wish you equal felicity in\nmarriage. My dear Charlotte and I have but one mind and one way of\nthinking. There is in every thing a most remarkable resemblance of\ncharacter","question":"\n\nOn Saturday morning Elizabeth and Mr. Collins met for breakfast a few\nminutes before the others appeared; and he took the opportunity of\npaying the parting civilities which he deemed indispensably necessary.\n\n\"I know not, Miss Elizabeth,\" said he, \"whether Mrs. Collins has yet\nexpressed her sense of your kindness in coming to us, but I am very\ncertain you will not leave the house without receiving her thanks for\nit. The favour of your company has been much felt, I assure you. We know\nhow little there is to tempt any one to our humble abode. Our plain\nmanner of living, our small rooms, and few domestics, and the little we\nsee of the world, must make Hunsford extremely dull to a young lady like\nyourself; but I hope you will believe us grateful for the condescension,\nand that we have done every thing in our power to prevent your spending\nyour time unpleasantly.\"\n\nElizabeth was eager with her thanks and assurances of happiness. She had\nspent six weeks with great enjoyment; and the pleasure of being with\nCharlotte, and the kind attentions she had received, must make _her_\nfeel the obliged. Mr. Collins was gratified; and with a more smiling\nsolemnity replied,\n\n\"It gives me the greatest pleasure to hear that you have passed your\ntime not"} {"answer":"I hold as giddily as fortune;\n But 'tis that miracle, and queen of gems,\n That nature pranks her in, attracts my soul.\n\n _Vio._ But, if she cannot love you, sir?\n\n _Duke._ I cannot be so answered.\n\n _Vio._ Sooth, but you must.\n Say, that some lady, as, perhaps, there is,\n Hath for your love as great a pang of heart\n As you have for Olivia: you cannot love her;\n You tell her so: Must she not then be answered?\n\n _Duke._ There is no woman's sides,\n Can bide the beating of so strong a passion\n As love doth give my heart:--make no compare\n Between that love a woman can bear me,\n And that I owe Olivia.\n\n _Vio._ Ay, but I know,--\n\n _Duke._ What dost thou know?\n\n _Vio._ Too well what love women to men may owe:\n In faith, they are as true of heart as we.\n My father had a daughter loved a man,\n As it might be, perhaps, were I a woman,\n I should your lordship.\n\n _Duke._ And what's her history?\n\n _Vio._ A blank, my lord: She never told her love,\n But let concealment, like a worm i' the bud,\n Feed on her damask cheek: she pined in thought;\n And, with a green and yellow melancholy,\n ","question":"SCENE III.\n\n\n _A Hall in_ DUKE ORSINO'S _Palace_.\n\n _Enter_ DUKE, _and_ VIOLA.\n\n _Duke._ Come hither, boy:--If ever thou shalt love,\n In the sweet pangs of it, remember me:\n For, such as I am, all true lovers are.--\n My life upon't, young though thou art, thine eye\n Hath stay'd upon some favour that it loves;\n Hath it not, boy?\n\n _Vio._ A little, by your favour.\n\n _Duke._ What kind of woman is't?\n\n _Vio._ Of your complexion.\n\n _Duke._ She is not worth thee then. What years, i' faith?\n\n _Vio._ About your years, my lord.\n\n _Duke._ Too old, by heaven.--Once more, Cesario,\n Get thee to yon same sovereign cruelty:\n Tell her, my love, more noble than the world,\n Prizes not quantity of dirty lands;\n The parts that fortune hath bestowed upon her,\n Tell her,"} {"answer":"You, my creator, would tear\nme to pieces, and triumph; remember that, and tell me why I should pity\nman more than he pities me? You would not call it murder, if you could\nprecipitate me into one of those ice-rifts, and destroy my frame, the\nwork of your own hands. Shall I respect man, when he contemns me? Let\nhim live with me in the interchange of kindness, and, instead of injury,\nI would bestow every benefit upon him with tears of gratitude at his\nacceptance. But that cannot be; the human senses are insurmountable\nbarriers to our union. Yet mine shall not be the submission of abject\nslavery. I will revenge my injuries: if I cannot inspire love, I will\ncause fear; and chiefly towards you my arch-enemy, because my creator,\ndo I swear inextinguishable hatred. Have a care: I will work at your\ndestruction, nor finish until I desolate your heart, so that you curse\nthe hour of your birth.\"\n\nA fiendish rage animated him as he said this; his face was wrinkled into\ncontortions too horrible for human eyes to behold; but presently he\ncalmed himself, and proceeded--\n\n\"I intended to reason. This passion is detrimental to me; for you do not\nreflect that you are the cause of its excess. If any being felt emotions\nof benevolence towards me, I should return them an hundred and an\nhundred fold; for that one creature's sake, I would make peace with the\nwhole kind! But I now indulge in dreams of bliss that cannot be\nrealized. What I ask of you is reasonable and moderate; I demand a\ncreature of","question":"\n\nThe being finished speaking, and fixed his looks upon me in expectation\nof a reply. But I was bewildered, perplexed, and unable to arrange my\nideas sufficiently to understand the full extent of his proposition. He\ncontinued--\n\n\"You must create a female for me, with whom I can live in the\ninterchange of those sympathies necessary for my being. This you alone\ncan do; and I demand it of you as a right which you must not refuse.\"\n\nThe latter part of his tale had kindled anew in me the anger that had\ndied away while he narrated his peaceful life among the cottagers, and,\nas he said this, I could no longer suppress the rage that burned within\nme.\n\n\"I do refuse it,\" I replied; \"and no torture shall ever extort a consent\nfrom me. You may render me the most miserable of men, but you shall\nnever make me base in my own eyes. Shall I create another like yourself,\nwhose joint wickedness might desolate the world. Begone! I have answered\nyou; you may torture me, but I will never consent.\"\n\n\"You are in the wrong,\" replied the fiend; \"and, instead of threatening,\nI am content to reason with you. I am malicious because I am miserable;\nam I not shunned and hated by all mankind?"} {"answer":"You, my creator, would tear\nme to pieces, and triumph; remember that, and tell me why I should pity\nman more than he pities me? You would not call it murder, if you could\nprecipitate me into one of those ice-rifts, and destroy my frame, the\nwork of your own hands. Shall I respect man, when he contemns me? Let\nhim live with me in the interchange of kindness, and, instead of injury,\nI would bestow every benefit upon him with tears of gratitude at his\nacceptance. But that cannot be; the human senses are insurmountable\nbarriers to our union. Yet mine shall not be the submission of abject\nslavery. I will revenge my injuries: if I cannot inspire love, I will\ncause fear; and chiefly towards you my arch-enemy, because my creator,\ndo I swear inextinguishable hatred. Have a care: I will work at your\ndestruction, nor finish until I desolate your heart, so that you curse\nthe hour of your birth.\"\n\nA fiendish rage animated him as he said this; his face was wrinkled into\ncontortions too horrible for human eyes to behold; but presently he\ncalmed himself, and proceeded--\n\n\"I intended to reason. This passion is detrimental to me; for you do not\nreflect that you are the cause of its excess. If any being felt emotions\nof benevolence towards me, I should return them an hundred and an\nhundred fold; for that one creature's sake, I would make peace with the\nwhole kind! But I now indulge in dreams of bliss that cannot be\nrealized. What I ask of you is reasonable and moderate; I demand a\ncreature of","question":"\n\nThe being finished speaking, and fixed his looks upon me in expectation\nof a reply. But I was bewildered, perplexed, and unable to arrange my\nideas sufficiently to understand the full extent of his proposition. He\ncontinued--\n\n\"You must create a female for me, with whom I can live in the\ninterchange of those sympathies necessary for my being. This you alone\ncan do; and I demand it of you as a right which you must not refuse.\"\n\nThe latter part of his tale had kindled anew in me the anger that had\ndied away while he narrated his peaceful life among the cottagers, and,\nas he said this, I could no longer suppress the rage that burned within\nme.\n\n\"I do refuse it,\" I replied; \"and no torture shall ever extort a consent\nfrom me. You may render me the most miserable of men, but you shall\nnever make me base in my own eyes. Shall I create another like yourself,\nwhose joint wickedness might desolate the world. Begone! I have answered\nyou; you may torture me, but I will never consent.\"\n\n\"You are in the wrong,\" replied the fiend; \"and, instead of threatening,\nI am content to reason with you. I am malicious because I am miserable;\nam I not shunned and hated by all mankind?"} {"answer":"to weep. I saw no cause for their unhappiness;\nbut I was deeply affected by it. If such lovely creatures were\nmiserable, it was less strange that I, an imperfect and solitary being,\nshould be wretched. Yet why were these gentle beings unhappy? They\npossessed a delightful house (for such it was in my eyes), and every\nluxury; they had a fire to warm them when chill, and delicious viands\nwhen hungry; they were dressed in excellent clothes; and, still more,\nthey enjoyed one another's company and speech, interchanging each day\nlooks of affection and kindness. What did their tears imply? Did they\nreally express pain? I was at first unable to solve these questions; but\nperpetual attention, and time, explained to me many appearances which\nwere at first enigmatic.\n\n\"A considerable period elapsed before I discovered one of the causes of\nthe uneasiness of this amiable family; it was poverty: and they suffered\nthat evil in a very distressing degree. Their nourishment consisted\nentirely of the vegetables of their garden, and the milk of one cow, who\ngave very little during the winter, when its masters could scarcely\nprocure food to support it. They often, I believe, suffered the pangs of\nhunger very poignantly, especially the two younger cottagers; for\nseveral times they placed food before the old man, when they reserved\nnone for themselves.\n\n\"This trait of kindness moved me sensibly. I had been accustomed,\nduring the night, to steal a part of their store for my own consumption;\nbut when I found that in doing this I inflicted pain on the cottagers, I\nabstained, and satisfied myself with berries, nuts, and","question":"\n\n\"I lay on my straw, but I could not sleep. I thought of the occurrences\nof the day. What chiefly struck me was the gentle manners of these\npeople; and I longed to join them, but dared not. I remembered too well\nthe treatment I had suffered the night before from the barbarous\nvillagers, and resolved, whatever course of conduct I might hereafter\nthink it right to pursue, that for the present I would remain quietly in\nmy hovel, watching, and endeavouring to discover the motives which\ninfluenced their actions.\n\n\"The cottagers arose the next morning before the sun. The young woman\narranged the cottage, and prepared the food; and the youth departed\nafter the first meal.\n\n\"This day was passed in the same routine as that which preceded it. The\nyoung man was constantly employed out of doors, and the girl in various\nlaborious occupations within. The old man, whom I soon perceived to be\nblind, employed his leisure hours on his instrument, or in\ncontemplation. Nothing could exceed the love and respect which the\nyounger cottagers exhibited towards their venerable companion. They\nperformed towards him every little office of affection and duty with\ngentleness; and he rewarded them by his benevolent smiles.\n\n\"They were not entirely happy. The young man and his companion often\nwent apart, and appeared"} {"answer":"to weep. I saw no cause for their unhappiness;\nbut I was deeply affected by it. If such lovely creatures were\nmiserable, it was less strange that I, an imperfect and solitary being,\nshould be wretched. Yet why were these gentle beings unhappy? They\npossessed a delightful house (for such it was in my eyes), and every\nluxury; they had a fire to warm them when chill, and delicious viands\nwhen hungry; they were dressed in excellent clothes; and, still more,\nthey enjoyed one another's company and speech, interchanging each day\nlooks of affection and kindness. What did their tears imply? Did they\nreally express pain? I was at first unable to solve these questions; but\nperpetual attention, and time, explained to me many appearances which\nwere at first enigmatic.\n\n\"A considerable period elapsed before I discovered one of the causes of\nthe uneasiness of this amiable family; it was poverty: and they suffered\nthat evil in a very distressing degree. Their nourishment consisted\nentirely of the vegetables of their garden, and the milk of one cow, who\ngave very little during the winter, when its masters could scarcely\nprocure food to support it. They often, I believe, suffered the pangs of\nhunger very poignantly, especially the two younger cottagers; for\nseveral times they placed food before the old man, when they reserved\nnone for themselves.\n\n\"This trait of kindness moved me sensibly. I had been accustomed,\nduring the night, to steal a part of their store for my own consumption;\nbut when I found that in doing this I inflicted pain on the cottagers, I\nabstained, and satisfied myself with berries, nuts, and","question":"\n\n\"I lay on my straw, but I could not sleep. I thought of the occurrences\nof the day. What chiefly struck me was the gentle manners of these\npeople; and I longed to join them, but dared not. I remembered too well\nthe treatment I had suffered the night before from the barbarous\nvillagers, and resolved, whatever course of conduct I might hereafter\nthink it right to pursue, that for the present I would remain quietly in\nmy hovel, watching, and endeavouring to discover the motives which\ninfluenced their actions.\n\n\"The cottagers arose the next morning before the sun. The young woman\narranged the cottage, and prepared the food; and the youth departed\nafter the first meal.\n\n\"This day was passed in the same routine as that which preceded it. The\nyoung man was constantly employed out of doors, and the girl in various\nlaborious occupations within. The old man, whom I soon perceived to be\nblind, employed his leisure hours on his instrument, or in\ncontemplation. Nothing could exceed the love and respect which the\nyounger cottagers exhibited towards their venerable companion. They\nperformed towards him every little office of affection and duty with\ngentleness; and he rewarded them by his benevolent smiles.\n\n\"They were not entirely happy. The young man and his companion often\nwent apart, and appeared"} {"answer":"to weep. I saw no cause for their unhappiness;\nbut I was deeply affected by it. If such lovely creatures were\nmiserable, it was less strange that I, an imperfect and solitary being,\nshould be wretched. Yet why were these gentle beings unhappy? They\npossessed a delightful house (for such it was in my eyes), and every\nluxury; they had a fire to warm them when chill, and delicious viands\nwhen hungry; they were dressed in excellent clothes; and, still more,\nthey enjoyed one another's company and speech, interchanging each day\nlooks of affection and kindness. What did their tears imply? Did they\nreally express pain? I was at first unable to solve these questions; but\nperpetual attention, and time, explained to me many appearances which\nwere at first enigmatic.\n\n\"A considerable period elapsed before I discovered one of the causes of\nthe uneasiness of this amiable family; it was poverty: and they suffered\nthat evil in a very distressing degree. Their nourishment consisted\nentirely of the vegetables of their garden, and the milk of one cow, who\ngave very little during the winter, when its masters could scarcely\nprocure food to support it. They often, I believe, suffered the pangs of\nhunger very poignantly, especially the two younger cottagers; for\nseveral times they placed food before the old man, when they reserved\nnone for themselves.\n\n\"This trait of kindness moved me sensibly. I had been accustomed,\nduring the night, to steal a part of their store for my own consumption;\nbut when I found that in doing this I inflicted pain on the cottagers, I\nabstained, and satisfied myself with berries, nuts, and","question":"\n\n\"I lay on my straw, but I could not sleep. I thought of the occurrences\nof the day. What chiefly struck me was the gentle manners of these\npeople; and I longed to join them, but dared not. I remembered too well\nthe treatment I had suffered the night before from the barbarous\nvillagers, and resolved, whatever course of conduct I might hereafter\nthink it right to pursue, that for the present I would remain quietly in\nmy hovel, watching, and endeavouring to discover the motives which\ninfluenced their actions.\n\n\"The cottagers arose the next morning before the sun. The young woman\narranged the cottage, and prepared the food; and the youth departed\nafter the first meal.\n\n\"This day was passed in the same routine as that which preceded it. The\nyoung man was constantly employed out of doors, and the girl in various\nlaborious occupations within. The old man, whom I soon perceived to be\nblind, employed his leisure hours on his instrument, or in\ncontemplation. Nothing could exceed the love and respect which the\nyounger cottagers exhibited towards their venerable companion. They\nperformed towards him every little office of affection and duty with\ngentleness; and he rewarded them by his benevolent smiles.\n\n\"They were not entirely happy. The young man and his companion often\nwent apart, and appeared"} {"answer":"to weep. I saw no cause for their unhappiness;\nbut I was deeply affected by it. If such lovely creatures were\nmiserable, it was less strange that I, an imperfect and solitary being,\nshould be wretched. Yet why were these gentle beings unhappy? They\npossessed a delightful house (for such it was in my eyes), and every\nluxury; they had a fire to warm them when chill, and delicious viands\nwhen hungry; they were dressed in excellent clothes; and, still more,\nthey enjoyed one another's company and speech, interchanging each day\nlooks of affection and kindness. What did their tears imply? Did they\nreally express pain? I was at first unable to solve these questions; but\nperpetual attention, and time, explained to me many appearances which\nwere at first enigmatic.\n\n\"A considerable period elapsed before I discovered one of the causes of\nthe uneasiness of this amiable family; it was poverty: and they suffered\nthat evil in a very distressing degree. Their nourishment consisted\nentirely of the vegetables of their garden, and the milk of one cow, who\ngave very little during the winter, when its masters could scarcely\nprocure food to support it. They often, I believe, suffered the pangs of\nhunger very poignantly, especially the two younger cottagers; for\nseveral times they placed food before the old man, when they reserved\nnone for themselves.\n\n\"This trait of kindness moved me sensibly. I had been accustomed,\nduring the night, to steal a part of their store for my own consumption;\nbut when I found that in doing this I inflicted pain on the cottagers, I\nabstained, and satisfied myself with berries, nuts, and","question":"\n\n\"I lay on my straw, but I could not sleep. I thought of the occurrences\nof the day. What chiefly struck me was the gentle manners of these\npeople; and I longed to join them, but dared not. I remembered too well\nthe treatment I had suffered the night before from the barbarous\nvillagers, and resolved, whatever course of conduct I might hereafter\nthink it right to pursue, that for the present I would remain quietly in\nmy hovel, watching, and endeavouring to discover the motives which\ninfluenced their actions.\n\n\"The cottagers arose the next morning before the sun. The young woman\narranged the cottage, and prepared the food; and the youth departed\nafter the first meal.\n\n\"This day was passed in the same routine as that which preceded it. The\nyoung man was constantly employed out of doors, and the girl in various\nlaborious occupations within. The old man, whom I soon perceived to be\nblind, employed his leisure hours on his instrument, or in\ncontemplation. Nothing could exceed the love and respect which the\nyounger cottagers exhibited towards their venerable companion. They\nperformed towards him every little office of affection and duty with\ngentleness; and he rewarded them by his benevolent smiles.\n\n\"They were not entirely happy. The young man and his companion often\nwent apart, and appeared"} {"answer":"and child,--\nThose precious motives, those strong knots of love,--\nWithout leave-taking?--I pray you,\nLet not my jealousies be your dishonors,\nBut mine own safeties:--you may be rightly just,\nWhatever I shall think.\n\nMACDUFF.\nBleed, bleed, poor country!\nGreat tyranny, lay thou thy basis sure,\nFor goodness dare not check thee! wear thou thy wrongs,\nThe title is affeer'd.--Fare thee well, lord:\nI would not be the villain that thou think'st\nFor the whole space that's in the tyrant's grasp\nAnd the rich East to boot.\n\nMALCOLM.\nBe not offended:\nI speak not as in absolute fear of you.\nI think our country sinks beneath the yoke;\nIt weeps, it bleeds; and each new day a gash\nIs added to her wounds. I think, withal,\nThere would be hands uplifted in my right;\nAnd here, from gracious England, have I offer\nOf goodly thousands: but, for all this,\nWhen I shall tread upon the tyrant's head,\nOr wear it on my sword, yet my poor country\nShall have more vices than it had before;\nMore suffer, and more sundry ways than ever,\nBy him that shall succeed.\n\nMACDUFF.\nWhat should he be?\n\nMALCOLM.\nIt is myself I mean: in whom I know\nAll the particulars of vice so grafted\nThat, when they shall be open'd, black Macbeth\nWill seem as pure as snow; and the poor state\nEsteem him as a lamb, being compar'd\nWith my confineless harms.\n\nMACDUFF.\nNot in the legions\nOf horrid hell can come a devil more damn'd\nIn evils to top Macbeth.\n\nMALCOLM.\nI grant him bloody,\nLuxurious, avaricious, false, deceitful,\nSudden, malicious, smacking of every sin\nThat has a name: but there's no bottom, none,\nIn my voluptuousness: your wives, your daughters,\nYour matrons, and your maids, could not fill up\nThe","question":"SCENE III.\n\nEngland. Before the King's Palace.\n\n[Enter Malcolm and Macduff.]\n\nMALCOLM.\nLet us seek out some desolate shade and there\nWeep our sad bosoms empty.\n\nMACDUFF.\nLet us rather\nHold fast the mortal sword, and, like good men,\nBestride our down-fall'n birthdom: each new morn\nNew widows howl; new orphans cry; new sorrows\nStrike heaven on the face, that it resounds\nAs if it felt with Scotland, and yell'd out\nLike syllable of dolour.\n\nMALCOLM.\nWhat I believe, I'll wail;\nWhat know, believe; and what I can redress,\nAs I shall find the time to friend, I will.\nWhat you have spoke, it may be so perchance.\nThis tyrant, whose sole name blisters our tongues,\nWas once thought honest: you have loved him well;\nHe hath not touch'd you yet. I am young; but something\nYou may deserve of him through me; and wisdom\nTo offer up a weak, poor, innocent lamb\nTo appease an angry god.\n\nMACDUFF.\nI am not treacherous.\n\nMALCOLM.\nBut Macbeth is.\nA good and virtuous nature may recoil\nIn an imperial charge. But I shall crave your pardon;\nThat which you are, my thoughts cannot transpose;\nAngels are bright still, though the brightest fell:\nThough all things foul would wear the brows of grace,\nYet grace must still look so.\n\nMACDUFF.\nI have lost my hopes.\n\nMALCOLM.\nPerchance even there where I did find my doubts.\nWhy in that rawness left you wife"} {"answer":"and child,--\nThose precious motives, those strong knots of love,--\nWithout leave-taking?--I pray you,\nLet not my jealousies be your dishonors,\nBut mine own safeties:--you may be rightly just,\nWhatever I shall think.\n\nMACDUFF.\nBleed, bleed, poor country!\nGreat tyranny, lay thou thy basis sure,\nFor goodness dare not check thee! wear thou thy wrongs,\nThe title is affeer'd.--Fare thee well, lord:\nI would not be the villain that thou think'st\nFor the whole space that's in the tyrant's grasp\nAnd the rich East to boot.\n\nMALCOLM.\nBe not offended:\nI speak not as in absolute fear of you.\nI think our country sinks beneath the yoke;\nIt weeps, it bleeds; and each new day a gash\nIs added to her wounds. I think, withal,\nThere would be hands uplifted in my right;\nAnd here, from gracious England, have I offer\nOf goodly thousands: but, for all this,\nWhen I shall tread upon the tyrant's head,\nOr wear it on my sword, yet my poor country\nShall have more vices than it had before;\nMore suffer, and more sundry ways than ever,\nBy him that shall succeed.\n\nMACDUFF.\nWhat should he be?\n\nMALCOLM.\nIt is myself I mean: in whom I know\nAll the particulars of vice so grafted\nThat, when they shall be open'd, black Macbeth\nWill seem as pure as snow; and the poor state\nEsteem him as a lamb, being compar'd\nWith my confineless harms.\n\nMACDUFF.\nNot in the legions\nOf horrid hell can come a devil more damn'd\nIn evils to top Macbeth.\n\nMALCOLM.\nI grant him bloody,\nLuxurious, avaricious, false, deceitful,\nSudden, malicious, smacking of every sin\nThat has a name: but there's no bottom, none,\nIn my voluptuousness: your wives, your daughters,\nYour matrons, and your maids, could not fill up\nThe","question":"SCENE III.\n\nEngland. Before the King's Palace.\n\n[Enter Malcolm and Macduff.]\n\nMALCOLM.\nLet us seek out some desolate shade and there\nWeep our sad bosoms empty.\n\nMACDUFF.\nLet us rather\nHold fast the mortal sword, and, like good men,\nBestride our down-fall'n birthdom: each new morn\nNew widows howl; new orphans cry; new sorrows\nStrike heaven on the face, that it resounds\nAs if it felt with Scotland, and yell'd out\nLike syllable of dolour.\n\nMALCOLM.\nWhat I believe, I'll wail;\nWhat know, believe; and what I can redress,\nAs I shall find the time to friend, I will.\nWhat you have spoke, it may be so perchance.\nThis tyrant, whose sole name blisters our tongues,\nWas once thought honest: you have loved him well;\nHe hath not touch'd you yet. I am young; but something\nYou may deserve of him through me; and wisdom\nTo offer up a weak, poor, innocent lamb\nTo appease an angry god.\n\nMACDUFF.\nI am not treacherous.\n\nMALCOLM.\nBut Macbeth is.\nA good and virtuous nature may recoil\nIn an imperial charge. But I shall crave your pardon;\nThat which you are, my thoughts cannot transpose;\nAngels are bright still, though the brightest fell:\nThough all things foul would wear the brows of grace,\nYet grace must still look so.\n\nMACDUFF.\nI have lost my hopes.\n\nMALCOLM.\nPerchance even there where I did find my doubts.\nWhy in that rawness left you wife"} {"answer":"always seen it with pain; but\nrespecting his abilities, and grateful for his affectionate treatment of\nherself, she endeavoured to forget what she could not overlook, and to\nbanish from her thoughts that continual breach of conjugal obligation\nand decorum which, in exposing his wife to the contempt of her own\nchildren, was so highly reprehensible. But she had never felt so\nstrongly as now, the disadvantages which must attend the children of so\nunsuitable a marriage, nor ever been so fully aware of the evils\narising from so ill-judged a direction of talents; talents which rightly\nused, might at least have preserved the respectability of his daughters,\neven if incapable of enlarging the mind of his wife.\n\nWhen Elizabeth had rejoiced over Wickham's departure, she found little\nother cause for satisfaction in the loss of the regiment. Their parties\nabroad were less varied than before; and at home she had a mother and\nsister whose constant repinings at the dulness of every thing around\nthem, threw a real gloom over their domestic circle; and, though Kitty\nmight in time regain her natural degree of sense, since the disturbers\nof her brain were removed, her other sister, from whose disposition\ngreater evil might be apprehended, was likely to be hardened in all her\nfolly and assurance, by a situation of such double danger as a watering\nplace and a camp. Upon the whole, therefore, she found, what has been\nsometimes found before, that an event to which she had looked forward\nwith impatient desire, did not in taking place, bring all the\nsatisfaction she had promised herself. It was consequently necessary to\nname some","question":"\n\nHad Elizabeth's opinion been all drawn from her own family, she could\nnot have formed a very pleasing picture of conjugal felicity or domestic\ncomfort. Her father captivated by youth and beauty, and that appearance\nof good humour, which youth and beauty generally give, had married a\nwoman whose weak understanding and illiberal mind, had very early in\ntheir marriage put an end to all real affection for her. Respect,\nesteem, and confidence, had vanished for ever; and all his views of\ndomestic happiness were overthrown. But Mr. Bennet was not of a\ndisposition to seek comfort for the disappointment which his own\nimprudence had brought on, in any of those pleasures which too often\nconsole the unfortunate for their folly or their vice. He was fond of\nthe country and of books; and from these tastes had arisen his principal\nenjoyments. To his wife he was very little otherwise indebted, than as\nher ignorance and folly had contributed to his amusement. This is not\nthe sort of happiness which a man would in general wish to owe to his\nwife; but where other powers of entertainment are wanting, the true\nphilosopher will derive benefit from such as are given.\n\nElizabeth, however, had never been blind to the impropriety of her\nfather's behaviour as a husband. She had"} {"answer":"were very strict, that all people should keep in\ntheir houses at their own peril. The garret-windows and tops of houses\nwere so crowded with spectators, that I thought in all my travels I had\nnot seen a more populous place.\n\nThe city is an exact square, each side of the wall being five hundred\nfeet long. The two great streets, which run across and divide it into\nfour quarters, are five feet wide. The lanes and alleys, which I could\nnot enter, but only viewed them as I passed, are from twelve to eighteen\ninches. The town is capable of holding five hundred thousand souls; the\nhouses are from three to five stories; the shops and markets well\nprovided.\n\nThe emperor's palace is in the centre of the city, where the two great\nstreets meet. It is enclosed by a wall of two foot high, and twenty foot\ndistant from the buildings. I had his majesty's permission to step over\nthis wall; and the space being so wide between that and the palace, I\ncould easily view it on every side.\n\nThe outward court is a square of forty feet, and includes two other\ncourts; in the inmost are the royal apartments, which I was very\ndesirous to see, but found it extremely difficult; for the great gates\nfrom one square into another were but eighteen inches high, and seven\ninches wide. Now the buildings of the outer court were at least five\nfeet high, and it was impossible for me to stride over them without\ninfinite damage to the pile, though the walls were strongly built of\nhewn stone, and four","question":"CHAPTER IV.\n\n MILENDO, THE METROPOLIS OF LILLIPUT, DESCRIBED TOGETHER WITH THE\n EMPEROR'S PALACE. A CONVERSATION BETWEEN THE AUTHOR AND A PRINCIPAL\n SECRETARY, CONCERNING THE AFFAIRS OF THAT EMPIRE. THE AUTHOR OFFERS\n TO SERVE THE EMPEROR IN HIS WARS.\n\n\nThe first request I made, after I had obtained my liberty, was, that I\nmight have license to see Milendo, the metropolis; which the emperor\neasily granted me, but with a special charge to do no hurt, either to\nthe inhabitants or their houses. The people had notice, by proclamation,\nof my design to visit the town.\n\nThe wall, which encompassed it, is two feet and a half high, and at\nleast eleven inches broad, so that a coach and horses may be driven very\nsafely round it; and it is flanked with strong towers at ten feet\ndistance. I stept over the great western gate, and passed very gently,\nand sideling, through the two principal streets, only in my short\nwaistcoat, for fear of damaging the roofs and eaves of the houses with\nthe skirts[23] of my coat. I walked with the utmost circumspection, to\navoid treading on any stragglers who might remain in the streets;\nalthough the orders"} {"answer":"with a start.\n\n\"The paw!\" she cried wildly. \"The monkey's paw!\"\n\nHe started up in alarm. \"Where? Where is it? What's the matter?\"\n\nShe came stumbling across the room toward him. \"I want it,\" she said,\nquietly. \"You've not destroyed it?\"\n\n\"It's in the parlour, on the bracket,\" he replied, marvelling. \"Why?\"\n\nShe cried and laughed together, and bending over, kissed his cheek.\n\n\"I only just thought of it,\" she said, hysterically. \"Why didn't I think\nof it before? Why didn't you think of it?\"\n\n\"Think of what?\" he questioned.\n\n\"The other two wishes,\" she replied, rapidly. \"We've only had one.\"\n\n\"Was not that enough?\" he demanded, fiercely.\n\n\"No,\" she cried, triumphantly; \"we'll have one more. Go down and get it\nquickly, and wish our boy alive again.\"\n\nThe man sat up in bed and flung the bedclothes from his quaking limbs.\n\"Good God, you are mad!\" he cried, aghast.\n\n\"Get it,\" she panted; \"get it quickly, and wish--Oh, my boy, my boy!\"\n\nHer husband struck a match and lit the candle. \"Get back to bed,\" he\nsaid, unsteadily. \"You don't know what you are saying.\"\n\n\"We had the first wish granted,\" said the old woman, feverishly; \"why not\nthe second?\"\n\n\"A coincidence,\" stammered the old man.\n\n\"Go and get it and wish,\" cried his wife, quivering with excitement.\n\nThe old man turned and regarded her, and his voice shook. \"He has been\ndead ten days, and besides he--I would not tell you else, but--I could\nonly recognize him by his clothing. If he was too terrible","question":"\nIn the huge new cemetery, some two miles distant, the old people buried\ntheir dead, and came back to a house steeped in shadow and silence. It\nwas all over so quickly that at first they could hardly realize it, and\nremained in a state of expectation as though of something else to happen\n--something else which was to lighten this load, too heavy for old hearts\nto bear.\n\nBut the days passed, and expectation gave place to resignation--the\nhopeless resignation of the old, sometimes miscalled, apathy. Sometimes\nthey hardly exchanged a word, for now they had nothing to talk about, and\ntheir days were long to weariness.\n\nIt was about a week after that the old man, waking suddenly in the night,\nstretched out his hand and found himself alone. The room was in\ndarkness, and the sound of subdued weeping came from the window. He\nraised himself in bed and listened.\n\n\"Come back,\" he said, tenderly. \"You will be cold.\"\n\n\"It is colder for my son,\" said the old woman, and wept afresh.\n\nThe sound of her sobs died away on his ears. The bed was warm, and his\neyes heavy with sleep. He dozed fitfully, and then slept until a sudden\nwild cry from his wife awoke him"} {"answer":"twain.\n\nMACBETH.\nFail not our feast.\n\nBANQUO.\nMy lord, I will not.\n\nMACBETH.\nWe hear our bloody cousins are bestow'd\nIn England and in Ireland; not confessing\nTheir cruel parricide, filling their hearers\nWith strange invention: but of that to-morrow;\nWhen therewithal we shall have cause of state\nCraving us jointly. Hie you to horse: adieu,\nTill you return at night. Goes Fleance with you?\n\nBANQUO.\nAy, my good lord: our time does call upon's.\n\nMACBETH.\nI wish your horses swift and sure of foot;\nAnd so I do commend you to their backs.\nFarewell.--\n\n[Exit Banquo.]\n\nLet every man be master of his time\nTill seven at night; to make society\nThe sweeter welcome, we will keep ourself\nTill supper time alone: while then, God be with you!\n\n[Exeunt Lady Macbeth, Lords, Ladies, &c.]\n\nSirrah, a word with you: attend those men\nOur pleasure?\n\nATTENDANT.\nThey are, my lord, without the palace gate.\n\nMACBETH.\nBring them before us.\n\n[Exit Attendant.]\n\nTo be thus is nothing;\nBut to be safely thus:--our fears in Banquo.\nStick deep; and in his royalty of nature\nReigns that which would be fear'd: 'tis much he dares;\nAnd, to that dauntless temper of his mind,\nHe hath a wisdom that doth guide his valour\nTo act in safety. There is none but he\nWhose being I do fear: and under him,\nMy genius is rebuk'd; as, it is said,\nMark Antony's was by Caesar. He chid the sisters\nWhen first they put the name of king upon me,\nAnd bade them speak to him; then, prophet-like,\nThey hail'd him father to a line of kings:\nUpon my head they plac'd a fruitless crown,\nAnd put a barren sceptre in my gripe,\nThence to be wrench'd with an unlineal hand,\nNo son of","question":"ACT III. SCENE I.\n\nForres. A Room in the Palace.\n\n[Enter Banquo.]\n\nBANQUO.\nThou hast it now,--king, Cawdor, Glamis, all,\nAs the weird women promis'd; and, I fear,\nThou play'dst most foully for't; yet it was said\nIt should not stand in thy posterity;\nBut that myself should be the root and father\nOf many kings. If there come truth from them,--\nAs upon thee, Macbeth, their speeches shine,--\nWhy, by the verities on thee made good,\nMay they not be my oracles as well,\nAnd set me up in hope? But hush; no more.\n\n[Sennet sounded. Enter Macbeth as King, Lady Macbeth\nas Queen; Lennox, Ross, Lords, Ladies, and Attendants.]\n\nMACBETH.\nHere's our chief guest.\n\nLADY MACBETH.\nIf he had been forgotten,\nIt had been as a gap in our great feast,\nAnd all-thing unbecoming.\n\nMACBETH.\nTo-night we hold a solemn supper, sir,\nAnd I'll request your presence.\n\nBANQUO.\nLet your highness\nCommand upon me; to the which my duties\nAre with a most indissoluble tie\nFor ever knit.\n\nMACBETH.\nRide you this afternoon?\n\nBANQUO.\nAy, my good lord.\n\nMACBETH.\nWe should have else desir'd your good advice,--\nWhich still hath been both grave and prosperous,--\nIn this day's council; but we'll take to-morrow.\nIs't far you ride?\n\nBANQUO.\nAs far, my lord, as will fill up the time\n'Twixt this and supper: go not my horse the better,\nI must become a borrower of the night,\nFor a dark hour or"} {"answer":"twain.\n\nMACBETH.\nFail not our feast.\n\nBANQUO.\nMy lord, I will not.\n\nMACBETH.\nWe hear our bloody cousins are bestow'd\nIn England and in Ireland; not confessing\nTheir cruel parricide, filling their hearers\nWith strange invention: but of that to-morrow;\nWhen therewithal we shall have cause of state\nCraving us jointly. Hie you to horse: adieu,\nTill you return at night. Goes Fleance with you?\n\nBANQUO.\nAy, my good lord: our time does call upon's.\n\nMACBETH.\nI wish your horses swift and sure of foot;\nAnd so I do commend you to their backs.\nFarewell.--\n\n[Exit Banquo.]\n\nLet every man be master of his time\nTill seven at night; to make society\nThe sweeter welcome, we will keep ourself\nTill supper time alone: while then, God be with you!\n\n[Exeunt Lady Macbeth, Lords, Ladies, &c.]\n\nSirrah, a word with you: attend those men\nOur pleasure?\n\nATTENDANT.\nThey are, my lord, without the palace gate.\n\nMACBETH.\nBring them before us.\n\n[Exit Attendant.]\n\nTo be thus is nothing;\nBut to be safely thus:--our fears in Banquo.\nStick deep; and in his royalty of nature\nReigns that which would be fear'd: 'tis much he dares;\nAnd, to that dauntless temper of his mind,\nHe hath a wisdom that doth guide his valour\nTo act in safety. There is none but he\nWhose being I do fear: and under him,\nMy genius is rebuk'd; as, it is said,\nMark Antony's was by Caesar. He chid the sisters\nWhen first they put the name of king upon me,\nAnd bade them speak to him; then, prophet-like,\nThey hail'd him father to a line of kings:\nUpon my head they plac'd a fruitless crown,\nAnd put a barren sceptre in my gripe,\nThence to be wrench'd with an unlineal hand,\nNo son of","question":"ACT III. SCENE I.\n\nForres. A Room in the Palace.\n\n[Enter Banquo.]\n\nBANQUO.\nThou hast it now,--king, Cawdor, Glamis, all,\nAs the weird women promis'd; and, I fear,\nThou play'dst most foully for't; yet it was said\nIt should not stand in thy posterity;\nBut that myself should be the root and father\nOf many kings. If there come truth from them,--\nAs upon thee, Macbeth, their speeches shine,--\nWhy, by the verities on thee made good,\nMay they not be my oracles as well,\nAnd set me up in hope? But hush; no more.\n\n[Sennet sounded. Enter Macbeth as King, Lady Macbeth\nas Queen; Lennox, Ross, Lords, Ladies, and Attendants.]\n\nMACBETH.\nHere's our chief guest.\n\nLADY MACBETH.\nIf he had been forgotten,\nIt had been as a gap in our great feast,\nAnd all-thing unbecoming.\n\nMACBETH.\nTo-night we hold a solemn supper, sir,\nAnd I'll request your presence.\n\nBANQUO.\nLet your highness\nCommand upon me; to the which my duties\nAre with a most indissoluble tie\nFor ever knit.\n\nMACBETH.\nRide you this afternoon?\n\nBANQUO.\nAy, my good lord.\n\nMACBETH.\nWe should have else desir'd your good advice,--\nWhich still hath been both grave and prosperous,--\nIn this day's council; but we'll take to-morrow.\nIs't far you ride?\n\nBANQUO.\nAs far, my lord, as will fill up the time\n'Twixt this and supper: go not my horse the better,\nI must become a borrower of the night,\nFor a dark hour or"} {"answer":"two or three much uglier in the shop; and\nwhen I have bought some prettier-coloured satin to trim it with fresh, I\nthink it will be very tolerable. Besides, it will not much signify what\none wears this summer, after the ----shire have left Meryton, and they\nare going in a fortnight.\"\n\n\"Are they indeed?\" cried Elizabeth, with the greatest satisfaction.\n\n\"They are going to be encamped near Brighton; and I do so want papa to\ntake us all there for the summer! It would be such a delicious scheme,\nand I dare say would hardly cost any thing at all. Mamma would like to\ngo too of all things! Only think what a miserable summer else we shall\nhave!\"\n\n\"Yes,\" thought Elizabeth, \"_that_ would be a delightful scheme, indeed,\nand completely do for us at once. Good Heaven! Brighton, and a whole\ncampful of soldiers, to us, who have been overset already by one poor\nregiment of militia, and the monthly balls of Meryton.\"\n\n\"Now I have got some news for you,\" said Lydia, as they sat down to\ntable. \"What do you think? It is excellent news, capital news, and about\na certain person that we all like.\"\n\nJane and Elizabeth looked at each other, and the waiter was told that he\nneed not stay. Lydia laughed, and said,\n\n\"Aye, that is just like your formality and discretion. You thought the\nwaiter must not hear, as if he cared! I dare say he often hears worse\nthings said than I am going to say. But he is an ugly fellow! I am glad\nhe is gone. I never saw such a","question":"\n\nIt was the second week in May, in which the three young ladies set out\ntogether from Gracechurch-street, for the town of ---- in Hertfordshire;\nand, as they drew near the appointed inn where Mr. Bennet's carriage was\nto meet them, they quickly perceived, in token of the coachman's\npunctuality, both Kitty and Lydia looking out of a dining-room up\nstairs. These two girls had been above an hour in the place, happily\nemployed in visiting an opposite milliner, watching the sentinel on\nguard, and dressing a sallad and cucumber.\n\nAfter welcoming their sisters, they triumphantly displayed a table set\nout with such cold meat as an inn larder usually affords, exclaiming,\n\"Is not this nice? is not this an agreeable surprise?\"\n\n\"And we mean to treat you all,\" added Lydia; \"but you must lend us the\nmoney, for we have just spent ours at the shop out there.\" Then shewing\nher purchases: \"Look here, I have bought this bonnet. I do not think it\nis very pretty; but I thought I might as well buy it as not. I shall\npull it to pieces as soon as I get home, and see if I can make it up any\nbetter.\"\n\nAnd when her sisters abused it as ugly, she added, with perfect\nunconcern, \"Oh! but there were"} {"answer":"either of my friends. On hearing this word,\nFelix came up hastily to the lady; who, when she saw him, threw up her\nveil, and I beheld a countenance of angelic beauty and expression. Her\nhair of a shining raven black, and curiously braided; her eyes were\ndark, but gentle, although animated; her features of a regular\nproportion, and her complexion wondrously fair, each cheek tinged with a\nlovely pink.\n\n\"Felix seemed ravished with delight when he saw her, every trait of\nsorrow vanished from his face, and it instantly expressed a degree of\necstatic joy, of which I could hardly have believed it capable; his eyes\nsparkled, as his cheek flushed with pleasure; and at that moment I\nthought him as beautiful as the stranger. She appeared affected by\ndifferent feelings; wiping a few tears from her lovely eyes, she held\nout her hand to Felix, who kissed it rapturously, and called her, as\nwell as I could distinguish, his sweet Arabian. She did not appear to\nunderstand him, but smiled. He assisted her to dismount, and, dismissing\nher guide, conducted her into the cottage. Some conversation took place\nbetween him and his father; and the young stranger knelt at the old\nman's feet, and would have kissed his hand, but he raised her, and\nembraced her affectionately.\n\n\"I soon perceived, that although the stranger uttered articulate sounds,\nand appeared to have a language of her own, she was neither understood\nby, or herself understood, the cottagers. They made many signs which I\ndid not comprehend; but I saw that her presence diffused gladness\nthrough the cottage, dispelling their sorrow as the sun","question":"\n\n\"I now hasten to the more moving part of my story. I shall relate events\nthat impressed me with feelings which, from what I was, have made me\nwhat I am.\n\n\"Spring advanced rapidly; the weather became fine, and the skies\ncloudless. It surprised me, that what before was desert and gloomy\nshould now bloom with the most beautiful flowers and verdure. My senses\nwere gratified and refreshed by a thousand scents of delight, and a\nthousand sights of beauty.\n\n\"It was on one of these days, when my cottagers periodically rested from\nlabour--the old man played on his guitar, and the children listened to\nhim--I observed that the countenance of Felix was melancholy beyond\nexpression: he sighed frequently; and once his father paused in his\nmusic, and I conjectured by his manner that he inquired the cause of his\nson's sorrow. Felix replied in a cheerful accent, and the old man was\nrecommencing his music, when some one tapped at the door.\n\n\"It was a lady on horseback, accompanied by a countryman as a guide. The\nlady was dressed in a dark suit, and covered with a thick black veil.\nAgatha asked a question; to which the stranger only replied by\npronouncing, in a sweet accent, the name of Felix. Her voice was\nmusical, but unlike that of"} {"answer":"had frequently been staying with her in town.\n\nThe first part of Mrs. Gardiner's business on her arrival, was to\ndistribute her presents and describe the newest fashions. When this was\ndone, she had a less active part to play. It became her turn to listen.\nMrs. Bennet had many grievances to relate, and much to complain of. They\nhad all been very ill-used since she last saw her sister. Two of her\ngirls had been on the point of marriage, and after all there was nothing\nin it.\n\n\"I do not blame Jane,\" she continued, \"for Jane would have got Mr.\nBingley, if she could. But, Lizzy! Oh, sister! it is very hard to think\nthat she might have been Mr. Collins's wife by this time, had not it\nbeen for her own perverseness. He made her an offer in this very room,\nand she refused him. The consequence of it is, that Lady Lucas will have\na daughter married before I have, and that Longbourn estate is just as\nmuch entailed as ever. The Lucases are very artful people indeed,\nsister. They are all for what they can get. I am sorry to say it of\nthem, but so it is. It makes me very nervous and poorly, to be thwarted\nso in my own family, and to have neighbours who think of themselves\nbefore anybody else. However, your coming just at this time is the\ngreatest of comforts, and I am very glad to hear what you tell us, of\nlong sleeves.\"\n\nMrs. Gardiner, to whom the chief of this news had been given before, in\nthe course of","question":"\n\nAfter a week spent in professions of love and schemes of felicity, Mr.\nCollins was called from his amiable Charlotte by the arrival of\nSaturday. The pain of separation, however, might be alleviated on his\nside, by preparations for the reception of his bride, as he had reason\nto hope, that shortly after his next return into Hertfordshire, the day\nwould be fixed that was to make him the happiest of men. He took leave\nof his relations at Longbourn with as much solemnity as before; wished\nhis fair cousins health and happiness again, and promised their father\nanother letter of thanks.\n\nOn the following Monday, Mrs. Bennet had the pleasure of receiving her\nbrother and his wife, who came as usual to spend the Christmas at\nLongbourn. Mr. Gardiner was a sensible, gentleman-like man, greatly\nsuperior to his sister, as well by nature as education. The Netherfield\nladies would have had difficulty in believing that a man who lived by\ntrade, and within view of his own warehouses, could have been so well\nbred and agreeable. Mrs. Gardiner, who was several years younger than\nMrs. Bennet and Mrs. Philips, was an amiable, intelligent, elegant\nwoman, and a great favourite with all her Longbourn nieces. Between the\ntwo eldest and herself especially, there subsisted a very particular\nregard. They"} {"answer":"to be in danger now.\"\n\n\"I think you are in very great danger of making him as much in love with\nyou as ever.\"\n\n * * * * *\n\nThey did not see the gentlemen again till Tuesday; and Mrs. Bennet, in\nthe meanwhile, was giving way to all the happy schemes, which the good\nhumour, and common politeness of Bingley, in half an hour's visit, had\nrevived.\n\nOn Tuesday there was a large party assembled at Longbourn; and the two,\nwho were most anxiously expected, to the credit of their punctuality as\nsportsmen, were in very good time. When they repaired to the\ndining-room, Elizabeth eagerly watched to see whether Bingley would take\nthe place, which, in all their former parties, had belonged to him, by\nher sister. Her prudent mother, occupied by the same ideas, forbore to\ninvite him to sit by herself. On entering the room, he seemed to\nhesitate; but Jane happened to look round, and happened to smile: it was\ndecided. He placed himself by her.\n\nElizabeth, with a triumphant sensation, looked towards his friend. He\nbore it with noble indifference, and she would have imagined that\nBingley had received his sanction to be happy, had she not seen his eyes\nlikewise turned towards Mr. Darcy, with an expression of half-laughing\nalarm.\n\nHis behaviour to her sister was such, during dinner time, as shewed an\nadmiration of her, which, though more guarded than formerly, persuaded\nElizabeth, that if","question":"\n\nAs soon as they were gone, Elizabeth walked out to recover her spirits;\nor in other words, to dwell without interruption on those subjects that\nmust deaden them more. Mr. Darcy's behaviour astonished and vexed her.\n\n\"Why, if he came only to be silent, grave, and indifferent,\" said she,\n\"did he come at all?\"\n\nShe could settle it in no way that gave her pleasure.\n\n\"He could be still amiable, still pleasing, to my uncle and aunt, when\nhe was in town; and why not to me? If he fears me, why come hither? If\nhe no longer cares for me, why silent? Teazing, teazing, man! I will\nthink no more about him.\"\n\nHer resolution was for a short time involuntarily kept by the approach\nof her sister, who joined her with a cheerful look, which shewed her\nbetter satisfied with their visitors, than Elizabeth.\n\n\"Now,\" said she, \"that this first meeting is over, I feel perfectly\neasy. I know my own strength, and I shall never be embarrassed again by\nhis coming. I am glad he dines here on Tuesday. It will then be publicly\nseen, that on both sides, we meet only as common and indifferent\nacquaintance.\"\n\n\"Yes, very indifferent indeed,\" said Elizabeth, laughingly. \"Oh, Jane,\ntake care.\"\n\n\"My dear Lizzy, you cannot think me so weak, as"} {"answer":"and insolence.\n\nBut when this subject was succeeded by his account of Mr. Wickham, when\nshe read with somewhat clearer attention, a relation of events, which,\nif true, must overthrow every cherished opinion of his worth, and which\nbore so alarming an affinity to his own history of himself, her feelings\nwere yet more acutely painful and more difficult of definition.\nAstonishment, apprehension, and even horror, oppressed her. She wished\nto discredit it entirely, repeatedly exclaiming, \"This must be false!\nThis cannot be! This must be the grossest falsehood!\"--and when she had\ngone through the whole letter, though scarcely knowing any thing of the\nlast page or two, put it hastily away, protesting that she would not\nregard it, that she would never look in it again.\n\nIn this perturbed state of mind, with thoughts that could rest on\nnothing, she walked on; but it would not do; in half a minute the letter\nwas unfolded again, and collecting herself as well as she could, she\nagain began the mortifying perusal of all that related to Wickham, and\ncommanded herself so far as to examine the meaning of every sentence.\nThe account of his connection with the Pemberley family, was exactly\nwhat he had related himself; and the kindness of the late Mr. Darcy,\nthough she had not before known its extent, agreed equally well with his\nown words. So far each recital confirmed the other: but when she came to\nthe will, the difference was great. What Wickham had said of the living\nwas fresh in her memory, and as she recalled his very words, it was\nimpossible not to feel that","question":"\n\nIf Elizabeth, when Mr. Darcy gave her the letter, did not expect it to\ncontain a renewal of his offers, she had formed no expectation at all of\nits contents. But such as they were, it may be well supposed how eagerly\nshe went through them, and what a contrariety of emotion they excited.\nHer feelings as she read were scarcely to be defined. With amazement did\nshe first understand that he believed any apology to be in his power;\nand steadfastly was she persuaded that he could have no explanation to\ngive, which a just sense of shame would not conceal. With a strong\nprejudice against every thing he might say, she began his account of\nwhat had happened at Netherfield. She read, with an eagerness which\nhardly left her power of comprehension, and from impatience of knowing\nwhat the next sentence might bring, was incapable of attending to the\nsense of the one before her eyes. His belief of her sister's\ninsensibility, she instantly resolved to be false, and his account of\nthe real, the worst objections to the match, made her too angry to have\nany wish of doing him justice. He expressed no regret for what he had\ndone which satisfied her; his style was not penitent, but haughty. It\nwas all pride"} {"answer":"cupboard, laying a white cloth over the top. Then she\nlooked down at her feet and noticed how old and worn her shoes were.\n\n\"They surely will never do for a long journey, Toto,\" she said. And\nToto looked up into her face with his little black eyes and wagged\nhis tail to show he knew what she meant.\n\nAt that moment Dorothy saw lying on the table the silver shoes that\nhad belonged to the Witch of the East.\n\n\"I wonder if they will fit me,\" she said to Toto. \"They would be just\nthe thing to take a long walk in, for they could not wear out.\"\n\nShe took off her old leather shoes and tried on the silver ones,\nwhich fitted her as well as if they had been made for her.\n\nFinally she picked up her basket.\n\n\"Come along, Toto,\" she said, \"we will go to the Emerald City and ask\nthe great Oz how to get back to Kansas again.\"\n\nShe closed the door, locked it, and put the key carefully in the\npocket of her dress. And so, with Toto trotting along soberly behind\nher, she started on her journey.\n\nThere were several roads near by, but it did not take her long to\nfind the one paved with yellow brick. Within a short time she was\nwalking briskly toward the Emerald City, her silver shoes tinkling\nmerrily on the hard, yellow roadbed. The sun shone bright and the\nbirds sang sweet and Dorothy did not feel nearly as bad as you might\nthink a little girl would who had been suddenly whisked away from her\nown","question":"Chapter III How Dorothy saved the Scarecrow.\n\n[Illustration]\n\nWhen Dorothy was left alone she began to feel hungry. So she went\nto the cupboard and cut herself some bread, which she spread with\nbutter. She gave some to Toto, and taking a pail from the shelf\nshe carried it down to the little brook and filled it with clear,\nsparkling water. Toto ran over to the trees and began to bark at the\nbirds sitting there. Dorothy went to get him, and saw such delicious\nfruit hanging from the branches that she gathered some of it, finding\nit just what she wanted to help out her breakfast.\n\nThen she went back to the house, and having helped herself and Toto\nto a good drink of the cool, clear water, she set about making ready\nfor the journey to the City of Emeralds.\n\nDorothy had only one other dress, but that happened to be clean and\nwas hanging on a peg beside her bed. It was gingham, with checks\nof white and blue; and although the blue was somewhat faded with\nmany washings, it was still a pretty frock. The girl washed herself\ncarefully, dressed herself in the clean gingham, and tied her pink\nsunbonnet on her head. She took a little basket and filled it with\nbread from the"} {"answer":"upward\nTo what they were before.--My pretty cousin,\nBlessing upon you!\n\nLADY MACDUFF.\nFather'd he is, and yet he's fatherless.\n\nROSS.\nI am so much a fool, should I stay longer,\nIt would be my disgrace and your discomfort:\nI take my leave at once.\n\n[Exit.]\n\nLADY MACDUFF.\nSirrah, your father's dead;\nAnd what will you do now? How will you live?\n\nSON.\nAs birds do, mother.\n\nLADY MACDUFF.\nWhat, with worms and flies?\n\nSON.\nWith what I get, I mean; and so do they.\n\nLADY MACDUFF.\nPoor bird! thou'dst never fear the net nor lime,\nThe pit-fall nor the gin.\n\nSON.\nWhy should I, mother? Poor birds they are not set for.\nMy father is not dead, for all your saying.\n\nLADY MACDUFF.\nYes, he is dead: how wilt thou do for father?\n\nSON.\nNay, how will you do for a husband?\n\nLADY MACDUFF.\nWhy, I can buy me twenty at any market.\n\nSON.\nThen you'll buy 'em to sell again.\n\nLADY MACDUFF.\nThou speak'st with all thy wit; and yet, i' faith,\nWith wit enough for thee.\n\nSON.\nWas my father a traitor, mother?\n\nLADY MACDUFF.\nAy, that he was.\n\nSON.\nWhat is a traitor?\n\nLADY MACDUFF.\nWhy, one that swears and lies.\n\nSON.\nAnd be all traitors that do so?\n\nLADY MACDUFF.\nEveryone that does so is a traitor, and must be hanged.\n\nSON.\nAnd must they all be hanged that swear and lie?\n\nLADY MACDUFF.\nEvery one.\n\nSON.\nWho must hang them?\n\nLADY MACDUFF.\nWhy, the honest men.\n\nSON.\nThen the liars and swearers are fools: for there are liars\nand swearers enow to beat the honest men and hang up them.\n\nLADY MACDUFF.\nNow, God help thee, poor monkey! But how wilt\nthou do for a father?\n\nSON.\nIf he were dead, you'ld weep for him: if you would not, it\nwere a good sign that I should quickly","question":"SCENE II.\n\nFife. A Room in Macduff's Castle.\n\n[Enter Lady Macduff, her Son, and Ross.]\n\nLADY MACDUFF.\nWhat had he done, to make him fly the land?\n\nROSS.\nYou must have patience, madam.\n\nLADY MACDUFF.\nHe had none:\nHis flight was madness: when our actions do not,\nOur fears do make us traitors.\n\nROSS.\nYou know not\nWhether it was his wisdom or his fear.\n\nLADY MACDUFF.\nWisdom! to leave his wife, to leave his babes,\nHis mansion, and his titles, in a place\nFrom whence himself does fly? He loves us not:\nHe wants the natural touch; for the poor wren,\nThe most diminutive of birds, will fight,\nHer young ones in her nest, against the owl.\nAll is the fear, and nothing is the love;\nAs little is the wisdom, where the flight\nSo runs against all reason.\n\nROSS.\nMy dearest coz,\nI pray you, school yourself: but, for your husband,\nHe is noble, wise, Judicious, and best knows\nThe fits o' the season. I dare not speak much further:\nBut cruel are the times, when we are traitors,\nAnd do not know ourselves; when we hold rumour\nFrom what we fear, yet know not what we fear,\nBut float upon a wild and violent sea\nEach way and move.--I take my leave of you:\nShall not be long but I'll be here again:\nThings at the worst will cease, or else climb"} {"answer":"upward\nTo what they were before.--My pretty cousin,\nBlessing upon you!\n\nLADY MACDUFF.\nFather'd he is, and yet he's fatherless.\n\nROSS.\nI am so much a fool, should I stay longer,\nIt would be my disgrace and your discomfort:\nI take my leave at once.\n\n[Exit.]\n\nLADY MACDUFF.\nSirrah, your father's dead;\nAnd what will you do now? How will you live?\n\nSON.\nAs birds do, mother.\n\nLADY MACDUFF.\nWhat, with worms and flies?\n\nSON.\nWith what I get, I mean; and so do they.\n\nLADY MACDUFF.\nPoor bird! thou'dst never fear the net nor lime,\nThe pit-fall nor the gin.\n\nSON.\nWhy should I, mother? Poor birds they are not set for.\nMy father is not dead, for all your saying.\n\nLADY MACDUFF.\nYes, he is dead: how wilt thou do for father?\n\nSON.\nNay, how will you do for a husband?\n\nLADY MACDUFF.\nWhy, I can buy me twenty at any market.\n\nSON.\nThen you'll buy 'em to sell again.\n\nLADY MACDUFF.\nThou speak'st with all thy wit; and yet, i' faith,\nWith wit enough for thee.\n\nSON.\nWas my father a traitor, mother?\n\nLADY MACDUFF.\nAy, that he was.\n\nSON.\nWhat is a traitor?\n\nLADY MACDUFF.\nWhy, one that swears and lies.\n\nSON.\nAnd be all traitors that do so?\n\nLADY MACDUFF.\nEveryone that does so is a traitor, and must be hanged.\n\nSON.\nAnd must they all be hanged that swear and lie?\n\nLADY MACDUFF.\nEvery one.\n\nSON.\nWho must hang them?\n\nLADY MACDUFF.\nWhy, the honest men.\n\nSON.\nThen the liars and swearers are fools: for there are liars\nand swearers enow to beat the honest men and hang up them.\n\nLADY MACDUFF.\nNow, God help thee, poor monkey! But how wilt\nthou do for a father?\n\nSON.\nIf he were dead, you'ld weep for him: if you would not, it\nwere a good sign that I should quickly","question":"SCENE II.\n\nFife. A Room in Macduff's Castle.\n\n[Enter Lady Macduff, her Son, and Ross.]\n\nLADY MACDUFF.\nWhat had he done, to make him fly the land?\n\nROSS.\nYou must have patience, madam.\n\nLADY MACDUFF.\nHe had none:\nHis flight was madness: when our actions do not,\nOur fears do make us traitors.\n\nROSS.\nYou know not\nWhether it was his wisdom or his fear.\n\nLADY MACDUFF.\nWisdom! to leave his wife, to leave his babes,\nHis mansion, and his titles, in a place\nFrom whence himself does fly? He loves us not:\nHe wants the natural touch; for the poor wren,\nThe most diminutive of birds, will fight,\nHer young ones in her nest, against the owl.\nAll is the fear, and nothing is the love;\nAs little is the wisdom, where the flight\nSo runs against all reason.\n\nROSS.\nMy dearest coz,\nI pray you, school yourself: but, for your husband,\nHe is noble, wise, Judicious, and best knows\nThe fits o' the season. I dare not speak much further:\nBut cruel are the times, when we are traitors,\nAnd do not know ourselves; when we hold rumour\nFrom what we fear, yet know not what we fear,\nBut float upon a wild and violent sea\nEach way and move.--I take my leave of you:\nShall not be long but I'll be here again:\nThings at the worst will cease, or else climb"} {"answer":"upward\nTo what they were before.--My pretty cousin,\nBlessing upon you!\n\nLADY MACDUFF.\nFather'd he is, and yet he's fatherless.\n\nROSS.\nI am so much a fool, should I stay longer,\nIt would be my disgrace and your discomfort:\nI take my leave at once.\n\n[Exit.]\n\nLADY MACDUFF.\nSirrah, your father's dead;\nAnd what will you do now? How will you live?\n\nSON.\nAs birds do, mother.\n\nLADY MACDUFF.\nWhat, with worms and flies?\n\nSON.\nWith what I get, I mean; and so do they.\n\nLADY MACDUFF.\nPoor bird! thou'dst never fear the net nor lime,\nThe pit-fall nor the gin.\n\nSON.\nWhy should I, mother? Poor birds they are not set for.\nMy father is not dead, for all your saying.\n\nLADY MACDUFF.\nYes, he is dead: how wilt thou do for father?\n\nSON.\nNay, how will you do for a husband?\n\nLADY MACDUFF.\nWhy, I can buy me twenty at any market.\n\nSON.\nThen you'll buy 'em to sell again.\n\nLADY MACDUFF.\nThou speak'st with all thy wit; and yet, i' faith,\nWith wit enough for thee.\n\nSON.\nWas my father a traitor, mother?\n\nLADY MACDUFF.\nAy, that he was.\n\nSON.\nWhat is a traitor?\n\nLADY MACDUFF.\nWhy, one that swears and lies.\n\nSON.\nAnd be all traitors that do so?\n\nLADY MACDUFF.\nEveryone that does so is a traitor, and must be hanged.\n\nSON.\nAnd must they all be hanged that swear and lie?\n\nLADY MACDUFF.\nEvery one.\n\nSON.\nWho must hang them?\n\nLADY MACDUFF.\nWhy, the honest men.\n\nSON.\nThen the liars and swearers are fools: for there are liars\nand swearers enow to beat the honest men and hang up them.\n\nLADY MACDUFF.\nNow, God help thee, poor monkey! But how wilt\nthou do for a father?\n\nSON.\nIf he were dead, you'ld weep for him: if you would not, it\nwere a good sign that I should quickly","question":"SCENE II.\n\nFife. A Room in Macduff's Castle.\n\n[Enter Lady Macduff, her Son, and Ross.]\n\nLADY MACDUFF.\nWhat had he done, to make him fly the land?\n\nROSS.\nYou must have patience, madam.\n\nLADY MACDUFF.\nHe had none:\nHis flight was madness: when our actions do not,\nOur fears do make us traitors.\n\nROSS.\nYou know not\nWhether it was his wisdom or his fear.\n\nLADY MACDUFF.\nWisdom! to leave his wife, to leave his babes,\nHis mansion, and his titles, in a place\nFrom whence himself does fly? He loves us not:\nHe wants the natural touch; for the poor wren,\nThe most diminutive of birds, will fight,\nHer young ones in her nest, against the owl.\nAll is the fear, and nothing is the love;\nAs little is the wisdom, where the flight\nSo runs against all reason.\n\nROSS.\nMy dearest coz,\nI pray you, school yourself: but, for your husband,\nHe is noble, wise, Judicious, and best knows\nThe fits o' the season. I dare not speak much further:\nBut cruel are the times, when we are traitors,\nAnd do not know ourselves; when we hold rumour\nFrom what we fear, yet know not what we fear,\nBut float upon a wild and violent sea\nEach way and move.--I take my leave of you:\nShall not be long but I'll be here again:\nThings at the worst will cease, or else climb"} {"answer":" Exeunt [Mother and Nurse.]\n\n Jul. Farewell! God knows when we shall meet again.\n I have a faint cold fear thrills through my veins\n That almost freezes up the heat of life.\n I'll call them back again to comfort me.\n Nurse!- What should she do here?\n My dismal scene I needs must act alone.\n Come, vial.\n What if this mixture do not work at all?\n Shall I be married then to-morrow morning?\n No, No! This shall forbid it. Lie thou there.\n Lays down a dagger.\n What if it be a poison which the friar\n Subtilly hath minist'red to have me dead,\n Lest in this marriage he should be dishonour'd\n Because he married me before to Romeo?\n I fear it is; and yet methinks it should not,\n For he hath still been tried a holy man.\n I will not entertain","question":"Scene III.\nJuliet's chamber.\n\nEnter Juliet and Nurse.\n\n\n Jul. Ay, those attires are best; but, gentle nurse,\n I pray thee leave me to myself to-night;\n For I have need of many orisons\n To move the heavens to smile upon my state,\n Which, well thou knowest, is cross and full of sin.\n\n Enter Mother.\n\n\n Mother. What, are you busy, ho? Need you my help?\n\n Jul. No, madam; we have cull'd such necessaries\n As are behooffull for our state to-morrow.\n So please you, let me now be left alone,\n And let the nurse this night sit up with you;\n For I am sure you have your hands full all\n In this so sudden business.\n\n Mother. Good night.\n Get thee to bed, and rest; for thou hast need.\n "} {"answer":"with his innocent prate\nHe will awake my mercy, which lies dead:\nTherefore I will be sudden and despatch.\n\nARTHUR.\nAre you sick, Hubert? you look pale to-day:\nIn sooth, I would you were a little sick,\nThat I might sit all night and watch with you:\nI warrant I love you more than you do me.\n\nHUBERT.\n[Aside.] His words do take possession of my bosom.--\nRead here, young Arthur.\n\n[Showing a paper.]\n\n[Aside.] How now, foolish rheum!\nTurning dispiteous torture out of door!\nI must be brief, lest resolution drop\nOut at mine eyes in tender womanish tears.--\nCan you not read it? is it not fair writ?\n\nARTHUR.\nToo fairly, Hubert, for so foul effect.\nMust you with hot irons burn out both mine eyes?\n\nHUBERT.\nYoung boy, I must.\n\nARTHUR.\nAnd will you?\n\nHUBERT.\nAnd I will.\n\nARTHUR.\nHave you the heart? When your head did but ache,\nI knit my handkerchief about your brows,--\nThe best I had, a princess wrought it me,--\nAnd I did never ask it you again;\nAnd with my hand at midnight held your head;\nAnd, like the watchful minutes to the hour,\nStill and anon cheer'd up the heavy time,\nSaying 'What lack you?' and 'Where lies your grief?'\nOr 'What good love may I perform for you?'\nMany a poor man's son would have lien still,\nAnd ne'er have spoke a loving word to you;\nBut you at your sick service had a prince.\nNay, you may think my love was crafty love,\nAnd call it cunning.--do, an if you will:\nIf heaven be pleas'd that you must use me ill,\nWhy, then you must.--Will you put out mine eyes,\nThese eyes that never did nor never shall\nSo much as","question":"ACT IV. SCENE 1.\n\nNorthampton. A Room in the Castle.\n\n[Enter HUBERT and two Attendants.]\n\nHUBERT.\nHeat me these irons hot; and look thou stand\nWithin the arras: when I strike my foot\nUpon the bosom of the ground, rush forth\nAnd bind the boy which you shall find with me\nFast to the chair: be heedful: hence, and watch.\n\nFIRST ATTENDANT.\nI hope your warrant will bear out the deed.\n\nHUBERT.\nUncleanly scruples! Fear not you; look to't.--\n\n\n[Exeunt ATTENDANTS.]\n\nYoung lad, come forth; I have to say with you.\n\n[Enter ARTHUR.]\n\nARTHUR.\nGood morrow, Hubert.\n\nHUBERT.\nGood morrow, little prince.\n\nARTHUR.\nAs little prince, having so great a tide\nTo be more prince, as may be.--You are sad.\n\nHUBERT.\nIndeed I have been merrier.\n\nARTHUR.\nMercy on me!\nMethinks no body should be sad but I:\nYet, I remember, when I was in France,\nYoung gentlemen would be as sad as night,\nOnly for wantonness. By my christendom,\nSo I were out of prison, and kept sheep,\nI should be as merry as the day is long;\nAnd so I would be here, but that I doubt\nMy uncle practises more harm to me:\nHe is afraid of me, and I of him:\nIs it my fault that I was Geffrey's son?\nNo, indeed, is't not; and I would to heaven\nI were your son, so you would love me, Hubert.\n\nHUBERT.\n[Aside.] If I talk to him,"} {"answer":"sorry, sir, but the fool should be as oft\nwith your master, as with my mistress: I think, I saw your wisdom there.\n\n _Vio._ Nay, an thou pass upon me, I'll no more with thee. Hold,\nthere's expences for thee.\n\n [_Gives him money._\n\n _Clo._ Now, Jove, in his next commodity of hair, send thee a beard!\n\n _Vio._ By my troth, I'll tell thee; I am almost sick for one.--Is\nthy lady within?\n\n _Clo._ Would not a pair of these have bred, sir?\n\n _Vio._ Yes, being kept together, and put to use.\n\n _Clo._ I would play Lord Pandarus of Phrygia, sir, to bring a\nCressida to this Troilus.\n\n _Vio._ I understand you, sir: [_Gives him more money._] 'tis well\nbegged.\n\n _Clo._ My lady is within, sir. I will construe to them whence you\ncame: who you are, and what you would, are out of my welkin: I might\nsay, element; but the word is over-worn. [_Exit_ CLOWN.\n\n _Vio._ This fellow's wise enough","question":"SCENE III.\n\n\n OLIVIA'S _Garden_.\n\n _Enter_ CLOWN, _playing on a Tabor, and_ VIOLA.\n\n _Vio._ Save thee, friend, and thy music: Dost thou live by thy\ntabor?\n\n _Clo._ No, sir, I live by the church.\n\n _Vio._ Art thou a churchman?\n\n _Clo._ No such matter, sir: I do live by the church; for I do live\nat my house, and my house doth stand by the church.\n\n _Vio._ Art not thou the Lady Olivia's fool?\n\n _Clo._ No, indeed, sir; the Lady Olivia has no folly: she will keep\nno fool, sir, till she be married; and fools are as like husbands, as\npilchards are to herrings, the husband's the bigger; I am, indeed, not\nher fool, but her corrupter of words.\n\n _Vio._ I saw thee late at the Duke Orsino's.\n\n _Clo._ Foolery, sir, does walk about the orb, like the sun; it\nshines every where. I would be"} {"answer":"hope both teaching him the practice)\n To a strong mast, that lived upon the sea;\n Where, like Arion on the dolphin's back,\n I saw him hold acquaintance with the waves,\n So long as I could see.\n\n _Vio._ Mine own escape unfoldeth to my hope,\n Whereto thy speech serves for authority,\n The like of him. Know'st thou this country?\n\n _Rob._ Ay, madam, well; for I was bred and born,\n Not three hours travel from this very place.\n\n _Vio._ Who governs here?\n\n _Rob._ A noble duke, in nature,\n As in his name.\n\n _Vio._ What is his name?\n\n _Rob._ Orsino.\n\n _Vio._ Orsino!--I have heard my father name him:\n He was a bachelor then.\n\n _Rob._ And so is now,\n Or was so very late: for but a month\n Ago I went from hence; and then 'twas fresh\n In murmur, (as, you know, what great ones do,\n The less will prattle of,) that he did seek\n The love of fair Olivia.\n\n _Vio._ What is she?\n\n _Rob._ A virtuous maid, the daughter of a count\n That died some twelvemonth since; then leaving her\n In the protection of his son, her brother,\n Who shortly also died: for whose dear love,\n They say, she hath abjured the company\n And","question":"ACT THE FIRST. SCENE I.\n\n\n \n\n _The Sea-coast._\n\n _Enter_ VIOLA, ROBERTO, _and two Sailors, carrying a Trunk_.\n\n _Vio._ What country, friends, is this?\n\n _Rob._ This is Illyria, lady.\n\n _Vio._ And what should I do in Illyria?\n My brother he is in Elysium.\n Perchance, he is not drown'd:--What think you, sailors?\n\n _Rob._ It is perchance, that you yourself were saved.\n\n _Vio._ O my poor brother! and so, perchance may he be.\n\n _Rob._ True, madam; and, to comfort you with chance,\n Assure yourself, after our ship did split,\n When you, and that poor number saved with you,\n Hung on our driving boat, I saw your brother,\n Most provident in peril, bind himself\n (Courage and"} {"answer":"hope both teaching him the practice)\n To a strong mast, that lived upon the sea;\n Where, like Arion on the dolphin's back,\n I saw him hold acquaintance with the waves,\n So long as I could see.\n\n _Vio._ Mine own escape unfoldeth to my hope,\n Whereto thy speech serves for authority,\n The like of him. Know'st thou this country?\n\n _Rob._ Ay, madam, well; for I was bred and born,\n Not three hours travel from this very place.\n\n _Vio._ Who governs here?\n\n _Rob._ A noble duke, in nature,\n As in his name.\n\n _Vio._ What is his name?\n\n _Rob._ Orsino.\n\n _Vio._ Orsino!--I have heard my father name him:\n He was a bachelor then.\n\n _Rob._ And so is now,\n Or was so very late: for but a month\n Ago I went from hence; and then 'twas fresh\n In murmur, (as, you know, what great ones do,\n The less will prattle of,) that he did seek\n The love of fair Olivia.\n\n _Vio._ What is she?\n\n _Rob._ A virtuous maid, the daughter of a count\n That died some twelvemonth since; then leaving her\n In the protection of his son, her brother,\n Who shortly also died: for whose dear love,\n They say, she hath abjured the company\n And","question":"ACT THE FIRST. SCENE I.\n\n\n \n\n _The Sea-coast._\n\n _Enter_ VIOLA, ROBERTO, _and two Sailors, carrying a Trunk_.\n\n _Vio._ What country, friends, is this?\n\n _Rob._ This is Illyria, lady.\n\n _Vio._ And what should I do in Illyria?\n My brother he is in Elysium.\n Perchance, he is not drown'd:--What think you, sailors?\n\n _Rob._ It is perchance, that you yourself were saved.\n\n _Vio._ O my poor brother! and so, perchance may he be.\n\n _Rob._ True, madam; and, to comfort you with chance,\n Assure yourself, after our ship did split,\n When you, and that poor number saved with you,\n Hung on our driving boat, I saw your brother,\n Most provident in peril, bind himself\n (Courage and"} {"answer":"my success?\n PROTEUS. Upon some book I love I'll pray for thee.\n VALENTINE. That's on some shallow story of deep love:\n How young Leander cross'd the Hellespont.\n PROTEUS. That's a deep story of a deeper love;\n For he was more than over shoes in love.\n VALENTINE. 'Tis true; for you are over boots in love,\n And yet you never swum the Hellespont.\n PROTEUS. Over the boots! Nay, give me not the boots.\n VALENTINE. No, I will not, for it boots thee not.\n PROTEUS. What?\n VALENTINE. To be in love- where scorn is bought with groans,\n Coy looks with heart-sore sighs, one fading moment's mirth\n With twenty watchful, weary, tedious nights;\n If haply won, perhaps a hapless gain;\n If lost, why then a grievous labour won;\n However, but a folly bought with wit,\n Or else a wit by folly vanquished.\n PROTEUS. So, by your circumstance, you call me fool.\n VALENTINE. So, by your circumstance, I fear you'll prove.\n PROTEUS. 'Tis love you cavil at; I am not Love.\n VALENTINE. Love is your master, for he masters you;\n And he that is so yoked by a fool,\n Methinks, should not be chronicled for wise.\n PROTEUS. Yet writers say, as in the sweetest bud\n ","question":"ACT I. SCENE I.\n\nVerona. An open place\n\nEnter VALENTINE and PROTEUS\n\n VALENTINE. Cease to persuade, my loving Proteus:\n Home-keeping youth have ever homely wits.\n Were't not affection chains thy tender days\n To the sweet glances of thy honour'd love,\n I rather would entreat thy company\n To see the wonders of the world abroad,\n Than, living dully sluggardiz'd at home,\n Wear out thy youth with shapeless idleness.\n But since thou lov'st, love still, and thrive therein,\n Even as I would, when I to love begin.\n PROTEUS. Wilt thou be gone? Sweet Valentine, adieu!\n Think on thy Proteus, when thou haply seest\n Some rare noteworthy object in thy travel.\n Wish me partaker in thy happiness\n When thou dost meet good hap; and in thy danger,\n If ever danger do environ thee,\n Commend thy grievance to my holy prayers,\n For I will be thy headsman, Valentine.\n VALENTINE. And on a love-book pray for"} {"answer":" [_Exit an Attendant._\nWhat figure of us think you he will bear?\nFor you must know, we have with special soul\nElected him our absence to supply;\nLent him our terror, dress'd him with our love, 20\nAnd given his deputation all the organs\nOf our own power: what think you of it?\n\n_Escal._ If any in Vienna be of worth\nTo undergo such ample grace and honour,\nIt is Lord Angelo.\n\n_Duke._ Look where he comes. 25\n\n _Enter ANGELO._\n\n_Ang._ Always obedient to your Grace's will,\nI come to know your pleasure.\n\n_Duke._ Angelo,\nThere is a kind of character in thy life,\nThat to th' observer doth thy history\nFully unfold. Thyself and thy belongings 30\nAre not thine own so proper, as to waste\nThyself upon thy virtues, they on thee.\nHeaven doth with us as we with torches do,\nNot light them for themselves; for if our virtues\nDid not go forth of us, 'twere all alike ","question":"ACT I. SCENE I. _An apartment in the DUKE'S palace._\n\n\n\n\n\n _Enter DUKE, ESCALUS, _Lords_ and _Attendants_._\n\n_Duke._ Escalus.\n\n_Escal._ My lord.\n\n_Duke._ Of government the properties to unfold,\nWould seem in me to affect speech and discourse;\nSince I am put to know that your own science 5\nExceeds, in that, the lists of all advice\nMy strength can give you: then no more remains,\nBut that to your sufficiency . . . . . .\n. . . . . . . . . . . . . . as your worth is able,\nAnd let them work. The nature of our people, 10\nOur city's institutions, and the terms\nFor common justice, you're as pregnant in\nAs art and practice hath enriched any\nThat we remember. There is our commission,\nFrom which we would not have you warp. Call hither, 15\nI say, bid come before us Angelo. "} {"answer":" JULIA. Why not on Proteus, as of all the rest?\n LUCETTA. Then thus: of many good I think him best.\n JULIA. Your reason?\n LUCETTA. I have no other but a woman's reason:\n I think him so, because I think him so.\n JULIA. And wouldst thou have me cast my love on him?\n LUCETTA. Ay, if you thought your love not cast away.\n JULIA. Why, he, of all the rest, hath never mov'd me.\n LUCETTA. Yet he, of all the rest, I think, best loves ye.\n JULIA. His little speaking shows his love but small.\n LUCETTA. Fire that's closest kept burns most of all.\n JULIA. They do not love that do not show their love.\n LUCETTA. O, they love least that let men know their love.\n JULIA. I would I knew his mind.\n LUCETTA. Peruse this paper, madam.\n JULIA. 'To Julia'- Say, from whom?\n LUCETTA. That the contents will show.\n JULIA. Say, say, who gave it thee?\n LUCETTA. Sir Valentine's page; and sent, I think, from Proteus.\n He would have given it you; but I, being in the way,\n Did in your name receive it; pardon the fault, I pray.\n JULIA. Now, by my modesty, a goodly broker!\n Dare you presume to harbour wanton lines?\n To whisper and conspire against my youth?\n Now, trust","question":"SCENE II.\n\nVerona. The garden Of JULIA'S house\n\nEnter JULIA and LUCETTA\n\n JULIA. But say, Lucetta, now we are alone,\n Wouldst thou then counsel me to fall in love?\n LUCETTA. Ay, madam; so you stumble not unheedfully.\n JULIA. Of all the fair resort of gentlemen\n That every day with parle encounter me,\n In thy opinion which is worthiest love?\n LUCETTA. Please you, repeat their names; I'll show my mind\n According to my shallow simple skill.\n JULIA. What think'st thou of the fair Sir Eglamour?\n LUCETTA. As of a knight well-spoken, neat, and fine;\n But, were I you, he never should be mine.\n JULIA. What think'st thou of the rich Mercatio?\n LUCETTA. Well of his wealth; but of himself, so so.\n JULIA. What think'st thou of the gentle Proteus?\n LUCETTA. Lord, Lord! to see what folly reigns in us!\n JULIA. How now! what means this passion at his name?\n LUCETTA. Pardon, dear madam; 'tis a passing shame\n That I, unworthy body as I am,\n Should censure thus on lovely gentlemen.\n"} {"answer":"naturally arose from the objects\naround them, he suddenly addressed her with--\"I have hitherto been very\nremiss, madam, in the proper attentions of a partner here; I have not\nyet asked you how long you have been in Bath; whether you were ever here\nbefore; whether you have been at the Upper Rooms, the theatre, and\nthe concert; and how you like the place altogether. I have been\nvery negligent--but are you now at leisure to satisfy me in these\nparticulars? If you are I will begin directly.\"\n\n\"You need not give yourself that trouble, sir.\"\n\n\"No trouble, I assure you, madam.\" Then forming his features into a set\nsmile, and affectedly softening his voice, he added, with a simpering\nair, \"Have you been long in Bath, madam?\"\n\n\"About a week, sir,\" replied Catherine, trying not to laugh.\n\n\"Really!\" with affected astonishment.\n\n\"Why should you be surprised, sir?\"\n\n\"Why, indeed!\" said he, in his natural tone. \"But some emotion must\nappear to be raised by your reply, and surprise is more easily assumed,\nand not less reasonable than any other. Now let us go on. Were you never\nhere before, madam?\"\n\n\"Never, sir.\"\n\n\"Indeed! Have you yet honoured the Upper Rooms?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir, I was there last Monday.\"\n\n\"Have you been to the theatre?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir, I was at the play on Tuesday.\"\n\n\"To the concert?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir, on Wednesday.\"\n\n\"And are you altogether pleased with Bath?\"\n\n\"Yes--I like it very well.\"\n\n\"Now I must give one smirk, and then we may be rational again.\"\nCatherine turned away her head, not knowing whether she might venture to\nlaugh. \"I see what you think of me,\" said he gravely--\"I shall make","question":"\n\nEvery morning now brought its regular duties--shops were to be visited;\nsome new part of the town to be looked at; and the pump-room to be\nattended, where they paraded up and down for an hour, looking at\neverybody and speaking to no one. The wish of a numerous acquaintance\nin Bath was still uppermost with Mrs. Allen, and she repeated it after\nevery fresh proof, which every morning brought, of her knowing nobody at\nall.\n\nThey made their appearance in the Lower Rooms; and here fortune was more\nfavourable to our heroine. The master of the ceremonies introduced to\nher a very gentlemanlike young man as a partner; his name was Tilney.\nHe seemed to be about four or five and twenty, was rather tall, had a\npleasing countenance, a very intelligent and lively eye, and, if not\nquite handsome, was very near it. His address was good, and Catherine\nfelt herself in high luck. There was little leisure for speaking\nwhile they danced; but when they were seated at tea, she found him as\nagreeable as she had already given him credit for being. He talked with\nfluency and spirit--and there was an archness and pleasantry in his\nmanner which interested, though it was hardly understood by her. After\nchatting some time on such matters as"} {"answer":"Wednesday next-\n But, soft! what day is this?\n\n Par. Monday, my lord.\n\n Cap. Monday! ha, ha! Well, Wednesday is too soon.\n Thursday let it be- a Thursday, tell her\n She shall be married to this noble earl.\n Will you be ready? Do you like this haste?\n We'll keep no great ado- a friend or two;\n For hark you, Tybalt being slain so late,\n It may be thought we held him carelessly,\n Being our kinsman, if we revel much.\n Therefore we'll have some half a dozen friends,\n And there an end. But what say you to Thursday?\n\n Par. My lord, I would that Thursday were to-morrow.\n\n Cap. Well, get you gone. A Thursday be it then.\n Go you to Juliet ere you go to bed;\n Prepare her, wife, against this wedding day.\n Farewell, My lord.- Light to my chamber, ho!\n Afore me, It is so very very late\n That we may call it early by-and-by.\n Good night.\n ","question":"Scene IV.\nCapulet's house\n\nEnter Old Capulet, his Wife, and Paris.\n\n\n Cap. Things have fall'n out, sir, so unluckily\n That we have had no time to move our daughter.\n Look you, she lov'd her kinsman Tybalt dearly,\n And so did I. Well, we were born to die.\n 'Tis very late; she'll not come down to-night.\n I promise you, but for your company,\n I would have been abed an hour ago.\n\n Par. These times of woe afford no tune to woo.\n Madam, good night. Commend me to your daughter.\n\n Lady. I will, and know her mind early to-morrow;\n To-night she's mew'd up to her heaviness.\n\n Cap. Sir Paris, I will make a desperate tender\n Of my child's love. I think she will be rul'd\n In all respects by me; nay more, I doubt it not.\n Wife, go you to her ere you go to bed;\n Acquaint her here of my son Paris' love\n And bid her (mark you me?) on"} {"answer":"Wednesday next-\n But, soft! what day is this?\n\n Par. Monday, my lord.\n\n Cap. Monday! ha, ha! Well, Wednesday is too soon.\n Thursday let it be- a Thursday, tell her\n She shall be married to this noble earl.\n Will you be ready? Do you like this haste?\n We'll keep no great ado- a friend or two;\n For hark you, Tybalt being slain so late,\n It may be thought we held him carelessly,\n Being our kinsman, if we revel much.\n Therefore we'll have some half a dozen friends,\n And there an end. But what say you to Thursday?\n\n Par. My lord, I would that Thursday were to-morrow.\n\n Cap. Well, get you gone. A Thursday be it then.\n Go you to Juliet ere you go to bed;\n Prepare her, wife, against this wedding day.\n Farewell, My lord.- Light to my chamber, ho!\n Afore me, It is so very very late\n That we may call it early by-and-by.\n Good night.\n ","question":"Scene IV.\nCapulet's house\n\nEnter Old Capulet, his Wife, and Paris.\n\n\n Cap. Things have fall'n out, sir, so unluckily\n That we have had no time to move our daughter.\n Look you, she lov'd her kinsman Tybalt dearly,\n And so did I. Well, we were born to die.\n 'Tis very late; she'll not come down to-night.\n I promise you, but for your company,\n I would have been abed an hour ago.\n\n Par. These times of woe afford no tune to woo.\n Madam, good night. Commend me to your daughter.\n\n Lady. I will, and know her mind early to-morrow;\n To-night she's mew'd up to her heaviness.\n\n Cap. Sir Paris, I will make a desperate tender\n Of my child's love. I think she will be rul'd\n In all respects by me; nay more, I doubt it not.\n Wife, go you to her ere you go to bed;\n Acquaint her here of my son Paris' love\n And bid her (mark you me?) on"} {"answer":"if't be he I mean, he's very wild\n Addicted so and so'; and there put on him\n What forgeries you please; marry, none so rank\n As may dishonour him- take heed of that;\n But, sir, such wanton, wild, and usual slips\n As are companions noted and most known\n To youth and liberty.\n Rey. As gaming, my lord.\n Pol. Ay, or drinking, fencing, swearing, quarrelling,\n Drabbing. You may go so far.\n Rey. My lord, that would dishonour him.\n Pol. Faith, no, as you may season it in the charge.\n You must not put another scandal on him,\n That he is open to incontinency.\n That's not my meaning. But breathe his faults so quaintly\n That they may seem the taints of liberty,\n The flash and outbreak of a fiery mind,\n A savageness in unreclaimed blood,\n Of general assault.\n Rey. But, my good lord-\n Pol. Wherefore should you do this?\n Rey. Ay, my lord,\n I would know that.\n Pol. Marry, sir, here's my drift,\n And I believe it is a fetch of warrant.\n You laying these slight sullies on my son\n As 'twere a thing a little soil'd i' th' working,\n","question":"Act II. Scene I.\nElsinore. A room in the house of Polonius.\n\nEnter Polonius and Reynaldo.\n\n Pol. Give him this money and these notes, Reynaldo.\n Rey. I will, my lord.\n Pol. You shall do marvell's wisely, good Reynaldo,\n Before You visit him, to make inquire\n Of his behaviour.\n Rey. My lord, I did intend it.\n Pol. Marry, well said, very well said. Look you, sir,\n Enquire me first what Danskers are in Paris;\n And how, and who, what means, and where they keep,\n What company, at what expense; and finding\n By this encompassment and drift of question\n That they do know my son, come you more nearer\n Than your particular demands will touch it.\n Take you, as 'twere, some distant knowledge of him;\n As thus, 'I know his father and his friends,\n And in part him.' Do you mark this, Reynaldo?\n Rey. Ay, very well, my lord.\n Pol. 'And in part him, but,' you may say, 'not well.\n But"} {"answer":"if't be he I mean, he's very wild\n Addicted so and so'; and there put on him\n What forgeries you please; marry, none so rank\n As may dishonour him- take heed of that;\n But, sir, such wanton, wild, and usual slips\n As are companions noted and most known\n To youth and liberty.\n Rey. As gaming, my lord.\n Pol. Ay, or drinking, fencing, swearing, quarrelling,\n Drabbing. You may go so far.\n Rey. My lord, that would dishonour him.\n Pol. Faith, no, as you may season it in the charge.\n You must not put another scandal on him,\n That he is open to incontinency.\n That's not my meaning. But breathe his faults so quaintly\n That they may seem the taints of liberty,\n The flash and outbreak of a fiery mind,\n A savageness in unreclaimed blood,\n Of general assault.\n Rey. But, my good lord-\n Pol. Wherefore should you do this?\n Rey. Ay, my lord,\n I would know that.\n Pol. Marry, sir, here's my drift,\n And I believe it is a fetch of warrant.\n You laying these slight sullies on my son\n As 'twere a thing a little soil'd i' th' working,\n","question":"Act II. Scene I.\nElsinore. A room in the house of Polonius.\n\nEnter Polonius and Reynaldo.\n\n Pol. Give him this money and these notes, Reynaldo.\n Rey. I will, my lord.\n Pol. You shall do marvell's wisely, good Reynaldo,\n Before You visit him, to make inquire\n Of his behaviour.\n Rey. My lord, I did intend it.\n Pol. Marry, well said, very well said. Look you, sir,\n Enquire me first what Danskers are in Paris;\n And how, and who, what means, and where they keep,\n What company, at what expense; and finding\n By this encompassment and drift of question\n That they do know my son, come you more nearer\n Than your particular demands will touch it.\n Take you, as 'twere, some distant knowledge of him;\n As thus, 'I know his father and his friends,\n And in part him.' Do you mark this, Reynaldo?\n Rey. Ay, very well, my lord.\n Pol. 'And in part him, but,' you may say, 'not well.\n But"} {"answer":"if't be he I mean, he's very wild\n Addicted so and so'; and there put on him\n What forgeries you please; marry, none so rank\n As may dishonour him- take heed of that;\n But, sir, such wanton, wild, and usual slips\n As are companions noted and most known\n To youth and liberty.\n Rey. As gaming, my lord.\n Pol. Ay, or drinking, fencing, swearing, quarrelling,\n Drabbing. You may go so far.\n Rey. My lord, that would dishonour him.\n Pol. Faith, no, as you may season it in the charge.\n You must not put another scandal on him,\n That he is open to incontinency.\n That's not my meaning. But breathe his faults so quaintly\n That they may seem the taints of liberty,\n The flash and outbreak of a fiery mind,\n A savageness in unreclaimed blood,\n Of general assault.\n Rey. But, my good lord-\n Pol. Wherefore should you do this?\n Rey. Ay, my lord,\n I would know that.\n Pol. Marry, sir, here's my drift,\n And I believe it is a fetch of warrant.\n You laying these slight sullies on my son\n As 'twere a thing a little soil'd i' th' working,\n","question":"Act II. Scene I.\nElsinore. A room in the house of Polonius.\n\nEnter Polonius and Reynaldo.\n\n Pol. Give him this money and these notes, Reynaldo.\n Rey. I will, my lord.\n Pol. You shall do marvell's wisely, good Reynaldo,\n Before You visit him, to make inquire\n Of his behaviour.\n Rey. My lord, I did intend it.\n Pol. Marry, well said, very well said. Look you, sir,\n Enquire me first what Danskers are in Paris;\n And how, and who, what means, and where they keep,\n What company, at what expense; and finding\n By this encompassment and drift of question\n That they do know my son, come you more nearer\n Than your particular demands will touch it.\n Take you, as 'twere, some distant knowledge of him;\n As thus, 'I know his father and his friends,\n And in part him.' Do you mark this, Reynaldo?\n Rey. Ay, very well, my lord.\n Pol. 'And in part him, but,' you may say, 'not well.\n But"} {"answer":"who bring in KING JOHN in a\nchair.]\n\nKING JOHN.\nAy, marry, now my soul hath elbow-room;\nIt would not out at windows nor at doors.\nThere is so hot a summer in my bosom\nThat all my bowels crumble up to dust;\nI am a scribbled form, drawn with a pen,\nUpon a parchment; and against this fire\nDo I shrink up.\n\nPRINCE HENRY.\nHow fares your majesty?\n\nKING JOHN.\nPoison'd,--ill-fare;--dead, forsook, cast off;\nAnd none of you will bid the winter come,\nTo thrust his icy fingers in my maw;\nNor let my kingdom's rivers take their course\nThrough my burn'd bosom; nor entreat the north\nTo make his bleak winds kiss my parched lips,\nAnd comfort me with cold:--I do not ask you much;\nI beg cold comfort; and you are so strait,\nAnd so ingrateful, you deny me that.\n\nPRINCE HENRY.\nO, that there were some virtue in my tears,\nThat might relieve you!\n\nKING JOHN.\nThe salt in them is hot.--\nWithin me is a hell; and there the poison\nIs, as a fiend, confin'd to tyrannize\nOn unreprievable condemned blood.\n\n[Enter the BASTARD.]\n\nBASTARD.\nO, I am scalded with my violent motion\nAnd spleen of speed to see your majesty!\n\nKING JOHN.\nO cousin, thou art come to set mine eye:\nThe tackle of my heart is crack'd and burn'd;\nAnd all the shrouds, wherewith my life should sail,\nAre turned to one thread, one little hair:\nMy heart hath one poor string to stay it by,\nWhich holds but till thy news be uttered;\nAnd then all this thou seest is but a clod,\nAnd module of confounded royalty.\n\nBASTARD.\nThe Dauphin is preparing hitherward,\nWhere heaven he knows how we shall answer him;\nFor in a night the","question":"SCENE 7.\n\nThe orchard of Swinstead Abbey.\n\n[Enter PRINCE HENRY, SALISBURY, and BIGOT.]\n\nPRINCE HENRY.\nIt is too late: the life of all his blood\nIs touch'd corruptibly, and his pure brain,--\nWhich some suppose the soul's frail dwelling-house,--\nDoth, by the idle comments that it makes,\nForetell the ending of mortality.\n\n[Enter PEMBROKE.]\n\nPEMBROKE.\nHis Highness yet doth speak; and holds belief\nThat, being brought into the open air,\nIt would allay the burning quality\nOf that fell poison which assaileth him.\n\nPRINCE HENRY.\nLet him be brought into the orchard here.--\nDoth he still rage?\n\n[Exit BIGOT.]\n\nPEMBROKE.\nHe is more patient\nThan when you left him; even now he sung.\n\nPRINCE HENRY.\nO vanity of sickness! fierce extremes\nIn their continuance will not feel themselves.\nDeath, having prey'd upon the outward parts,\nLeaves them invisible; and his siege is now\nAgainst the mind, the which he pricks and wounds\nWith many legions of strange fantasies,\nWhich, in their throng and press to that last hold,\nConfound themselves. 'Tis strange that death should sing.--\nI am the cygnet to this pale faint swan,\nWho chants a doleful hymn to his own death;\nAnd from the organ-pipe of frailty sings\nHis soul and body to their lasting rest.\n\nSALISBURY.\nBe of good comfort, prince; for you are born\nTo set a form upon that indigest\nWhich he hath left so shapeless and so rude.\n\n[Re-enter BIGOT and Attendants,"} {"answer":"first hearing he was a man-child\nthan\n now in first seeing he had proved himself a man.\n VIRGILIA. But had he died in the business, madam, how then?\n VOLUMNIA. Then his good report should have been my son; I\ntherein\n would have found issue. Hear me profess sincerely: had I a\ndozen\n sons, each in my love alike, and none less dear than thine\nand my\n good Marcius, I had rather had eleven die nobly for their\ncountry\n than one voluptuously surfeit out of action.\n\n Enter a GENTLEWOMAN\n\n GENTLEWOMAN. Madam, the Lady Valeria is come to visit you.\n VIRGILIA. Beseech you give me leave to retire myself.\n VOLUMNIA. Indeed you shall not.\n Methinks I hear hither your husband's drum;\n See him pluck Aufidius down by th' hair;\n As children from a bear, the Volsces shunning him.\n Methinks I see him stamp thus, and call thus:\n 'Come on, you cowards! You were got in fear,\n Though you were born in Rome.' His bloody brow\n With his mail'd hand then wiping, forth he goes,\n Like to a harvest-man that's task'd to mow\n Or all or lose his","question":"SCENE III.\nRome. MARCIUS' house\n\nEnter VOLUMNIA and VIRGILIA, mother and wife to MARCIUS;\nthey set them down on two low stools and sew\n\n VOLUMNIA. I pray you, daughter, sing, or express yourself in a\nmore\n comfortable sort. If my son were my husband, I should\nfreelier\n rejoice in that absence wherein he won honour than in the\n embracements of his bed where he would show most love. When\nyet\n he was but tender-bodied, and the only son of my womb; when\nyouth\n with comeliness pluck'd all gaze his way; when, for a day of\n kings' entreaties, a mother should not sell him an hour from\nher\n beholding; I, considering how honour would become such a\nperson-\n that it was no better than picture-like to hang by th' wall,\nif\n renown made it not stir- was pleas'd to let him seek danger\nwhere\n he was to find fame. To a cruel war I sent him, from whence\nhe\n return'd his brows bound with oak. I tell thee, daughter, I\n sprang not more in joy at"} {"answer":"first hearing he was a man-child\nthan\n now in first seeing he had proved himself a man.\n VIRGILIA. But had he died in the business, madam, how then?\n VOLUMNIA. Then his good report should have been my son; I\ntherein\n would have found issue. Hear me profess sincerely: had I a\ndozen\n sons, each in my love alike, and none less dear than thine\nand my\n good Marcius, I had rather had eleven die nobly for their\ncountry\n than one voluptuously surfeit out of action.\n\n Enter a GENTLEWOMAN\n\n GENTLEWOMAN. Madam, the Lady Valeria is come to visit you.\n VIRGILIA. Beseech you give me leave to retire myself.\n VOLUMNIA. Indeed you shall not.\n Methinks I hear hither your husband's drum;\n See him pluck Aufidius down by th' hair;\n As children from a bear, the Volsces shunning him.\n Methinks I see him stamp thus, and call thus:\n 'Come on, you cowards! You were got in fear,\n Though you were born in Rome.' His bloody brow\n With his mail'd hand then wiping, forth he goes,\n Like to a harvest-man that's task'd to mow\n Or all or lose his","question":"SCENE III.\nRome. MARCIUS' house\n\nEnter VOLUMNIA and VIRGILIA, mother and wife to MARCIUS;\nthey set them down on two low stools and sew\n\n VOLUMNIA. I pray you, daughter, sing, or express yourself in a\nmore\n comfortable sort. If my son were my husband, I should\nfreelier\n rejoice in that absence wherein he won honour than in the\n embracements of his bed where he would show most love. When\nyet\n he was but tender-bodied, and the only son of my womb; when\nyouth\n with comeliness pluck'd all gaze his way; when, for a day of\n kings' entreaties, a mother should not sell him an hour from\nher\n beholding; I, considering how honour would become such a\nperson-\n that it was no better than picture-like to hang by th' wall,\nif\n renown made it not stir- was pleas'd to let him seek danger\nwhere\n he was to find fame. To a cruel war I sent him, from whence\nhe\n return'd his brows bound with oak. I tell thee, daughter, I\n sprang not more in joy at"} {"answer":"dwelt.\n\n[Illustration]\n\nThe road was smooth and well paved, now, and the country about was\nbeautiful; so that the travelers rejoiced in leaving the forest far\nbehind, and with it the many dangers they had met in its gloomy\nshades. Once more they could see fences built beside the road; but\nthese were painted green, and when they came to a small house, in\nwhich a farmer evidently lived, that also was painted green. They\npassed by several of these houses during the afternoon, and sometimes\npeople came to the doors and looked at them as if they would like to\nask questions; but no one came near them nor spoke to them because of\nthe great Lion, of which they were much afraid. The people were all\ndressed in clothing of a lovely emerald green color and wore peaked\nhats like those of the Munchkins.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\"This must be the Land of Oz,\" said Dorothy, \"and we are surely\ngetting near the Emerald City.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" answered the Scarecrow; \"everything is green here, while in\nthe country of the Munchkins blue was the favorite color. But the\npeople do not seem to be as friendly as the Munchkins and I'm afraid\nwe shall be unable to find a place to pass the night.\"\n\n\"I should like something to eat besides fruit,\" said the girl, \"and\nI'm sure Toto is nearly starved. Let us stop at the next house and\ntalk to the people.\"\n\nSo, when they came to a good sized farm house, Dorothy walked boldly\nup to the door and knocked. A woman opened it just far enough to look\nout, and said,\n\n\"What do you","question":"Chapter X. The Guardian of the Gate.\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n[Illustration]\n\nIt was some time before the Cowardly Lion awakened, for he had lain\namong the poppies a long while, breathing in their deadly fragrance;\nbut when he did open his eyes and roll off the truck he was very glad\nto find himself still alive.\n\n\"I ran as fast as I could,\" he said, sitting down and yawning; \"but\nthe flowers were too strong for me. How did you get me out?\"\n\nThen they told him of the field-mice, and how they had generously\nsaved him from death; and the Cowardly Lion laughed, and said,\n\n\"I have always thought myself very big and terrible; yet such small\nthings as flowers came near to killing me, and such small animals as\nmice have saved my life. How strange it all is! But, comrades, what\nshall we do now?\"\n\n\"We must journey on until we find the road of yellow brick again,\"\nsaid Dorothy; \"and then we can keep on to the Emerald City.\"\n\nSo, the Lion being fully refreshed, and feeling quite himself again,\nthey all started upon the journey, greatly enjoying the walk through\nthe soft, fresh grass; and it was not long before they reached the\nroad of yellow brick and turned again toward the Emerald City where\nthe great Oz"} {"answer":" Enter Nurse [and Peter].\n\n O God, she comes! O honey nurse, what news?\n Hast thou met with him? Send thy man away.\n\n Nurse. Peter, stay at the gate.\n [Exit Peter.]\n\n Jul. Now, good sweet nurse- O Lord, why look'st thou sad?\n Though news be sad, yet tell them merrily;\n If good, thou shamest the music of sweet news\n By playing it to me with so sour a face.\n\n Nurse. I am aweary, give me leave awhile.\n Fie, how my bones ache! What a jaunce have I had!\n\n Jul. I would thou hadst my bones, and I thy news.\n Nay, come, I pray thee speak. Good, good nurse, speak.\n\n Nurse. Jesu, what haste! Can you not stay awhile?\n Do you not see that I am out of breath?\n\n Jul. How art thou out of breath when thou hast breath\n To say to me that thou art out of breath?\n The excuse that thou dost make","question":"Scene V.\nCapulet's orchard.\n\nEnter Juliet.\n\n\n Jul. The clock struck nine when I did send the nurse;\n In half an hour she 'promis'd to return.\n Perchance she cannot meet him. That's not so.\n O, she is lame! Love's heralds should be thoughts,\n Which ten times faster glide than the sun's beams\n Driving back shadows over low'ring hills.\n Therefore do nimble-pinion'd doves draw Love,\n And therefore hath the wind-swift Cupid wings.\n Now is the sun upon the highmost hill\n Of this day's journey, and from nine till twelve\n Is three long hours; yet she is not come.\n Had she affections and warm youthful blood,\n She would be as swift in motion as a ball;\n My words would bandy her to my sweet love,\n And his to me,\n But old folks, many feign as they were dead-\n Unwieldy, slow, heavy and pale as lead.\n\n "} {"answer":" Enter Nurse [and Peter].\n\n O God, she comes! O honey nurse, what news?\n Hast thou met with him? Send thy man away.\n\n Nurse. Peter, stay at the gate.\n [Exit Peter.]\n\n Jul. Now, good sweet nurse- O Lord, why look'st thou sad?\n Though news be sad, yet tell them merrily;\n If good, thou shamest the music of sweet news\n By playing it to me with so sour a face.\n\n Nurse. I am aweary, give me leave awhile.\n Fie, how my bones ache! What a jaunce have I had!\n\n Jul. I would thou hadst my bones, and I thy news.\n Nay, come, I pray thee speak. Good, good nurse, speak.\n\n Nurse. Jesu, what haste! Can you not stay awhile?\n Do you not see that I am out of breath?\n\n Jul. How art thou out of breath when thou hast breath\n To say to me that thou art out of breath?\n The excuse that thou dost make","question":"Scene V.\nCapulet's orchard.\n\nEnter Juliet.\n\n\n Jul. The clock struck nine when I did send the nurse;\n In half an hour she 'promis'd to return.\n Perchance she cannot meet him. That's not so.\n O, she is lame! Love's heralds should be thoughts,\n Which ten times faster glide than the sun's beams\n Driving back shadows over low'ring hills.\n Therefore do nimble-pinion'd doves draw Love,\n And therefore hath the wind-swift Cupid wings.\n Now is the sun upon the highmost hill\n Of this day's journey, and from nine till twelve\n Is three long hours; yet she is not come.\n Had she affections and warm youthful blood,\n She would be as swift in motion as a ball;\n My words would bandy her to my sweet love,\n And his to me,\n But old folks, many feign as they were dead-\n Unwieldy, slow, heavy and pale as lead.\n\n "} {"answer":" Enter Nurse [and Peter].\n\n O God, she comes! O honey nurse, what news?\n Hast thou met with him? Send thy man away.\n\n Nurse. Peter, stay at the gate.\n [Exit Peter.]\n\n Jul. Now, good sweet nurse- O Lord, why look'st thou sad?\n Though news be sad, yet tell them merrily;\n If good, thou shamest the music of sweet news\n By playing it to me with so sour a face.\n\n Nurse. I am aweary, give me leave awhile.\n Fie, how my bones ache! What a jaunce have I had!\n\n Jul. I would thou hadst my bones, and I thy news.\n Nay, come, I pray thee speak. Good, good nurse, speak.\n\n Nurse. Jesu, what haste! Can you not stay awhile?\n Do you not see that I am out of breath?\n\n Jul. How art thou out of breath when thou hast breath\n To say to me that thou art out of breath?\n The excuse that thou dost make","question":"Scene V.\nCapulet's orchard.\n\nEnter Juliet.\n\n\n Jul. The clock struck nine when I did send the nurse;\n In half an hour she 'promis'd to return.\n Perchance she cannot meet him. That's not so.\n O, she is lame! Love's heralds should be thoughts,\n Which ten times faster glide than the sun's beams\n Driving back shadows over low'ring hills.\n Therefore do nimble-pinion'd doves draw Love,\n And therefore hath the wind-swift Cupid wings.\n Now is the sun upon the highmost hill\n Of this day's journey, and from nine till twelve\n Is three long hours; yet she is not come.\n Had she affections and warm youthful blood,\n She would be as swift in motion as a ball;\n My words would bandy her to my sweet love,\n And his to me,\n But old folks, many feign as they were dead-\n Unwieldy, slow, heavy and pale as lead.\n\n "} {"answer":"shalt have\noverlook'd\n this, give these fellows some means to the King. They have\n letters for him. Ere we were two days old at sea, a pirate of\n\n very warlike appointment gave us chase. Finding ourselves too\n slow of sail, we put on a compelled valour, and in the\ngrapple I\n boarded them. On the instant they got clear of our ship; so I\n alone became their prisoner. They have dealt with me like\nthieves\n of mercy; but they knew what they did: I am to do a good turn\nfor\n them. Let the King have the letters I have sent, and repair\nthou\n to me with as much speed as thou wouldst fly death. I have\nwords\n to speak in thine ear will make thee dumb; yet are they much\ntoo\n light for the bore of the matter. These good fellows will\nbring\n thee where I am. Rosencrantz and Guildenstern hold their\ncourse\n for England. Of them I have much to tell thee. Farewell.\n 'He that thou knowest thine, HAMLET.'\n\n Come, I will give you way for these your letters,\n And do't the speedier that you","question":"Scene VI.\nElsinore. Another room in the Castle.\n\nEnter Horatio with an Attendant.\n\n Hor. What are they that would speak with me?\n Servant. Seafaring men, sir. They say they have letters for\nyou.\n Hor. Let them come in.\n [Exit Attendant.]\n I do not know from what part of the world\n I should be greeted, if not from Lord Hamlet.\n\n Enter Sailors.\n\n Sailor. God bless you, sir.\n Hor. Let him bless thee too.\n Sailor. 'A shall, sir, an't please him. There's a letter for\nyou,\n sir,- it comes from th' ambassador that was bound for\nEngland- if\n your name be Horatio, as I am let to know it is.\n Hor. (reads the letter) 'Horatio, when thou"} {"answer":"THURIO. What says she to my valour?\n PROTEUS. O, sir, she makes no doubt of that.\n JULIA. [Aside] She needs not, when she knows it cowardice.\n THURIO. What says she to my birth?\n PROTEUS. That you are well deriv'd.\n JULIA. [Aside] True; from a gentleman to a fool.\n THURIO. Considers she my possessions?\n PROTEUS. O, ay; and pities them.\n THURIO. Wherefore?\n JULIA. [Aside] That such an ass should owe them.\n PROTEUS. That they are out by lease.\n JULIA. Here comes the Duke.\n\n Enter DUKE\n\n DUKE. How now, Sir Proteus! how now, Thurio!\n Which of you saw Sir Eglamour of late?\n THURIO. Not I.\n PROTEUS. Nor I.\n DUKE. Saw you my daughter?\n PROTEUS. Neither.\n DUKE. Why then,\n She's fled unto that peasant Valentine;\n And Eglamour is in her company.\n 'Tis true; for Friar Lawrence met them both\n As he in penance wander'd through the forest;\n Him he knew well, and guess'd that it was she,\n But, being mask'd, he was not sure of it;\n Besides, she did intend confession\n At Patrick's cell this even; and there","question":"SCENE II.\n\nMilan. The DUKE'S palace\n\nEnter THURIO, PROTEUS, and JULIA as SEBASTIAN\n\n THURIO. Sir Proteus, what says Silvia to my suit?\n PROTEUS. O, sir, I find her milder than she was;\n And yet she takes exceptions at your person.\n THURIO. What, that my leg is too long?\n PROTEUS. No; that it is too little.\n THURIO. I'll wear a boot to make it somewhat rounder.\n JULIA. [Aside] But love will not be spurr'd to what it\nloathes.\n THURIO. What says she to my face?\n PROTEUS. She says it is a fair one.\n THURIO. Nay, then, the wanton lies; my face is black.\n PROTEUS. But pearls are fair; and the old saying is:\n Black men are pearls in beauteous ladies' eyes.\n JULIA. [Aside] 'Tis true, such pearls as put out ladies'\neyes;\n For I had rather wink than look on them.\n THURIO. How likes she my discourse?\n PROTEUS. Ill, when you talk of war.\n THURIO. But well when I discourse of love and peace?\n JULIA. [Aside] But better, indeed, when you hold your peace.\n "} {"answer":" [_The_ CLOWN _sings without_.\n\n [SIR ANDREW _and_ SIR TOBY _rise_.\n\n _Sir And._ Here comes the fool, i'faith.\n\n _Enter_ CLOWN.\n\n _Clo._ How now, my hearts? Did you never see the picture of we\nthree?\n\n _Sir To._ Welcome, ass.\n\n _Sir And._ I had rather than forty shillings I had such a leg; and\nso sweet a voice to sing, as the fool has.--In sooth, thou wast in very\ngracious fooling last night, when thou spokest of Pigrogromitus, of the\nVapians passing the equinoctial of Queubus; 'twas very good, i'faith. I\nsent thee sixpence for thy leman: Hadst it?\n\n _Clo._ I did impeticos thy gratillity; for Malvolio's nose is no\nwhipstock: My lady has a white hand, and the Myrmidons are no bottle\nale-houses.\n\n _Sir And._ Excellent! Why, this is the best fooling, when all is\ndone. Now, a song.\n\n _Sir To._ Come on: Shall we rouse the night-owl in a catch, that\nwill draw three souls out of one weaver? Shall we do that?\n\n _Sir And._ An you love me,","question":"SCENE II.\n\n\n _A Dining-room in_ OLIVIA'S _House_.\n\n SIR TOBY _and_ SIR ANDREW _discovered, drinking and smoking_.\n\n _Sir To._ Come, Sir Andrew: not to be a-bed after midnight, is to be\nup betimes; and _diluculo surgere_, thou know'st,----\n\n _Sir And._ Nay, by my troth, I know not: but I know, to be up late,\nis to be up late.\n\n _Sir To._ A false conclusion; I hate it as an unfill'd can: To be up\nafter midnight, and to go to bed then, is early; so that, to go to\nbed after midnight, is to go to bed betimes. Do not our lives\nconsist of the four elements?\n\n _Sir And._ 'Faith, so they say; but, I think, it rather consists of\neating and drinking.\n\n _Sir To._ Thou art a scholar; let us therefore eat and\ndrink.--Maria, I say!----a stoop of wine!\n\n "} {"answer":" [_The_ CLOWN _sings without_.\n\n [SIR ANDREW _and_ SIR TOBY _rise_.\n\n _Sir And._ Here comes the fool, i'faith.\n\n _Enter_ CLOWN.\n\n _Clo._ How now, my hearts? Did you never see the picture of we\nthree?\n\n _Sir To._ Welcome, ass.\n\n _Sir And._ I had rather than forty shillings I had such a leg; and\nso sweet a voice to sing, as the fool has.--In sooth, thou wast in very\ngracious fooling last night, when thou spokest of Pigrogromitus, of the\nVapians passing the equinoctial of Queubus; 'twas very good, i'faith. I\nsent thee sixpence for thy leman: Hadst it?\n\n _Clo._ I did impeticos thy gratillity; for Malvolio's nose is no\nwhipstock: My lady has a white hand, and the Myrmidons are no bottle\nale-houses.\n\n _Sir And._ Excellent! Why, this is the best fooling, when all is\ndone. Now, a song.\n\n _Sir To._ Come on: Shall we rouse the night-owl in a catch, that\nwill draw three souls out of one weaver? Shall we do that?\n\n _Sir And._ An you love me,","question":"SCENE II.\n\n\n _A Dining-room in_ OLIVIA'S _House_.\n\n SIR TOBY _and_ SIR ANDREW _discovered, drinking and smoking_.\n\n _Sir To._ Come, Sir Andrew: not to be a-bed after midnight, is to be\nup betimes; and _diluculo surgere_, thou know'st,----\n\n _Sir And._ Nay, by my troth, I know not: but I know, to be up late,\nis to be up late.\n\n _Sir To._ A false conclusion; I hate it as an unfill'd can: To be up\nafter midnight, and to go to bed then, is early; so that, to go to\nbed after midnight, is to go to bed betimes. Do not our lives\nconsist of the four elements?\n\n _Sir And._ 'Faith, so they say; but, I think, it rather consists of\neating and drinking.\n\n _Sir To._ Thou art a scholar; let us therefore eat and\ndrink.--Maria, I say!----a stoop of wine!\n\n "} {"answer":"Woodman it said, in a squeaky little voice,\n\n\"Oh, thank you! Thank you ever so much for saving my life.\"\n\n\"Don't speak of it, I beg of you,\" replied the Woodman. \"I have no\nheart, you know, so I am careful to help all those who may need a\nfriend, even if it happens to be only a mouse.\"\n\n\"Only a mouse!\" cried the little animal, indignantly; \"why, I am a\nQueen--the Queen of all the field-mice!\"\n\n\"Oh, indeed,\" said the Woodman, making a bow.\n\n\"Therefore you have done a great deed, as well as a brave one, in\nsaving my life,\" added the Queen.\n\nAt that moment several mice were seen running up as fast as their\nlittle legs could carry them, and when they saw their Queen they\nexclaimed,\n\n[Illustration: \"_Permit me to introduce to you her Majesty, the\nQueen._\"]\n\n\"Oh, your Majesty, we thought you would be killed! How did you manage\nto escape the great Wildcat?\" and they all bowed so low to the\nlittle Queen that they almost stood upon their heads.\n\n\"This funny tin man,\" she answered, \"killed the Wildcat and saved my\nlife. So hereafter you must all serve him, and obey his slightest wish.\"\n\n\"We will!\" cried all the mice, in a shrill chorus. And then they\nscampered in all directions, for Toto had awakened from his sleep,\nand seeing all these mice around him he gave one bark of delight and\njumped right into the middle of the group. Toto had always loved to\nchase mice when he lived in Kansas, and he saw no harm in it.\n\nBut the Tin Woodman caught the dog in","question":"Chapter IX. The Queen of the Field Mice.\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\"We cannot be far from the road of yellow brick, now,\" remarked the\nScarecrow, as he stood beside the girl, \"for we have come nearly as\nfar as the river carried us away.\"\n\nThe Tin Woodman was about to reply when he heard a low growl, and\nturning his head (which worked beautifully on hinges) he saw a\nstrange beast come bounding over the grass towards them. It was,\nindeed, a great, yellow wildcat, and the Woodman thought it must be\nchasing something, for its ears were lying close to its head and its\nmouth was wide open, showing two rows of ugly teeth, while its red\neyes glowed like balls of fire. As it came nearer the Tin Woodman\nsaw that running before the beast was a little gray field-mouse, and\nalthough he had no heart he knew it was wrong for the wildcat to try\nto kill such a pretty, harmless creature.\n\nSo the Woodman raised his axe, and as the wildcat ran by he gave it a\nquick blow that cut the beast's head clean off from its body, and it\nrolled over at his feet in two pieces.\n\nThe field-mouse, now that it was freed from its enemy, stopped short;\nand coming slowly up to the"} {"answer":"do not know the value of a companion; and, perhaps no\nman can be a good judge of the comfort a woman feels in the society of\none of her own sex, after being used to it all her life. I can imagine\nyour objection to Harriet Smith. She is not the superior young woman\nwhich Emma's friend ought to be. But on the other hand, as Emma wants\nto see her better informed, it will be an inducement to her to read more\nherself. They will read together. She means it, I know.\"\n\n\"Emma has been meaning to read more ever since she was twelve years old.\nI have seen a great many lists of her drawing-up at various times of\nbooks that she meant to read regularly through--and very good lists\nthey were--very well chosen, and very neatly arranged--sometimes\nalphabetically, and sometimes by some other rule. The list she drew\nup when only fourteen--I remember thinking it did her judgment so much\ncredit, that I preserved it some time; and I dare say she may have made\nout a very good list now. But I have done with expecting any course of\nsteady reading from Emma. She will never submit to any thing\nrequiring industry and patience, and a subjection of the fancy to the\nunderstanding. Where Miss Taylor failed to stimulate, I may safely\naffirm that Harriet Smith will do nothing.--You never could persuade her\nto read half so much as you wished.--You know you could not.\"\n\n\"I dare say,\" replied Mrs. Weston, smiling, \"that I thought so\n_then_;--but since we have parted, I can never remember Emma's","question":"\n\n\"I do not know what your opinion may be, Mrs. Weston,\" said Mr.\nKnightley, \"of this great intimacy between Emma and Harriet Smith, but I\nthink it a bad thing.\"\n\n\"A bad thing! Do you really think it a bad thing?--why so?\"\n\n\"I think they will neither of them do the other any good.\"\n\n\"You surprize me! Emma must do Harriet good: and by supplying her with a\nnew object of interest, Harriet may be said to do Emma good. I have been\nseeing their intimacy with the greatest pleasure. How very differently\nwe feel!--Not think they will do each other any good! This will\ncertainly be the beginning of one of our quarrels about Emma, Mr.\nKnightley.\"\n\n\"Perhaps you think I am come on purpose to quarrel with you, knowing\nWeston to be out, and that you must still fight your own battle.\"\n\n\"Mr. Weston would undoubtedly support me, if he were here, for he thinks\nexactly as I do on the subject. We were speaking of it only yesterday,\nand agreeing how fortunate it was for Emma, that there should be such a\ngirl in Highbury for her to associate with. Mr. Knightley, I shall not\nallow you to be a fair judge in this case. You are so much used to live\nalone, that you"} {"answer":"do not know the value of a companion; and, perhaps no\nman can be a good judge of the comfort a woman feels in the society of\none of her own sex, after being used to it all her life. I can imagine\nyour objection to Harriet Smith. She is not the superior young woman\nwhich Emma's friend ought to be. But on the other hand, as Emma wants\nto see her better informed, it will be an inducement to her to read more\nherself. They will read together. She means it, I know.\"\n\n\"Emma has been meaning to read more ever since she was twelve years old.\nI have seen a great many lists of her drawing-up at various times of\nbooks that she meant to read regularly through--and very good lists\nthey were--very well chosen, and very neatly arranged--sometimes\nalphabetically, and sometimes by some other rule. The list she drew\nup when only fourteen--I remember thinking it did her judgment so much\ncredit, that I preserved it some time; and I dare say she may have made\nout a very good list now. But I have done with expecting any course of\nsteady reading from Emma. She will never submit to any thing\nrequiring industry and patience, and a subjection of the fancy to the\nunderstanding. Where Miss Taylor failed to stimulate, I may safely\naffirm that Harriet Smith will do nothing.--You never could persuade her\nto read half so much as you wished.--You know you could not.\"\n\n\"I dare say,\" replied Mrs. Weston, smiling, \"that I thought so\n_then_;--but since we have parted, I can never remember Emma's","question":"\n\n\"I do not know what your opinion may be, Mrs. Weston,\" said Mr.\nKnightley, \"of this great intimacy between Emma and Harriet Smith, but I\nthink it a bad thing.\"\n\n\"A bad thing! Do you really think it a bad thing?--why so?\"\n\n\"I think they will neither of them do the other any good.\"\n\n\"You surprize me! Emma must do Harriet good: and by supplying her with a\nnew object of interest, Harriet may be said to do Emma good. I have been\nseeing their intimacy with the greatest pleasure. How very differently\nwe feel!--Not think they will do each other any good! This will\ncertainly be the beginning of one of our quarrels about Emma, Mr.\nKnightley.\"\n\n\"Perhaps you think I am come on purpose to quarrel with you, knowing\nWeston to be out, and that you must still fight your own battle.\"\n\n\"Mr. Weston would undoubtedly support me, if he were here, for he thinks\nexactly as I do on the subject. We were speaking of it only yesterday,\nand agreeing how fortunate it was for Emma, that there should be such a\ngirl in Highbury for her to associate with. Mr. Knightley, I shall not\nallow you to be a fair judge in this case. You are so much used to live\nalone, that you"} {"answer":"do is to\ncross the desert, and then it should be easy to find your way home.\"\n\n\"How can I cross the desert?\" she enquired.\n\n\"Well, I'll tell you what I think,\" said the little man. \"You see,\nwhen I came to this country it was in a balloon. You also came\nthrough the air, being carried by a cyclone. So I believe the best\nway to get across the desert will be through the air. Now, it is\nquite beyond my powers to make a cyclone; but I've been thinking the\nmatter over, and I believe I can make a balloon.\"\n\n\"How?\" asked Dorothy.\n\n\"A balloon,\" said Oz, \"is made of silk, which is coated with glue to\nkeep the gas in it. I have plenty of silk in the Palace, so it will\nbe no trouble for us to make the balloon. But in all this country\nthere is no gas to fill the balloon with, to make it float.\"\n\n\"If it won't float,\" remarked Dorothy, \"it will be of no use to us.\"\n\n\"True,\" answered Oz. \"But there is another way to make it float,\nwhich is to fill it with hot air. Hot air isn't as good as gas, for\nif the air should get cold the balloon would come down in the desert,\nand we should be lost.\"\n\n\"We!\" exclaimed the girl; \"are you going with me?\"\n\n\"Yes, of course,\" replied Oz. \"I am tired of being such a humbug. If I\nshould go out of this Palace my people would soon discover I am not a\nWizard, and then they would be vexed with me for","question":"Chapter XVII. How the Balloon was Launched.\n\n[Illustration]\n\nFor three days Dorothy heard nothing from Oz. These were sad days\nfor the little girl, although her friends were all quite happy and\ncontented. The Scarecrow told them there were wonderful thoughts in\nhis head; but he would not say what they were because he knew no one\ncould understand them but himself. When the Tin Woodman walked about\nhe felt his heart rattling around in his breast; and he told Dorothy\nhe had discovered it to be a kinder and more tender heart than the\none he had owned when he was made of flesh. The Lion declared he was\nafraid of nothing on earth, and would gladly face an army of men or a\ndozen of the fierce Kalidahs.\n\nThus each of the little party was satisfied except Dorothy, who\nlonged more than ever to get back to Kansas.\n\nOn the fourth day, to her great joy, Oz sent for her, and when she\nentered the Throne Room he said, pleasantly:\n\n\"Sit down, my dear; I think I have found the way to get you out of\nthis country.\"\n\n\"And back to Kansas?\" she asked, eagerly.\n\n\"Well, I'm not sure about Kansas,\" said Oz; \"for I haven't the\nfaintest notion which way it lies. But the first thing to"} {"answer":"moment, relieve\nthe fulness of her heart. Who would not think so? But Mrs. Morland knew\nso little of lords and baronets, that she entertained no notion of their\ngeneral mischievousness, and was wholly unsuspicious of danger to her\ndaughter from their machinations. Her cautions were confined to the\nfollowing points. \"I beg, Catherine, you will always wrap yourself up\nvery warm about the throat, when you come from the rooms at night; and\nI wish you would try to keep some account of the money you spend; I will\ngive you this little book on purpose.\"\n\nSally, or rather Sarah (for what young lady of common gentility will\nreach the age of sixteen without altering her name as far as she can?),\nmust from situation be at this time the intimate friend and confidante\nof her sister. It is remarkable, however, that she neither insisted\non Catherine's writing by every post, nor exacted her promise of\ntransmitting the character of every new acquaintance, nor a detail\nof every interesting conversation that Bath might produce. Everything\nindeed relative to this important journey was done, on the part of the\nMorlands, with a degree of moderation and composure, which seemed\nrather consistent with the common feelings of common life, than with the\nrefined susceptibilities, the tender emotions which the first separation\nof a heroine from her family ought always to excite. Her father, instead\nof giving her an unlimited order on his banker, or even putting an\nhundred pounds bank-bill into her hands, gave her only ten guineas, and\npromised her more when she wanted it.\n\nUnder these unpromising auspices, the parting took place, and","question":"\n\nIn addition to what has been already said of Catherine Morland's\npersonal and mental endowments, when about to be launched into all the\ndifficulties and dangers of a six weeks' residence in Bath, it may be\nstated, for the reader's more certain information, lest the following\npages should otherwise fail of giving any idea of what her character is\nmeant to be, that her heart was affectionate; her disposition cheerful\nand open, without conceit or affectation of any kind--her manners just\nremoved from the awkwardness and shyness of a girl; her person pleasing,\nand, when in good looks, pretty--and her mind about as ignorant and\nuninformed as the female mind at seventeen usually is.\n\nWhen the hour of departure drew near, the maternal anxiety of Mrs.\nMorland will be naturally supposed to be most severe. A thousand\nalarming presentiments of evil to her beloved Catherine from this\nterrific separation must oppress her heart with sadness, and drown her\nin tears for the last day or two of their being together; and advice of\nthe most important and applicable nature must of course flow from her\nwise lips in their parting conference in her closet. Cautions against\nthe violence of such noblemen and baronets as delight in forcing young\nladies away to some remote farm-house, must, at such a"} {"answer":"_and_ MARIA.\n\n _Sir To._ Jove bless thee, master parson.\n\n _Clo._ _Bonos dies_, Sir Toby: for as the old hermit of Prague, that\nnever saw pen and ink, very wittily said to a niece of King Gorboduc,\n_That, that is, is_; so I, being master parson, am master parson: For\nwhat is that, but that? and is, but is?\n\n _Sir To._ To him, Sir Topas.\n\n _Clo._ [_Opens the door of an inner Room_] What, hoa, I say,--Peace\nin this prison!\n\n _Sir To._ The knave counterfeits well; a good knave.\n\n _Mal._ [_In the inner Room._] Who calls there?\n\n _Clo._ Sir Topas, the curate, who comes to visit Malvolio the\nlunatic.\n\n _Mal._ Sir Topas, Sir Topas, good Sir Topas, go to my lady.\n\n _Clo._ Out, hyperbolical fiend! how vexest thou this man? talkest\nthou nothing but of ladies?\n\n _Sir To._ Well said, master parson.\n\n _Mal._ Sir Topas, never was man thus wrong'd; good Sir Topas, do not\nthink I am mad; they have bound me, hand and foot, and laid me here in\nhideous darkness.\n\n _Clo._ Say'st thou, that house is dark?\n\n _Mal._ As hell, Sir Topas.\n\n _Clo._ Madman, thou errest: I say, there is no darkness, but\nignorance; in which thou art more puzzled, than the Egyptians in their\nfog.\n\n _Mal._ I say this house is as","question":"SCENE IV.\n\n\n _A Gallery in_ OLIVIA'S _House_.\n\n _Enter_ MARIA, _with a black Gown and Hood, and_ CLOWN.\n\n _Mar._ Nay, I pr'ythee, put on this gown and hood; make him believe,\nthou art Sir Topas the curate; do it quickly: I'll call Sir Toby the\nwhilst.\n\n [_Exit_ MARIA.\n\n _Clo._ Well, I'll put it on, and I will dissemble myself in't; and I\nwould I were the first that ever dissembled in such a gown.\n\n _Enter_ SIR TOBY"} {"answer":"time; but there are\nonly ten minutes left!\"\n\nPassepartout had seized his master by the collar, and was dragging him\nalong with irresistible force.\n\nPhileas Fogg, thus kidnapped, without having time to think, left his\nhouse, jumped into a cab, promised a hundred pounds to the cabman, and,\nhaving run over two dogs and overturned five carriages, reached the\nReform Club.\n\nThe clock indicated a quarter before nine when he appeared in the great\nsaloon.\n\nPhileas Fogg had accomplished the journey round the world in eighty\ndays!\n\nPhileas Fogg had won his wager of twenty thousand pounds!\n\nHow was it that a man so exact and fastidious could have made this\nerror of a day? How came he to think that he had arrived in London on\nSaturday, the twenty-first day of December, when it was really Friday,\nthe twentieth, the seventy-ninth day only from his departure?\n\nThe cause of the error is very simple.\n\nPhileas Fogg had, without suspecting it, gained one day on his journey,\nand this merely because he had travelled constantly eastward; he would,\non the contrary, have lost a day had he gone in the opposite direction,\nthat is, westward.\n\nIn journeying eastward he had gone towards the sun, and the days\ntherefore diminished for him as many times four minutes as he crossed\ndegrees in this direction. There are three hundred and sixty degrees\non the circumference of the earth; and these three hundred and sixty\ndegrees, multiplied by four minutes, gives precisely twenty-four\nhours--that is, the day unconsciously gained. In other words, while\nPhileas Fogg, going eastward, saw the sun pass the meridian eighty\ntimes, his friends in London","question":"\nIN WHICH IT IS SHOWN THAT PHILEAS FOGG GAINED NOTHING BY HIS TOUR\nAROUND THE WORLD, UNLESS IT WERE HAPPINESS\n\n\nYes; Phileas Fogg in person.\n\nThe reader will remember that at five minutes past eight in the\nevening--about five and twenty hours after the arrival of the\ntravellers in London--Passepartout had been sent by his master to\nengage the services of the Reverend Samuel Wilson in a certain marriage\nceremony, which was to take place the next day.\n\nPassepartout went on his errand enchanted. He soon reached the\nclergyman's house, but found him not at home. Passepartout waited a\ngood twenty minutes, and when he left the reverend gentleman, it was\nthirty-five minutes past eight. But in what a state he was! With his\nhair in disorder, and without his hat, he ran along the street as never\nman was seen to run before, overturning passers-by, rushing over the\nsidewalk like a waterspout.\n\nIn three minutes he was in Saville Row again, and staggered back into\nMr. Fogg's room.\n\nHe could not speak.\n\n\"What is the matter?\" asked Mr. Fogg.\n\n\"My master!\" gasped Passepartout--\"marriage--impossible--\"\n\n\"Impossible?\"\n\n\"Impossible--for to-morrow.\"\n\n\"Why so?\"\n\n\"Because to-morrow--is Sunday!\"\n\n\"Monday,\" replied Mr. Fogg.\n\n\"No--to-day is Saturday.\"\n\n\"Saturday? Impossible!\"\n\n\"Yes, yes, yes, yes!\" cried Passepartout. \"You have made a mistake of\none day! We arrived twenty-four hours ahead of"} {"answer":"now--very like yours, only with coquelicot ribbons\ninstead of green; I quite longed for it. But, my dearest Catherine, what\nhave you been doing with yourself all this morning? Have you gone on\nwith Udolpho?\"\n\n\"Yes, I have been reading it ever since I woke; and I am got to the\nblack veil.\"\n\n\"Are you, indeed? How delightful! Oh! I would not tell you what is\nbehind the black veil for the world! Are not you wild to know?\"\n\n\"Oh! Yes, quite; what can it be? But do not tell me--I would not be\ntold upon any account. I know it must be a skeleton, I am sure it is\nLaurentina's skeleton. Oh! I am delighted with the book! I should like\nto spend my whole life in reading it. I assure you, if it had not been\nto meet you, I would not have come away from it for all the world.\"\n\n\"Dear creature! How much I am obliged to you; and when you have finished\nUdolpho, we will read the Italian together; and I have made out a list\nof ten or twelve more of the same kind for you.\"\n\n\"Have you, indeed! How glad I am! What are they all?\"\n\n\"I will read you their names directly; here they are, in my pocketbook.\nCastle of Wolfenbach, Clermont, Mysterious Warnings, Necromancer of the\nBlack Forest, Midnight Bell, Orphan of the Rhine, and Horrid Mysteries.\nThose will last us some time.\"\n\n\"Yes, pretty well; but are they all horrid, are you sure they are all\nhorrid?\"\n\n\"Yes, quite sure; for a particular friend of mine, a Miss Andrews, a\nsweet girl, one of","question":"\n\nThe following conversation, which took place between the two friends in\nthe pump-room one morning, after an acquaintance of eight or nine\ndays, is given as a specimen of their very warm attachment, and of the\ndelicacy, discretion, originality of thought, and literary taste which\nmarked the reasonableness of that attachment.\n\nThey met by appointment; and as Isabella had arrived nearly five\nminutes before her friend, her first address naturally was, \"My dearest\ncreature, what can have made you so late? I have been waiting for you at\nleast this age!\"\n\n\"Have you, indeed! I am very sorry for it; but really I thought I was in\nvery good time. It is but just one. I hope you have not been here long?\"\n\n\"Oh! These ten ages at least. I am sure I have been here this half hour.\nBut now, let us go and sit down at the other end of the room, and enjoy\nourselves. I have an hundred things to say to you. In the first place,\nI was so afraid it would rain this morning, just as I wanted to set off;\nit looked very showery, and that would have thrown me into agonies! Do\nyou know, I saw the prettiest hat you can imagine, in a shop window in\nMilsom Street just"} {"answer":"like a school-boy that had lost\nhis\n A B C; to weep, like a young wench that had buried her\ngrandam;\n to fast, like one that takes diet; to watch, like one that\nfears\n robbing; to speak puling, like a beggar at Hallowmas. You\nwere\n wont, when you laughed, to crow like a cock; when you walk'd,\nto\n walk like one of the lions; when you fasted, it was presently\n after dinner; when you look'd sadly, it was for want of\nmoney.\n And now you are metamorphis'd with a mistress, that, when I\nlook\n on you, I can hardly think you my master.\n VALENTINE. Are all these things perceiv'd in me?\n SPEED. They are all perceiv'd without ye.\n VALENTINE. Without me? They cannot.\n SPEED. Without you! Nay, that's certain; for, without you were\nso\n simple, none else would; but you are so without these follies\n that these follies are within you, and shine through you like\nthe\n water in an urinal, that not an eye that sees you but is a\n physician to comment on your malady.\n VALENTINE. But tell me, dost thou know my lady Silvia?\n SPEED. She that you gaze on so, as she sits at supper?\n VALENTINE. Hast thou observ'd that? Even she, I mean.\n SPEED. Why, sir, I know her not.\n","question":"ACT II. SCENE I.\n\nMilan. The DUKE'S palace\n\nEnter VALENTINE and SPEED\n\n SPEED. Sir, your glove.\n VALENTINE. Not mine: my gloves are on.\n SPEED. Why, then, this may be yours; for this is but one.\n VALENTINE. Ha! let me see; ay, give it me, it's mine;\n Sweet ornament that decks a thing divine!\n Ah, Silvia! Silvia!\n SPEED. [Calling] Madam Silvia! Madam Silvia!\n VALENTINE. How now, sirrah?\n SPEED. She is not within hearing, sir.\n VALENTINE. Why, sir, who bade you call her?\n SPEED. Your worship, sir; or else I mistook.\n VALENTINE. Well, you'll still be too forward.\n SPEED. And yet I was last chidden for being too slow.\n VALENTINE. Go to, sir; tell me, do you know Madam Silvia?\n SPEED. She that your worship loves?\n VALENTINE. Why, how know you that I am in love?\n SPEED. Marry, by these special marks: first, you have learn'd,\nlike\n Sir Proteus, to wreath your arms like a malcontent; to relish\na\n love-song, like a robin redbreast; to walk alone, like one\nthat\n had the pestilence; to sigh,"} {"answer":"hear music the general does not greatly\n care.\n FIRST MUSICIAN. We have none such, sir.\n CLOWN. Then put up your pipes in your bag, for I'll away.\n Go, vanish into air, away! Exeunt\nMusicians.\n CASSIO. Dost thou hear, my honest friend?\n CLOWN. No, I hear not your honest friend; I hear you.\n CASSIO. Prithee, keep up thy quillets. There's a poor piece of\ngold\n for thee. If the gentlewoman that attends the general's wife\nbe\n stirring, tell her there's one Cassio entreats her a little\nfavor\n of speech. Wilt thou do this?\n CLOWN. She is stirring, sir. If she will stir hither, I shall\nseem\n to notify unto her.\n CASSIO. Do, good my friend. Exit\nClown.\n\n Enter Iago.\n\n In happy time, Iago.\n IAGO. You","question":"ACT III. SCENE I.\nBefore the castle.\n\nEnter Cassio and some Musicians.\n\n CASSIO. Masters, play here, I will content your pains;\nSomething\n that's brief; and bid \"Good morrow, general.\"\n Music.\n\n Enter Clown.\n\n CLOWN. Why, masters, have your instruments been in Naples, that\n they speak i' the nose thus?\n FIRST MUSICIAN. How, sir, how?\n CLOWN. Are these, I pray you, wind instruments?\n FIRST MUSICIAN. Ay, marry, are they, sir.\n CLOWN. O, thereby hangs a tail.\n FIRST MUSICIAN. Whereby hangs a tale, sir?\n CLOWN. Marry, sir, by many a wind instrument that I know. But,\n masters, here's money for you; and the general so likes your\n music, that he desires you, for love's sake, to make no more\n noise with it.\n FIRST MUSICIAN. Well, sir, we will not.\n CLOWN. If you have any music that may not be heard, to't again;\n but, as they say, to"} {"answer":"hear music the general does not greatly\n care.\n FIRST MUSICIAN. We have none such, sir.\n CLOWN. Then put up your pipes in your bag, for I'll away.\n Go, vanish into air, away! Exeunt\nMusicians.\n CASSIO. Dost thou hear, my honest friend?\n CLOWN. No, I hear not your honest friend; I hear you.\n CASSIO. Prithee, keep up thy quillets. There's a poor piece of\ngold\n for thee. If the gentlewoman that attends the general's wife\nbe\n stirring, tell her there's one Cassio entreats her a little\nfavor\n of speech. Wilt thou do this?\n CLOWN. She is stirring, sir. If she will stir hither, I shall\nseem\n to notify unto her.\n CASSIO. Do, good my friend. Exit\nClown.\n\n Enter Iago.\n\n In happy time, Iago.\n IAGO. You","question":"ACT III. SCENE I.\nBefore the castle.\n\nEnter Cassio and some Musicians.\n\n CASSIO. Masters, play here, I will content your pains;\nSomething\n that's brief; and bid \"Good morrow, general.\"\n Music.\n\n Enter Clown.\n\n CLOWN. Why, masters, have your instruments been in Naples, that\n they speak i' the nose thus?\n FIRST MUSICIAN. How, sir, how?\n CLOWN. Are these, I pray you, wind instruments?\n FIRST MUSICIAN. Ay, marry, are they, sir.\n CLOWN. O, thereby hangs a tail.\n FIRST MUSICIAN. Whereby hangs a tale, sir?\n CLOWN. Marry, sir, by many a wind instrument that I know. But,\n masters, here's money for you; and the general so likes your\n music, that he desires you, for love's sake, to make no more\n noise with it.\n FIRST MUSICIAN. Well, sir, we will not.\n CLOWN. If you have any music that may not be heard, to't again;\n but, as they say, to"} {"answer":"hear music the general does not greatly\n care.\n FIRST MUSICIAN. We have none such, sir.\n CLOWN. Then put up your pipes in your bag, for I'll away.\n Go, vanish into air, away! Exeunt\nMusicians.\n CASSIO. Dost thou hear, my honest friend?\n CLOWN. No, I hear not your honest friend; I hear you.\n CASSIO. Prithee, keep up thy quillets. There's a poor piece of\ngold\n for thee. If the gentlewoman that attends the general's wife\nbe\n stirring, tell her there's one Cassio entreats her a little\nfavor\n of speech. Wilt thou do this?\n CLOWN. She is stirring, sir. If she will stir hither, I shall\nseem\n to notify unto her.\n CASSIO. Do, good my friend. Exit\nClown.\n\n Enter Iago.\n\n In happy time, Iago.\n IAGO. You","question":"ACT III. SCENE I.\nBefore the castle.\n\nEnter Cassio and some Musicians.\n\n CASSIO. Masters, play here, I will content your pains;\nSomething\n that's brief; and bid \"Good morrow, general.\"\n Music.\n\n Enter Clown.\n\n CLOWN. Why, masters, have your instruments been in Naples, that\n they speak i' the nose thus?\n FIRST MUSICIAN. How, sir, how?\n CLOWN. Are these, I pray you, wind instruments?\n FIRST MUSICIAN. Ay, marry, are they, sir.\n CLOWN. O, thereby hangs a tail.\n FIRST MUSICIAN. Whereby hangs a tale, sir?\n CLOWN. Marry, sir, by many a wind instrument that I know. But,\n masters, here's money for you; and the general so likes your\n music, that he desires you, for love's sake, to make no more\n noise with it.\n FIRST MUSICIAN. Well, sir, we will not.\n CLOWN. If you have any music that may not be heard, to't again;\n but, as they say, to"} {"answer":"hear music the general does not greatly\n care.\n FIRST MUSICIAN. We have none such, sir.\n CLOWN. Then put up your pipes in your bag, for I'll away.\n Go, vanish into air, away! Exeunt\nMusicians.\n CASSIO. Dost thou hear, my honest friend?\n CLOWN. No, I hear not your honest friend; I hear you.\n CASSIO. Prithee, keep up thy quillets. There's a poor piece of\ngold\n for thee. If the gentlewoman that attends the general's wife\nbe\n stirring, tell her there's one Cassio entreats her a little\nfavor\n of speech. Wilt thou do this?\n CLOWN. She is stirring, sir. If she will stir hither, I shall\nseem\n to notify unto her.\n CASSIO. Do, good my friend. Exit\nClown.\n\n Enter Iago.\n\n In happy time, Iago.\n IAGO. You","question":"ACT III. SCENE I.\nBefore the castle.\n\nEnter Cassio and some Musicians.\n\n CASSIO. Masters, play here, I will content your pains;\nSomething\n that's brief; and bid \"Good morrow, general.\"\n Music.\n\n Enter Clown.\n\n CLOWN. Why, masters, have your instruments been in Naples, that\n they speak i' the nose thus?\n FIRST MUSICIAN. How, sir, how?\n CLOWN. Are these, I pray you, wind instruments?\n FIRST MUSICIAN. Ay, marry, are they, sir.\n CLOWN. O, thereby hangs a tail.\n FIRST MUSICIAN. Whereby hangs a tale, sir?\n CLOWN. Marry, sir, by many a wind instrument that I know. But,\n masters, here's money for you; and the general so likes your\n music, that he desires you, for love's sake, to make no more\n noise with it.\n FIRST MUSICIAN. Well, sir, we will not.\n CLOWN. If you have any music that may not be heard, to't again;\n but, as they say, to"} {"answer":"I have consider'd well his loss of time,\n And how he cannot be a perfect man,\n Not being tried and tutor'd in the world:\n Experience is by industry achiev'd,\n And perfected by the swift course of time.\n Then tell me whither were I best to send him.\n PANTHINO. I think your lordship is not ignorant\n How his companion, youthful Valentine,\n Attends the Emperor in his royal court.\n ANTONIO. I know it well.\n PANTHINO. 'Twere good, I think, your lordship sent him thither:\n There shall he practise tilts and tournaments,\n Hear sweet discourse, converse with noblemen,\n And be in eye of every exercise\n Worthy his youth and nobleness of birth.\n ANTONIO. I like thy counsel; well hast thou advis'd;\n And that thou mayst perceive how well I like it,\n The execution of it shall make known:\n Even with the speediest expedition\n I will dispatch him to the Emperor's court.\n PANTHINO. To-morrow, may it please you, Don Alphonso\n With other gentlemen of good esteem\n Are journeying to salute the Emperor,\n And to commend their service to his will.\n ANTONIO. Good company; with them shall Proteus go.\n\n ","question":"SCENE III.\n\nVerona. ANTONIO'S house\n\nEnter ANTONIO and PANTHINO\n\n ANTONIO. Tell me, Panthino, what sad talk was that\n Wherewith my brother held you in the cloister?\n PANTHINO. 'Twas of his nephew Proteus, your son.\n ANTONIO. Why, what of him?\n PANTHINO. He wond'red that your lordship\n Would suffer him to spend his youth at home,\n While other men, of slender reputation,\n Put forth their sons to seek preferment out:\n Some to the wars, to try their fortune there;\n Some to discover islands far away;\n Some to the studious universities.\n For any, or for all these exercises,\n He said that Proteus, your son, was meet;\n And did request me to importune you\n To let him spend his time no more at home,\n Which would be great impeachment to his age,\n In having known no travel in his youth.\n ANTONIO. Nor need'st thou much importune me to that\n Whereon this month I have been hammering.\n "} {"answer":"I have consider'd well his loss of time,\n And how he cannot be a perfect man,\n Not being tried and tutor'd in the world:\n Experience is by industry achiev'd,\n And perfected by the swift course of time.\n Then tell me whither were I best to send him.\n PANTHINO. I think your lordship is not ignorant\n How his companion, youthful Valentine,\n Attends the Emperor in his royal court.\n ANTONIO. I know it well.\n PANTHINO. 'Twere good, I think, your lordship sent him thither:\n There shall he practise tilts and tournaments,\n Hear sweet discourse, converse with noblemen,\n And be in eye of every exercise\n Worthy his youth and nobleness of birth.\n ANTONIO. I like thy counsel; well hast thou advis'd;\n And that thou mayst perceive how well I like it,\n The execution of it shall make known:\n Even with the speediest expedition\n I will dispatch him to the Emperor's court.\n PANTHINO. To-morrow, may it please you, Don Alphonso\n With other gentlemen of good esteem\n Are journeying to salute the Emperor,\n And to commend their service to his will.\n ANTONIO. Good company; with them shall Proteus go.\n\n ","question":"SCENE III.\n\nVerona. ANTONIO'S house\n\nEnter ANTONIO and PANTHINO\n\n ANTONIO. Tell me, Panthino, what sad talk was that\n Wherewith my brother held you in the cloister?\n PANTHINO. 'Twas of his nephew Proteus, your son.\n ANTONIO. Why, what of him?\n PANTHINO. He wond'red that your lordship\n Would suffer him to spend his youth at home,\n While other men, of slender reputation,\n Put forth their sons to seek preferment out:\n Some to the wars, to try their fortune there;\n Some to discover islands far away;\n Some to the studious universities.\n For any, or for all these exercises,\n He said that Proteus, your son, was meet;\n And did request me to importune you\n To let him spend his time no more at home,\n Which would be great impeachment to his age,\n In having known no travel in his youth.\n ANTONIO. Nor need'st thou much importune me to that\n Whereon this month I have been hammering.\n "} {"answer":"to answer his master's bell, Mr. Fogg, not betraying\nthe least vexation, contented himself with taking his carpet-bag,\ncalling Aouda, and sending for a palanquin.\n\nIt was then eight o'clock; at half-past nine, it being then high tide,\nthe Carnatic would leave the harbour. Mr. Fogg and Aouda got into the\npalanquin, their luggage being brought after on a wheelbarrow, and half\nan hour later stepped upon the quay whence they were to embark. Mr.\nFogg then learned that the Carnatic had sailed the evening before. He\nhad expected to find not only the steamer, but his domestic, and was\nforced to give up both; but no sign of disappointment appeared on his\nface, and he merely remarked to Aouda, \"It is an accident, madam;\nnothing more.\"\n\nAt this moment a man who had been observing him attentively approached.\nIt was Fix, who, bowing, addressed Mr. Fogg: \"Were you not, like me,\nsir, a passenger by the Rangoon, which arrived yesterday?\"\n\n\"I was, sir,\" replied Mr. Fogg coldly. \"But I have not the honour--\"\n\n\"Pardon me; I thought I should find your servant here.\"\n\n\"Do you know where he is, sir?\" asked Aouda anxiously.\n\n\"What!\" responded Fix, feigning surprise. \"Is he not with you?\"\n\n\"No,\" said Aouda. \"He has not made his appearance since yesterday.\nCould he have gone on board the Carnatic without us?\"\n\n\"Without you, madam?\" answered the detective. \"Excuse me, did you\nintend to sail in the Carnatic?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir.\"\n\n\"So did I, madam, and I am excessively disappointed. The Carnatic, its\nrepairs being completed, left Hong Kong twelve hours before the stated\ntime,","question":"\nWhile these events were passing at the opium-house, Mr. Fogg,\nunconscious of the danger he was in of losing the steamer, was quietly\nescorting Aouda about the streets of the English quarter, making the\nnecessary purchases for the long voyage before them. It was all very\nwell for an Englishman like Mr. Fogg to make the tour of the world with\na carpet-bag; a lady could not be expected to travel comfortably under\nsuch conditions. He acquitted his task with characteristic serenity,\nand invariably replied to the remonstrances of his fair companion, who\nwas confused by his patience and generosity:\n\n\"It is in the interest of my journey--a part of my programme.\"\n\nThe purchases made, they returned to the hotel, where they dined at a\nsumptuously served table-d'hote; after which Aouda, shaking hands with\nher protector after the English fashion, retired to her room for rest.\nMr. Fogg absorbed himself throughout the evening in the perusal of The\nTimes and Illustrated London News.\n\nHad he been capable of being astonished at anything, it would have been\nnot to see his servant return at bedtime. But, knowing that the\nsteamer was not to leave for Yokohama until the next morning, he did\nnot disturb himself about the matter. When Passepartout did not appear\nthe next morning"} {"answer":"to answer his master's bell, Mr. Fogg, not betraying\nthe least vexation, contented himself with taking his carpet-bag,\ncalling Aouda, and sending for a palanquin.\n\nIt was then eight o'clock; at half-past nine, it being then high tide,\nthe Carnatic would leave the harbour. Mr. Fogg and Aouda got into the\npalanquin, their luggage being brought after on a wheelbarrow, and half\nan hour later stepped upon the quay whence they were to embark. Mr.\nFogg then learned that the Carnatic had sailed the evening before. He\nhad expected to find not only the steamer, but his domestic, and was\nforced to give up both; but no sign of disappointment appeared on his\nface, and he merely remarked to Aouda, \"It is an accident, madam;\nnothing more.\"\n\nAt this moment a man who had been observing him attentively approached.\nIt was Fix, who, bowing, addressed Mr. Fogg: \"Were you not, like me,\nsir, a passenger by the Rangoon, which arrived yesterday?\"\n\n\"I was, sir,\" replied Mr. Fogg coldly. \"But I have not the honour--\"\n\n\"Pardon me; I thought I should find your servant here.\"\n\n\"Do you know where he is, sir?\" asked Aouda anxiously.\n\n\"What!\" responded Fix, feigning surprise. \"Is he not with you?\"\n\n\"No,\" said Aouda. \"He has not made his appearance since yesterday.\nCould he have gone on board the Carnatic without us?\"\n\n\"Without you, madam?\" answered the detective. \"Excuse me, did you\nintend to sail in the Carnatic?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir.\"\n\n\"So did I, madam, and I am excessively disappointed. The Carnatic, its\nrepairs being completed, left Hong Kong twelve hours before the stated\ntime,","question":"\nWhile these events were passing at the opium-house, Mr. Fogg,\nunconscious of the danger he was in of losing the steamer, was quietly\nescorting Aouda about the streets of the English quarter, making the\nnecessary purchases for the long voyage before them. It was all very\nwell for an Englishman like Mr. Fogg to make the tour of the world with\na carpet-bag; a lady could not be expected to travel comfortably under\nsuch conditions. He acquitted his task with characteristic serenity,\nand invariably replied to the remonstrances of his fair companion, who\nwas confused by his patience and generosity:\n\n\"It is in the interest of my journey--a part of my programme.\"\n\nThe purchases made, they returned to the hotel, where they dined at a\nsumptuously served table-d'hote; after which Aouda, shaking hands with\nher protector after the English fashion, retired to her room for rest.\nMr. Fogg absorbed himself throughout the evening in the perusal of The\nTimes and Illustrated London News.\n\nHad he been capable of being astonished at anything, it would have been\nnot to see his servant return at bedtime. But, knowing that the\nsteamer was not to leave for Yokohama until the next morning, he did\nnot disturb himself about the matter. When Passepartout did not appear\nthe next morning"} {"answer":"to answer his master's bell, Mr. Fogg, not betraying\nthe least vexation, contented himself with taking his carpet-bag,\ncalling Aouda, and sending for a palanquin.\n\nIt was then eight o'clock; at half-past nine, it being then high tide,\nthe Carnatic would leave the harbour. Mr. Fogg and Aouda got into the\npalanquin, their luggage being brought after on a wheelbarrow, and half\nan hour later stepped upon the quay whence they were to embark. Mr.\nFogg then learned that the Carnatic had sailed the evening before. He\nhad expected to find not only the steamer, but his domestic, and was\nforced to give up both; but no sign of disappointment appeared on his\nface, and he merely remarked to Aouda, \"It is an accident, madam;\nnothing more.\"\n\nAt this moment a man who had been observing him attentively approached.\nIt was Fix, who, bowing, addressed Mr. Fogg: \"Were you not, like me,\nsir, a passenger by the Rangoon, which arrived yesterday?\"\n\n\"I was, sir,\" replied Mr. Fogg coldly. \"But I have not the honour--\"\n\n\"Pardon me; I thought I should find your servant here.\"\n\n\"Do you know where he is, sir?\" asked Aouda anxiously.\n\n\"What!\" responded Fix, feigning surprise. \"Is he not with you?\"\n\n\"No,\" said Aouda. \"He has not made his appearance since yesterday.\nCould he have gone on board the Carnatic without us?\"\n\n\"Without you, madam?\" answered the detective. \"Excuse me, did you\nintend to sail in the Carnatic?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir.\"\n\n\"So did I, madam, and I am excessively disappointed. The Carnatic, its\nrepairs being completed, left Hong Kong twelve hours before the stated\ntime,","question":"\nWhile these events were passing at the opium-house, Mr. Fogg,\nunconscious of the danger he was in of losing the steamer, was quietly\nescorting Aouda about the streets of the English quarter, making the\nnecessary purchases for the long voyage before them. It was all very\nwell for an Englishman like Mr. Fogg to make the tour of the world with\na carpet-bag; a lady could not be expected to travel comfortably under\nsuch conditions. He acquitted his task with characteristic serenity,\nand invariably replied to the remonstrances of his fair companion, who\nwas confused by his patience and generosity:\n\n\"It is in the interest of my journey--a part of my programme.\"\n\nThe purchases made, they returned to the hotel, where they dined at a\nsumptuously served table-d'hote; after which Aouda, shaking hands with\nher protector after the English fashion, retired to her room for rest.\nMr. Fogg absorbed himself throughout the evening in the perusal of The\nTimes and Illustrated London News.\n\nHad he been capable of being astonished at anything, it would have been\nnot to see his servant return at bedtime. But, knowing that the\nsteamer was not to leave for Yokohama until the next morning, he did\nnot disturb himself about the matter. When Passepartout did not appear\nthe next morning"} {"answer":"marriage, it occurred to Elizabeth that she must meditate\nan application to her nephew; and how _he_ might take a similar\nrepresentation of the evils attached to a connection with her, she dared\nnot pronounce. She knew not the exact degree of his affection for his\naunt, or his dependence on her judgment, but it was natural to suppose\nthat he thought much higher of her ladyship than _she_ could do; and it\nwas certain, that in enumerating the miseries of a marriage with _one_,\nwhose immediate connections were so unequal to his own, his aunt would\naddress him on his weakest side. With his notions of dignity, he would\nprobably feel that the arguments, which to Elizabeth had appeared weak\nand ridiculous, contained much good sense and solid reasoning.\n\nIf he had been wavering before, as to what he should do, which had often\nseemed likely, the advice and intreaty of so near a relation might\nsettle every doubt, and determine him at once to be as happy, as dignity\nunblemished could make him. In that case he would return no more. Lady\nCatherine might see him in her way through town; and his engagement to\nBingley of coming again to Netherfield must give way.\n\n\"If, therefore, an excuse for not keeping his promise, should come to\nhis friend within a few days,\" she added, \"I shall know how to\nunderstand it. I shall then give over every expectation, every wish of\nhis constancy. If he is satisfied with only regretting me, when he might\nhave obtained my affections and hand, I shall soon cease to regret him\nat all.\"\n\n ","question":"\n\nThe discomposure of spirits, which this extraordinary visit threw\nElizabeth into, could not be easily overcome; nor could she for many\nhours, learn to think of it less than incessantly. Lady Catherine it\nappeared, had actually taken the trouble of this journey from Rosings,\nfor the sole purpose of breaking off her supposed engagement with Mr.\nDarcy. It was a rational scheme to be sure! but from what the report of\ntheir engagement could originate, Elizabeth was at a loss to imagine;\ntill she recollected that _his_ being the intimate friend of Bingley,\nand _her_ being the sister of Jane, was enough, at a time when the\nexpectation of one wedding, made every body eager for another, to supply\nthe idea. She had not herself forgotten to feel that the marriage of her\nsister must bring them more frequently together. And her neighbours at\nLucas lodge, therefore, (for through their communication with the\nCollinses, the report she concluded had reached lady Catherine) had only\nset _that_ down, as almost certain and immediate, which _she_ had looked\nforward to as possible, at some future time.\n\nIn revolving lady Catherine's expressions, however, she could not help\nfeeling some uneasiness as to the possible consequence of her persisting\nin this interference. From what she had said of her resolution to\nprevent their"} {"answer":"marriage, it occurred to Elizabeth that she must meditate\nan application to her nephew; and how _he_ might take a similar\nrepresentation of the evils attached to a connection with her, she dared\nnot pronounce. She knew not the exact degree of his affection for his\naunt, or his dependence on her judgment, but it was natural to suppose\nthat he thought much higher of her ladyship than _she_ could do; and it\nwas certain, that in enumerating the miseries of a marriage with _one_,\nwhose immediate connections were so unequal to his own, his aunt would\naddress him on his weakest side. With his notions of dignity, he would\nprobably feel that the arguments, which to Elizabeth had appeared weak\nand ridiculous, contained much good sense and solid reasoning.\n\nIf he had been wavering before, as to what he should do, which had often\nseemed likely, the advice and intreaty of so near a relation might\nsettle every doubt, and determine him at once to be as happy, as dignity\nunblemished could make him. In that case he would return no more. Lady\nCatherine might see him in her way through town; and his engagement to\nBingley of coming again to Netherfield must give way.\n\n\"If, therefore, an excuse for not keeping his promise, should come to\nhis friend within a few days,\" she added, \"I shall know how to\nunderstand it. I shall then give over every expectation, every wish of\nhis constancy. If he is satisfied with only regretting me, when he might\nhave obtained my affections and hand, I shall soon cease to regret him\nat all.\"\n\n ","question":"\n\nThe discomposure of spirits, which this extraordinary visit threw\nElizabeth into, could not be easily overcome; nor could she for many\nhours, learn to think of it less than incessantly. Lady Catherine it\nappeared, had actually taken the trouble of this journey from Rosings,\nfor the sole purpose of breaking off her supposed engagement with Mr.\nDarcy. It was a rational scheme to be sure! but from what the report of\ntheir engagement could originate, Elizabeth was at a loss to imagine;\ntill she recollected that _his_ being the intimate friend of Bingley,\nand _her_ being the sister of Jane, was enough, at a time when the\nexpectation of one wedding, made every body eager for another, to supply\nthe idea. She had not herself forgotten to feel that the marriage of her\nsister must bring them more frequently together. And her neighbours at\nLucas lodge, therefore, (for through their communication with the\nCollinses, the report she concluded had reached lady Catherine) had only\nset _that_ down, as almost certain and immediate, which _she_ had looked\nforward to as possible, at some future time.\n\nIn revolving lady Catherine's expressions, however, she could not help\nfeeling some uneasiness as to the possible consequence of her persisting\nin this interference. From what she had said of her resolution to\nprevent their"} {"answer":"certain; and my love indeed,\nFor who love I so much? And now who knows\nBut you, Lorenzo, whether I am yours?\n\nLORENZO.\nHeaven and thy thoughts are witness that thou art.\n\nJESSICA.\nHere, catch this casket; it is worth the pains.\nI am glad 'tis night, you do not look on me,\nFor I am much asham'd of my exchange;\nBut love is blind, and lovers cannot see\nThe pretty follies that themselves commit,\nFor, if they could, Cupid himself would blush\nTo see me thus transformed to a boy.\n\nLORENZO.\nDescend, for you must be my torch-bearer.\n\nJESSICA.\nWhat! must I hold a candle to my shames?\nThey in themselves, good sooth, are too-too light.\nWhy, 'tis an office of discovery, love,\nAnd I should be obscur'd.\n\nLORENZO.\nSo are you, sweet,\nEven in the lovely garnish of a boy.\nBut come at once;\nFor the close night doth play the runaway,\nAnd we are stay'd for at Bassanio's feast.\n\nJESSICA.\nI will make fast the doors, and gild myself\nWith some moe ducats, and be with you straight.\n\n[Exit above.]\n\nGRATIANO.\nNow, by my hood, a Gentile, and no Jew.\n\nLORENZO.\nBeshrew me, but I love her heartily;\nFor she is wise, if I can judge of her,\nAnd fair she is, if that mine eyes be true,\nAnd true she is, as she hath prov'd herself;\nAnd therefore, like herself, wise, fair, and true,\nShall she be placed in my constant soul.\n\n[Enter JESSICA.]\n\nWhat, art thou come? On, gentlemen, away!\nOur masquing mates by this time for us stay.\n\n[Exit with JESSICA and SALARINO.]\n\n[Enter ANTONIO]\n\nANTONIO.\nWho's there?\n\nGRATIANO.\nSignior Antonio!\n\nANTONIO.\nFie, fie, Gratiano! where are all the rest?\n'Tis nine o'clock; our friends all stay for you.\nNo masque to-night: the wind is","question":"SCENE 6.\n\nThe same.\n\n[Enter GRATIANO and SALARINO, masqued.]\n\nGRATIANO.\nThis is the pent-house under which Lorenzo\nDesir'd us to make stand.\n\nSALARINO.\nHis hour is almost past.\n\nGRATIANO.\nAnd it is marvel he out-dwells his hour,\nFor lovers ever run before the clock.\n\nSALARINO.\nO! ten times faster Venus' pigeons fly\nTo seal love's bonds new made than they are wont\nTo keep obliged faith unforfeited!\n\nGRATIANO.\nThat ever holds: who riseth from a feast\nWith that keen appetite that he sits down?\nWhere is the horse that doth untread again\nHis tedious measures with the unbated fire\nThat he did pace them first? All things that are\nAre with more spirit chased than enjoy'd.\nHow like a younker or a prodigal\nThe scarfed bark puts from her native bay,\nHugg'd and embraced by the strumpet wind!\nHow like the prodigal doth she return,\nWith over-weather'd ribs and ragged sails,\nLean, rent, and beggar'd by the strumpet wind!\n\nSALARINO.\nHere comes Lorenzo; more of this hereafter.\n\n[Enter LORENZO.]\n\nLORENZO.\nSweet friends, your patience for my long abode;\nNot I, but my affairs, have made you wait:\nWhen you shall please to play the thieves for wives,\nI'll watch as long for you then. Approach;\nHere dwells my father Jew. Ho! who's within?\n\n[Enter JESSICA, above, in boy's clothes.]\n\nJESSICA.\nWho are you? Tell me, for more certainty,\nAlbeit I'll swear that I do know your tongue.\n\nLORENZO.\nLorenzo, and thy love.\n\nJESSICA.\nLorenzo,"} {"answer":"certain; and my love indeed,\nFor who love I so much? And now who knows\nBut you, Lorenzo, whether I am yours?\n\nLORENZO.\nHeaven and thy thoughts are witness that thou art.\n\nJESSICA.\nHere, catch this casket; it is worth the pains.\nI am glad 'tis night, you do not look on me,\nFor I am much asham'd of my exchange;\nBut love is blind, and lovers cannot see\nThe pretty follies that themselves commit,\nFor, if they could, Cupid himself would blush\nTo see me thus transformed to a boy.\n\nLORENZO.\nDescend, for you must be my torch-bearer.\n\nJESSICA.\nWhat! must I hold a candle to my shames?\nThey in themselves, good sooth, are too-too light.\nWhy, 'tis an office of discovery, love,\nAnd I should be obscur'd.\n\nLORENZO.\nSo are you, sweet,\nEven in the lovely garnish of a boy.\nBut come at once;\nFor the close night doth play the runaway,\nAnd we are stay'd for at Bassanio's feast.\n\nJESSICA.\nI will make fast the doors, and gild myself\nWith some moe ducats, and be with you straight.\n\n[Exit above.]\n\nGRATIANO.\nNow, by my hood, a Gentile, and no Jew.\n\nLORENZO.\nBeshrew me, but I love her heartily;\nFor she is wise, if I can judge of her,\nAnd fair she is, if that mine eyes be true,\nAnd true she is, as she hath prov'd herself;\nAnd therefore, like herself, wise, fair, and true,\nShall she be placed in my constant soul.\n\n[Enter JESSICA.]\n\nWhat, art thou come? On, gentlemen, away!\nOur masquing mates by this time for us stay.\n\n[Exit with JESSICA and SALARINO.]\n\n[Enter ANTONIO]\n\nANTONIO.\nWho's there?\n\nGRATIANO.\nSignior Antonio!\n\nANTONIO.\nFie, fie, Gratiano! where are all the rest?\n'Tis nine o'clock; our friends all stay for you.\nNo masque to-night: the wind is","question":"SCENE 6.\n\nThe same.\n\n[Enter GRATIANO and SALARINO, masqued.]\n\nGRATIANO.\nThis is the pent-house under which Lorenzo\nDesir'd us to make stand.\n\nSALARINO.\nHis hour is almost past.\n\nGRATIANO.\nAnd it is marvel he out-dwells his hour,\nFor lovers ever run before the clock.\n\nSALARINO.\nO! ten times faster Venus' pigeons fly\nTo seal love's bonds new made than they are wont\nTo keep obliged faith unforfeited!\n\nGRATIANO.\nThat ever holds: who riseth from a feast\nWith that keen appetite that he sits down?\nWhere is the horse that doth untread again\nHis tedious measures with the unbated fire\nThat he did pace them first? All things that are\nAre with more spirit chased than enjoy'd.\nHow like a younker or a prodigal\nThe scarfed bark puts from her native bay,\nHugg'd and embraced by the strumpet wind!\nHow like the prodigal doth she return,\nWith over-weather'd ribs and ragged sails,\nLean, rent, and beggar'd by the strumpet wind!\n\nSALARINO.\nHere comes Lorenzo; more of this hereafter.\n\n[Enter LORENZO.]\n\nLORENZO.\nSweet friends, your patience for my long abode;\nNot I, but my affairs, have made you wait:\nWhen you shall please to play the thieves for wives,\nI'll watch as long for you then. Approach;\nHere dwells my father Jew. Ho! who's within?\n\n[Enter JESSICA, above, in boy's clothes.]\n\nJESSICA.\nWho are you? Tell me, for more certainty,\nAlbeit I'll swear that I do know your tongue.\n\nLORENZO.\nLorenzo, and thy love.\n\nJESSICA.\nLorenzo,"} {"answer":"Lawes of\nNature, (which every one hath then kept, when he has the will to keep\nthem, when he can do it safely,) if there be no Power erected, or not\ngreat enough for our security; every man will and may lawfully rely on\nhis own strength and art, for caution against all other men. And in all\nplaces, where men have lived by small Families, to robbe and spoyle one\nanother, has been a Trade, and so farre from being reputed against the\nLaw of Nature, that the greater spoyles they gained, the greater was\ntheir honour; and men observed no other Lawes therein, but the Lawes of\nHonour; that is, to abstain from cruelty, leaving to men their lives,\nand instruments of husbandry. And as small Familyes did then; so now\ndo Cities and Kingdomes which are but greater Families (for their own\nsecurity) enlarge their Dominions, upon all pretences of danger, and\nfear of Invasion, or assistance that may be given to Invaders, endeavour\nas much as they can, to subdue, or weaken their neighbours, by open\nforce, and secret arts, for want of other Caution, justly; and are\nrememdbred for it in after ages with honour.\n\n\n\n\nNor From The Conjunction Of A Few Men Or Familyes\n\nNor is it the joyning together of a small number of men, that gives them\nthis security; because in small numbers, small additions on the one side\nor the other, make the advantage of strength so great, as is sufficient\nto carry the Victory; and therefore gives encouragement to an Invasion.\nThe Multitude sufficient to confide in for our Security, is not\ndetermined","question":"PART II. OF COMMON-WEALTH. CHAPTER XVII. OF THE CAUSES, GENERATION, AND DEFINITION OF A COMMON-WEALTH\n\n\n\n\n\n\nThe End Of Common-wealth, Particular Security\n\nThe finall Cause, End, or Designe of men, (who naturally love Liberty,\nand Dominion over others,) in the introduction of that restraint upon\nthemselves, (in which wee see them live in Common-wealths,) is the\nforesight of their own preservation, and of a more contented life\nthereby; that is to say, of getting themselves out from that miserable\ncondition of Warre, which is necessarily consequent (as hath been shewn)\nto the naturall Passions of men, when there is no visible Power to keep\nthem in awe, and tye them by feare of punishment to the performance of\ntheir Covenants, and observation of these Lawes of Nature set down in\nthe fourteenth and fifteenth Chapters.\n\n\n\n\nWhich Is Not To Be Had From The Law Of Nature:\n\nFor the Lawes of Nature (as Justice, Equity, Modesty, Mercy, and (in\nsumme) Doing To Others, As Wee Would Be Done To,) if themselves, without\nthe terrour of some Power, to cause them to be observed, are contrary to\nour naturall Passions, that carry us to Partiality, Pride, Revenge, and\nthe like. And Covenants, without the Sword, are but Words, and of no\nstrength to secure a man at all. Therefore notwithstanding the"} {"answer":"Matter; And may be divided in such manner as I have\ndivided them in the following Table.\n\n I. Science, that is, Knowledge of Consequences; which is called\n also PHILOSOPHY\n\n A. Consequences from Accidents of Bodies Naturall; which is\n called NATURALL PHILOSOPHY\n\n 1. Consequences from the Accidents common to all Bodies Naturall;\n which are Quantity, and Motion.\n\n a. Consequences from Quantity, and Motion Indeterminate;\n which, being the Principles or first foundation of\n Philosophy, is called Philosophia Prima\n\n PHILOSOPHIA PRIMA\n\n b. Consequences from Motion, and Quantity Determined\n\n 1) Consequences from Quantity, and Motion Determined\n\n a) By Figure, By Number\n\n 1] Mathematiques,\n\n ","question":"CHAPTER IX. OF THE SEVERALL SUBJECTS OF KNOWLEDGE\n\n\n\nThere are of KNOWLEDGE two kinds; whereof one is Knowledge Of Fact: the\nother Knowledge Of The Consequence Of One Affirmation To Another. The\nformer is nothing else, but Sense and Memory, and is Absolute Knowledge;\nas when we see a Fact doing, or remember it done: And this is the\nKnowledge required in a Witnesse. The later is called Science; and is\nConditionall; as when we know, that, If The Figure Showne Be A Circle,\nThen Any Straight Line Through The Centre Shall Divide It Into Two\nEquall Parts. And this is the Knowledge required in a Philosopher; that\nis to say, of him that pretends to Reasoning.\n\nThe Register of Knowledge Of Fact is called History. Whereof there be\ntwo sorts: one called Naturall History; which is the History of such\nFacts, or Effects of Nature, as have no Dependance on Mans Will; Such as\nare the Histories of Metals, Plants, Animals, Regions, and the like. The\nother, is Civill History; which is the History of the Voluntary Actions\nof men in Common-wealths.\n\nThe Registers of Science, are such Books as contain the Demonstrations\nof Consequences of one Affirmation, to another; and are commonly called\nBooks of Philosophy; whereof the sorts are many, according to the\ndiversity of the"} {"answer":"the devil himself. Certainly the\nJew is the very devil incarnal; and, in my conscience, my\nconscience is but a kind of hard conscience, to offer to counsel\nme to stay with the Jew. The fiend gives the more friendly\ncounsel: I will run, fiend; my heels are at your commandment; I\nwill run.\n\n[Enter OLD GOBBO, with a basket]\n\nGOBBO.\nMaster young man, you, I pray you; which is the way to Master\nJew's?\n\nLAUNCELOT.\n[Aside] O heavens! This is my true-begotten father, who, being\nmore\nthan sand-blind, high-gravel blind, knows me not: I will try\nconfusions with him.\n\nGOBBO.\nMaster young gentleman, I pray you, which is the way to Master\nJew's?\n\nLAUNCELOT.\nTurn up on your right hand at the next turning, but, at\nthe next turning of all, on your left; marry, at the very next\nturning, turn of no hand, but turn down indirectly to the Jew's\nhouse.\n\nGOBBO.\nBe God's sonties, 'twill be a hard way to hit. Can you tell\nme whether one Launcelot, that dwells with him, dwell with him or\nno?\n\nLAUNCELOT.\nTalk you of young Master Launcelot? [Aside] Mark me\nnow; now will I raise the waters. Talk you of young Master\nLauncelot?\n\nGOBBO.\nNo master, sir, but a poor man's son; his father, though I\nsay't, is an honest exceeding poor man, and, God be thanked, well\nto live.\n\nLAUNCELOT.\nWell, let his father be what 'a will, we talk of young\nMaster Launcelot.\n\nGOBBO.\nYour worship's friend, and Launcelot, sir.\n\nLAUNCELOT.\nBut I pray you, ergo, old man, ergo, I beseech you, talk\nyou of young Master Launcelot?\n\nGOBBO.\nOf Launcelot, an't please your mastership.\n\nLAUNCELOT.\nErgo, Master Launcelot. Talk not of Master Launcelot,\nfather; for the young gentleman,--according to Fates and\nDestinies\nand such odd sayings,","question":"SCENE 2.\n\nVenice. A street\n\n[Enter LAUNCELOT GOBBO.]\n\nLAUNCELOT.\nCertainly my conscience will serve me to run from this\nJew my master. The fiend is at mine elbow and tempts me, saying\nto me 'Gobbo, Launcelot Gobbo, good Launcelot' or 'good Gobbo' or\n'good Launcelot Gobbo, use your legs, take the start, run away.'\nMy conscience says 'No; take heed, honest Launcelot, take heed,\nhonest Gobbo' or, as aforesaid, 'honest Launcelot Gobbo, do not\nrun; scorn running with thy heels.' Well, the most courageous\nfiend bids me pack. 'Via!' says the fiend; 'away!' says the\nfiend. 'For the heavens, rouse up a brave mind,' says the fiend\n'and run.' Well, my conscience, hanging about the neck of my\nheart, says very wisely to me 'My honest friend Launcelot, being\nan honest man's son'--or rather 'an honest woman's son';--for\nindeed my father did something smack, something grow to, he had a\nkind of taste;--well, my conscience says 'Launcelot, budge not.'\n'Budge,' says the fiend. 'Budge not,' says my conscience.\n'Conscience,' say I, (you counsel well.' 'Fiend,' say I, 'you\ncounsel well.' To be ruled by my conscience, I should stay with\nthe Jew my master, who, God bless the mark! is a kind of devil;\nand, to run away from the Jew, I should be ruled by the fiend,\nwho, saving your reverence! is"} {"answer":"the devil himself. Certainly the\nJew is the very devil incarnal; and, in my conscience, my\nconscience is but a kind of hard conscience, to offer to counsel\nme to stay with the Jew. The fiend gives the more friendly\ncounsel: I will run, fiend; my heels are at your commandment; I\nwill run.\n\n[Enter OLD GOBBO, with a basket]\n\nGOBBO.\nMaster young man, you, I pray you; which is the way to Master\nJew's?\n\nLAUNCELOT.\n[Aside] O heavens! This is my true-begotten father, who, being\nmore\nthan sand-blind, high-gravel blind, knows me not: I will try\nconfusions with him.\n\nGOBBO.\nMaster young gentleman, I pray you, which is the way to Master\nJew's?\n\nLAUNCELOT.\nTurn up on your right hand at the next turning, but, at\nthe next turning of all, on your left; marry, at the very next\nturning, turn of no hand, but turn down indirectly to the Jew's\nhouse.\n\nGOBBO.\nBe God's sonties, 'twill be a hard way to hit. Can you tell\nme whether one Launcelot, that dwells with him, dwell with him or\nno?\n\nLAUNCELOT.\nTalk you of young Master Launcelot? [Aside] Mark me\nnow; now will I raise the waters. Talk you of young Master\nLauncelot?\n\nGOBBO.\nNo master, sir, but a poor man's son; his father, though I\nsay't, is an honest exceeding poor man, and, God be thanked, well\nto live.\n\nLAUNCELOT.\nWell, let his father be what 'a will, we talk of young\nMaster Launcelot.\n\nGOBBO.\nYour worship's friend, and Launcelot, sir.\n\nLAUNCELOT.\nBut I pray you, ergo, old man, ergo, I beseech you, talk\nyou of young Master Launcelot?\n\nGOBBO.\nOf Launcelot, an't please your mastership.\n\nLAUNCELOT.\nErgo, Master Launcelot. Talk not of Master Launcelot,\nfather; for the young gentleman,--according to Fates and\nDestinies\nand such odd sayings,","question":"SCENE 2.\n\nVenice. A street\n\n[Enter LAUNCELOT GOBBO.]\n\nLAUNCELOT.\nCertainly my conscience will serve me to run from this\nJew my master. The fiend is at mine elbow and tempts me, saying\nto me 'Gobbo, Launcelot Gobbo, good Launcelot' or 'good Gobbo' or\n'good Launcelot Gobbo, use your legs, take the start, run away.'\nMy conscience says 'No; take heed, honest Launcelot, take heed,\nhonest Gobbo' or, as aforesaid, 'honest Launcelot Gobbo, do not\nrun; scorn running with thy heels.' Well, the most courageous\nfiend bids me pack. 'Via!' says the fiend; 'away!' says the\nfiend. 'For the heavens, rouse up a brave mind,' says the fiend\n'and run.' Well, my conscience, hanging about the neck of my\nheart, says very wisely to me 'My honest friend Launcelot, being\nan honest man's son'--or rather 'an honest woman's son';--for\nindeed my father did something smack, something grow to, he had a\nkind of taste;--well, my conscience says 'Launcelot, budge not.'\n'Budge,' says the fiend. 'Budge not,' says my conscience.\n'Conscience,' say I, (you counsel well.' 'Fiend,' say I, 'you\ncounsel well.' To be ruled by my conscience, I should stay with\nthe Jew my master, who, God bless the mark! is a kind of devil;\nand, to run away from the Jew, I should be ruled by the fiend,\nwho, saving your reverence! is"} {"answer":"help! My lady's dead!\n O weraday that ever I was born!\n Some aqua-vitae, ho! My lord! my lady!\n\n Enter Mother.\n\n\n Mother. What noise is here?\n\n Nurse. O lamentable day!\n\n Mother. What is the matter?\n\n Nurse. Look, look! O heavy day!\n\n Mother. O me, O me! My child, my only life!\n Revive, look up, or I will die with thee!\n Help, help! Call help.\n\n Enter Father.\n\n\n Father. For shame, bring Juliet forth; her lord is come.\n\n Nurse. She's dead, deceas'd; she's dead! Alack the day!\n\n Mother. Alack the day, she's dead, she's dead, she's dead!\n\n Cap. Ha! let me see her. Out alas! she's cold,\n Her blood is settled, and her joints are stiff;\n Life and these lips have long been separated.\n Death lies on her like an untimely frost\n Upon the sweetest flower of all the field.\n\n Nurse. O lamentable day!\n\n Mother. O woful time!\n\n Cap. Death, that hath ta'en her hence to make me wail,\n Ties up","question":"Scene V.\nJuliet's chamber.\n\n[Enter Nurse.]\n\n\n Nurse. Mistress! what, mistress! Juliet! Fast, I warrant her, she.\n Why, lamb! why, lady! Fie, you slug-abed!\n Why, love, I say! madam! sweetheart! Why, bride!\n What, not a word? You take your pennyworths now!\n Sleep for a week; for the next night, I warrant,\n The County Paris hath set up his rest\n That you shall rest but little. God forgive me!\n Marry, and amen. How sound is she asleep!\n I needs must wake her. Madam, madam, madam!\n Ay, let the County take you in your bed!\n He'll fright you up, i' faith. Will it not be?\n [Draws aside the curtains.]\n What, dress'd, and in your clothes, and down again?\n I must needs wake you. Lady! lady! lady!\n Alas, alas! Help,"} {"answer":"no trouble taking it, I warrant.\n\n MARIANE\n No more than you did giving it, be sure.\n\n VALERE\n I gave it, truly, to oblige you, madam.\n\n MARIANE\n And I shall take it to oblige you, sir.\n\n Dorine (withdrawing to the back of the stage)\n Let's see what this affair will come to.\n\n VALERE\n So,\n That is your love? And it was all deceit\n When you ...\n\n MARIANE\n I beg you, say no more of that.\n You told me, squarely, sir, I should accept\n The husband that is offered me; and I\n Will tell you squarely that I mean to do so,\n Since you have given me this good advice.\n\n VALERE\n Don't shield yourself with talk of my advice.\n You had your mind made up, that's evident;\n And now you're snatching at a trifling pretext\n To justify the breaking of your word.\n\n MARIANE\n Exactly so.\n\n VALERE\n Of course it is; your heart\n Has never known true love for me.\n\n MARIANE\n Alas!\n You're free to think so, if you please.\n\n VALERE\n Yes, yes,\n I'm free to think so; and my outraged love\n May yet forestall you in your perfidy,\n And offer elsewhere both my heart and hand.\n\n MARIANE\n No doubt of it; the love your high deserts\n May win ...\n\n VALERE\n Good","question":"SCENE IV\n\n VALERE, MARIANE, DORINE\n\n\n VALERE\n Madam, a piece of news--quite new to me--\n Has just come out, and very fine it is.\n\n MARIANE\n What piece of news?\n\n VALERE\n Your marriage with Tartuffe.\n\n MARIANE\n 'Tis true my father has this plan in mind.\n\n VALERE\n Your father, madam ...\n\n MARIANE\n Yes, he's changed his plans,\n And did but now propose it to me.\n\n VALERE\n What!\n Seriously?\n\n MARIANE\n Yes, he was serious,\n And openly insisted on the match.\n\n VALERE\n And what's your resolution in the matter,\n Madam?\n\n MARIANE\n I don't know.\n\n VALERE\n That's a pretty answer.\n You don't know?\n\n MARIANE\n No.\n\n VALERE\n No?\n\n MARIANE\n What do you advise?\n\n VALERE\n I? My advice is, marry him, by all means.\n\n MARIANE\n That's your advice?\n\n VALERE\n Yes.\n\n MARIANE\n Do you mean it?\n\n VALERE\n Surely.\n A splendid choice, and worthy of your acceptance.\n\n MARIANE\n Oh, very well, sir! I shall take your counsel.\n\n VALERE\n You'll find"} {"answer":"sweet temper made him think every thing due\nto her in return for the great goodness of being in love with him;\nbut though she had one sort of spirit, she had not the best. She had\nresolution enough to pursue her own will in spite of her brother,\nbut not enough to refrain from unreasonable regrets at that brother's\nunreasonable anger, nor from missing the luxuries of her former home.\nThey lived beyond their income, but still it was nothing in comparison\nof Enscombe: she did not cease to love her husband, but she wanted at\nonce to be the wife of Captain Weston, and Miss Churchill of Enscombe.\n\nCaptain Weston, who had been considered, especially by the Churchills,\nas making such an amazing match, was proved to have much the worst of\nthe bargain; for when his wife died, after a three years' marriage, he\nwas rather a poorer man than at first, and with a child to maintain.\nFrom the expense of the child, however, he was soon relieved. The boy\nhad, with the additional softening claim of a lingering illness of his\nmother's, been the means of a sort of reconciliation; and Mr. and Mrs.\nChurchill, having no children of their own, nor any other young creature\nof equal kindred to care for, offered to take the whole charge of the\nlittle Frank soon after her decease. Some scruples and some reluctance\nthe widower-father may be supposed to have felt; but as they were\novercome by other considerations, the child was given up to the care and\nthe wealth of the Churchills, and he had only his","question":"\n\nMr. Weston was a native of Highbury, and born of a respectable family,\nwhich for the last two or three generations had been rising into\ngentility and property. He had received a good education, but, on\nsucceeding early in life to a small independence, had become indisposed\nfor any of the more homely pursuits in which his brothers were engaged,\nand had satisfied an active, cheerful mind and social temper by entering\ninto the militia of his county, then embodied.\n\nCaptain Weston was a general favourite; and when the chances of his\nmilitary life had introduced him to Miss Churchill, of a great Yorkshire\nfamily, and Miss Churchill fell in love with him, nobody was surprized,\nexcept her brother and his wife, who had never seen him, and who were\nfull of pride and importance, which the connexion would offend.\n\nMiss Churchill, however, being of age, and with the full command of her\nfortune--though her fortune bore no proportion to the family-estate--was\nnot to be dissuaded from the marriage, and it took place, to the\ninfinite mortification of Mr. and Mrs. Churchill, who threw her off with\ndue decorum. It was an unsuitable connexion, and did not produce much\nhappiness. Mrs. Weston ought to have found more in it, for she had a\nhusband whose warm heart and"} {"answer":"sweet temper made him think every thing due\nto her in return for the great goodness of being in love with him;\nbut though she had one sort of spirit, she had not the best. She had\nresolution enough to pursue her own will in spite of her brother,\nbut not enough to refrain from unreasonable regrets at that brother's\nunreasonable anger, nor from missing the luxuries of her former home.\nThey lived beyond their income, but still it was nothing in comparison\nof Enscombe: she did not cease to love her husband, but she wanted at\nonce to be the wife of Captain Weston, and Miss Churchill of Enscombe.\n\nCaptain Weston, who had been considered, especially by the Churchills,\nas making such an amazing match, was proved to have much the worst of\nthe bargain; for when his wife died, after a three years' marriage, he\nwas rather a poorer man than at first, and with a child to maintain.\nFrom the expense of the child, however, he was soon relieved. The boy\nhad, with the additional softening claim of a lingering illness of his\nmother's, been the means of a sort of reconciliation; and Mr. and Mrs.\nChurchill, having no children of their own, nor any other young creature\nof equal kindred to care for, offered to take the whole charge of the\nlittle Frank soon after her decease. Some scruples and some reluctance\nthe widower-father may be supposed to have felt; but as they were\novercome by other considerations, the child was given up to the care and\nthe wealth of the Churchills, and he had only his","question":"\n\nMr. Weston was a native of Highbury, and born of a respectable family,\nwhich for the last two or three generations had been rising into\ngentility and property. He had received a good education, but, on\nsucceeding early in life to a small independence, had become indisposed\nfor any of the more homely pursuits in which his brothers were engaged,\nand had satisfied an active, cheerful mind and social temper by entering\ninto the militia of his county, then embodied.\n\nCaptain Weston was a general favourite; and when the chances of his\nmilitary life had introduced him to Miss Churchill, of a great Yorkshire\nfamily, and Miss Churchill fell in love with him, nobody was surprized,\nexcept her brother and his wife, who had never seen him, and who were\nfull of pride and importance, which the connexion would offend.\n\nMiss Churchill, however, being of age, and with the full command of her\nfortune--though her fortune bore no proportion to the family-estate--was\nnot to be dissuaded from the marriage, and it took place, to the\ninfinite mortification of Mr. and Mrs. Churchill, who threw her off with\ndue decorum. It was an unsuitable connexion, and did not produce much\nhappiness. Mrs. Weston ought to have found more in it, for she had a\nhusband whose warm heart and"} {"answer":"that make to him on the spur:\nYet he spurs on. Now they are almost on him.--\nNow, Titinius!--Now some 'light. O, he 'lights too:\nHe's ta'en; [Shout.] and, hark! they shout for joy.\n\nCASSIUS.\nCome down; behold no more.--\nO, coward that I am, to live so long,\nTo see my best friend ta'en before my face!\n\n[Pindarus descends.]\n\nCome hither, sirrah:\nIn Parthia did I take thee prisoner;\nAnd then I swore thee, saving of thy life,\nThat whatsoever I did bid thee do,\nThou shouldst attempt it. Come now, keep thine oath;\nNow be a freeman; and with this good sword,\nThat ran through Caesar's bowels, search this bosom.\nStand not to answer: here, take thou the hilts;\nAnd when my face is cover'd, as 'tis now,\nGuide thou the sword.--Caesar, thou art revenged,\nEven with the sword that kill'd thee.\n\n[Dies.]\n\nPINDARUS.\nSo, I am free, yet would not so have been,\nDurst I have done my will.--O Cassius!\nFar from this country Pindarus shall run,\nWhere never Roman shall take note of him.\n\n[Exit.]\n\n[Re-enter Titinius with Messala.]\n\nMESSALA.\nIt is but change, Titinius; for Octavius\nIs overthrown by noble Brutus' power,\nAs Cassius' legions are by Antony.\n\nTITINIUS.\nThese tidings would well comfort Cassius.\n\nMESSALA.\nWhere did you leave him?\n\nTITINIUS.\nAll disconsolate,\nWith Pindarus his bondman, on this hill.\n\nMESSALA.\nIs not that he that lies upon the ground?\n\nTITINIUS.\nHe lies not like the living. O my heart!\n\nMESSALA.\nIs not that he?\n\nTITINIUS.\nNo, this was he, Messala,\nBut Cassius is no more.--O setting Sun,\nAs in thy red rays thou dost sink to night,\nSo in his red blood Cassius' day is set,\nThe sun of Rome is set! Our day is gone;\nClouds, dews, and dangers come; our deeds are","question":"SCENE III. Another part of the field.\n\n[Alarum. Enter Cassius and Titinius.]\n\nCASSIUS.\nO, look, Titinius, look, the villains fly!\nMyself have to mine own turn'd enemy:\nThis ensign here of mine was turning back;\nI slew the coward, and did take it from him.\n\nTITINIUS.\nO Cassius, Brutus gave the word too early;\nWho, having some advantage on Octavius,\nTook it too eagerly: his soldiers fell to spoil,\nWhilst we by Antony are all enclosed.\n\n[Enter Pindarus.]\n\nPINDARUS.\nFly further off, my lord, fly further off;\nMark Antony is in your tents, my lord:\nFly, therefore, noble Cassius, fly far' off.\n\nCASSIUS.\nThis hill is far enough.--Look, look, Titinius;\nAre those my tents where I perceive the fire?\n\nTITINIUS.\nThey are, my lord.\n\nCASSIUS.\nTitinius, if thou lovest me,\nMount thou my horse and hide thy spurs in him,\nTill he have brought thee up to yonder troops\nAnd here again; that I may rest assured\nWhether yond troops are friend or enemy.\n\nTITINIUS.\nI will be here again, even with a thought.\n\n[Exit.]\n\nCASSIUS.\nGo, Pindarus, get higher on that hill:\nMy sight was ever thick: regard Titinius,\nAnd tell me what thou notest about the field.--\n\n[Pindarus goes up.]\n\nThis day I breathed first: time is come round,\nAnd where I did begin, there shall I end;\nMy life is run his compass.--Sirrah, what news?\n\nPINDARUS.\n[Above.] O my lord!\n\nCASSIUS.\nWhat news?\n\nPINDARUS.\n[Above.] Titinius is enclosed round about\nWith horsemen,"} {"answer":"men-of-war and trading vessels, Japanese and\nChinese junks, sempas, tankas, and flower-boats, which formed so many\nfloating parterres. Passepartout noticed in the crowd a number of the\nnatives who seemed very old and were dressed in yellow. On going into\na barber's to get shaved he learned that these ancient men were all at\nleast eighty years old, at which age they are permitted to wear yellow,\nwhich is the Imperial colour. Passepartout, without exactly knowing\nwhy, thought this very funny.\n\nOn reaching the quay where they were to embark on the Carnatic, he was\nnot astonished to find Fix walking up and down. The detective seemed\nvery much disturbed and disappointed.\n\n\"This is bad,\" muttered Passepartout, \"for the gentlemen of the Reform\nClub!\" He accosted Fix with a merry smile, as if he had not perceived\nthat gentleman's chagrin. The detective had, indeed, good reasons to\ninveigh against the bad luck which pursued him. The warrant had not\ncome! It was certainly on the way, but as certainly it could not now\nreach Hong Kong for several days; and, this being the last English\nterritory on Mr. Fogg's route, the robber would escape, unless he could\nmanage to detain him.\n\n\"Well, Monsieur Fix,\" said Passepartout, \"have you decided to go with\nus so far as America?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" returned Fix, through his set teeth.\n\n\"Good!\" exclaimed Passepartout, laughing heartily. \"I knew you could\nnot persuade yourself to separate from us. Come and engage your berth.\"\n\nThey entered the steamer office and secured cabins for four persons.\nThe clerk, as he gave them the tickets, informed","question":"\nHong Kong is an island which came into the possession of the English by\nthe Treaty of Nankin, after the war of 1842; and the colonising genius\nof the English has created upon it an important city and an excellent\nport. The island is situated at the mouth of the Canton River, and is\nseparated by about sixty miles from the Portuguese town of Macao, on\nthe opposite coast. Hong Kong has beaten Macao in the struggle for the\nChinese trade, and now the greater part of the transportation of\nChinese goods finds its depot at the former place. Docks, hospitals,\nwharves, a Gothic cathedral, a government house, macadamised streets,\ngive to Hong Kong the appearance of a town in Kent or Surrey\ntransferred by some strange magic to the antipodes.\n\nPassepartout wandered, with his hands in his pockets, towards the\nVictoria port, gazing as he went at the curious palanquins and other\nmodes of conveyance, and the groups of Chinese, Japanese, and Europeans\nwho passed to and fro in the streets. Hong Kong seemed to him not\nunlike Bombay, Calcutta, and Singapore, since, like them, it betrayed\neverywhere the evidence of English supremacy. At the Victoria port he\nfound a confused mass of ships of all nations: English, French,\nAmerican, and Dutch,"} {"answer":"him; and, on\nleaving the Cunard pier, only said: \"We will consult about what is best\nto-morrow. Come.\"\n\nThe party crossed the Hudson in the Jersey City ferryboat, and drove in\na carriage to the St. Nicholas Hotel, on Broadway. Rooms were engaged,\nand the night passed, briefly to Phileas Fogg, who slept profoundly,\nbut very long to Aouda and the others, whose agitation did not permit\nthem to rest.\n\nThe next day was the 12th of December. From seven in the morning of\nthe 12th to a quarter before nine in the evening of the 21st there were\nnine days, thirteen hours, and forty-five minutes. If Phileas Fogg had\nleft in the China, one of the fastest steamers on the Atlantic, he\nwould have reached Liverpool, and then London, within the period agreed\nupon.\n\nMr. Fogg left the hotel alone, after giving Passepartout instructions\nto await his return, and inform Aouda to be ready at an instant's\nnotice. He proceeded to the banks of the Hudson, and looked about\namong the vessels moored or anchored in the river, for any that were\nabout to depart. Several had departure signals, and were preparing to\nput to sea at morning tide; for in this immense and admirable port\nthere is not one day in a hundred that vessels do not set out for every\nquarter of the globe. But they were mostly sailing vessels, of which,\nof course, Phileas Fogg could make no use.\n\nHe seemed about to give up all hope, when he espied, anchored at the\nBattery, a cable's length off at most, a trading vessel,","question":"\nThe China, in leaving, seemed to have carried off Phileas Fogg's last\nhope. None of the other steamers were able to serve his projects. The\nPereire, of the French Transatlantic Company, whose admirable steamers\nare equal to any in speed and comfort, did not leave until the 14th;\nthe Hamburg boats did not go directly to Liverpool or London, but to\nHavre; and the additional trip from Havre to Southampton would render\nPhileas Fogg's last efforts of no avail. The Inman steamer did not\ndepart till the next day, and could not cross the Atlantic in time to\nsave the wager.\n\nMr. Fogg learned all this in consulting his Bradshaw, which gave him\nthe daily movements of the trans-Atlantic steamers.\n\nPassepartout was crushed; it overwhelmed him to lose the boat by\nthree-quarters of an hour. It was his fault, for, instead of helping\nhis master, he had not ceased putting obstacles in his path! And when\nhe recalled all the incidents of the tour, when he counted up the sums\nexpended in pure loss and on his own account, when he thought that the\nimmense stake, added to the heavy charges of this useless journey,\nwould completely ruin Mr. Fogg, he overwhelmed himself with bitter\nself-accusations. Mr. Fogg, however, did not reproach"} {"answer":"I do this?\n\n_Fri. T._ Gladly, my lord.\n\n_Duke._ We have strict statutes and most biting laws,\nThe needful bits and curbs to headstrong weeds, 20\nWhich for this fourteen years we have let slip;\nEven like an o'ergrown lion in a cave,\nThat goes not out to prey. Now, as fond fathers,\nHaving bound up the threatening twigs of birch,\nOnly to stick it in their children's sight 25\nFor terror, not to use, in time the rod\nBecomes more mock'd than fear'd; so our decrees.\nDead to infliction, to themselves are dead;\nAnd liberty plucks justice by the nose;\nThe baby beats the nurse, and quite athwart 30\nGoes all decorum.\n\n_Fri. T._ It rested in your Grace\nTo unloose this tied-up justice when you pleased:\nAnd it in you more dreadful would have seem'd\nThan in Lord Angelo.\n\n_Duke._ I do fear, too dreadful:\nSith 'twas my fault to give the people scope, 35\n'Twould be my tyranny to strike and gall them\nFor","question":"SCENE III. \n\n_A monastery._\n\n _Enter _Duke_ and FRIAR THOMAS._\n\n_Duke._ No, holy father; throw away that thought;\nBelieve not that the dribbling dart of love\nCan pierce a complete bosom. Why I desire thee\nTo give me secret harbour, hath a purpose\nMore grave and wrinkled than the aims and ends 5\nOf burning youth.\n\n_Fri. T._ May your grace speak of it?\n\n_Duke._ My holy sir, none better knows than you\nHow I have ever loved the life removed,\nAnd held in idle price to haunt assemblies\nWhere youth, and cost, and witless bravery keeps. 10\nI have deliver'd to Lord Angelo,\nA man of stricture and firm abstinence,\nMy absolute power and place here in Vienna,\nAnd he supposes me travell'd to Poland;\nFor so I have strew'd it in the common ear, 15\nAnd so it is received. Now, pious sir,\nYou will demand of me why"} {"answer":"some better time.\nBy heaven, Hubert, I am almost asham'd\nTo say what good respect I have of thee.\n\nHUBERT.\nI am much bounden to your majesty.\n\nKING JOHN.\nGood friend, thou hast no cause to say so yet:\nBut thou shalt have; and creep time ne'er so slow,\nYet it shall come for me to do thee good.\nI had a thing to say,--but let it go:\nThe sun is in the heaven, and the proud day,\nAttended with the pleasures of the world,\nIs all too wanton and too full of gawds\nTo give me audience:--if the midnight bell\nDid, with his iron tongue and brazen mouth,\nSound on into the drowsy race of night;\nIf this same were a churchyard where we stand,\nAnd thou possessed with a thousand wrongs;\nOr if that surly spirit, melancholy,\nHad bak'd thy blood and made it heavy-thick,\nWhich else runs tickling up and down the veins,\nMaking that idiot, laughter, keep men's eyes,\nAnd strain their cheeks to idle merriment--\nA passion hateful to my purposes;--\nOr if that thou couldst see me without eyes,\nHear me without thine ears, and make reply\nWithout a tongue, using conceit alone,\nWithout eyes, ears, and harmful sound of words,--\nThen, in despite of brooded watchful day,\nI would into thy bosom pour my thoughts:\nBut, ah, I will not!--yet I love thee well;\nAnd, by my troth, I think thou lov'st me well.\n\nHUBERT.\nSo well that what you bid me undertake,\nThough that my death were adjunct to my act,\nBy heaven, I would do it.\n\nKING JOHN.\nDo not I know thou wouldst?\nGood Hubert, Hubert, Hubert, throw thine eye\nOn yon young boy: I'll tell thee what, my","question":"SCENE 3.\n\nThe same.\n\n[Alarums, Excursions, Retreat. Enter KING JOHN, ELINOR, ARTHUR,\nthe BASTARD, HUBERT, and LORDS.]\n\nKING JOHN.\n[To ELINOR] So shall it be; your grace shall stay behind,\nSo strongly guarded.--\n[To ARTHUR] Cousin, look not sad;\nThy grandam loves thee, and thy uncle will\nAs dear be to thee as thy father was.\n\nARTHUR.\nO, this will make my mother die with grief!\n\nKING JOHN.\nCousin [To the BASTARD], away for England; haste before:\nAnd, ere our coming, see thou shake the bags\nOf hoarding abbots; imprison'd angels\nSet at liberty: the fat ribs of peace\nMust by the hungry now be fed upon:\nUse our commission in his utmost force.\n\nBASTARD.\nBell, book, and candle shall not drive me back,\nWhen gold and silver becks me to come on.\nI leave your highness.--Grandam, I will pray,--\nIf ever I remember to be holy,--\nFor your fair safety; so, I kiss your hand.\n\nELINOR.\nFarewell, gentle cousin.\n\nKING JOHN.\nCoz, farewell.\n\n[Exit BASTARD.]\n\nELINOR.\nCome hither, little kinsman; hark, a word.\n\n[She takes Arthur aside.]\n\nKING JOHN.\nCome hither, Hubert. O my gentle Hubert,\nWe owe thee much! within this wall of flesh\nThere is a soul counts thee her creditor,\nAnd with advantage means to pay thy love:\nAnd, my good friend, thy voluntary oath\nLives in this bosom, dearly cherished.\nGive me thy hand. I had a thing to say,--\nBut I will fit it with"} {"answer":"of blood where'er it walks.\nReturn and tell him so: we know the worst.\n\nBASTARD.\nWhate'er you think, good words, I think, were best.\n\nSALISBURY.\nOur griefs, and not our manners, reason now.\n\nBASTARD.\nBut there is little reason in your grief;\nTherefore 'twere reason you had manners now.\n\nPEMBROKE.\nSir, sir, impatience hath his privilege.\n\nBASTARD.\n 'Tis true,--to hurt his master, no man else.\n\nSALISBURY.\nThis is the prison:--what is he lies here?\n\n[Seeing Arthur.]\n\nPEMBROKE.\nO death, made proud with pure and princely beauty!\nThe earth had not a hole to hide this deed.\n\nSALISBURY.\nMurder, as hating what himself hath done,\nDoth lay it open to urge on revenge.\n\nBIGOT.\nOr, when he doom'd this beauty to a grave,\nFound it too precious-princely for a grave.\n\nSALISBURY.\nSir Richard, what think you? Have you beheld,\nOr have you read or heard, or could you think?\nOr do you almost think, although you see,\nThat you do see? could thought, without this object,\nForm such another? This is the very top,\nThe height, the crest, or crest unto the crest,\nOf murder's arms: this is the bloodiest shame,\nThe wildest savagery, the vilest stroke,\nThat ever wall-ey'd wrath or staring rage\nPresented to the tears of soft remorse.\n\nPEMBROKE.\nAll murders past do stand excus'd in this;\nAnd this, so sole and so unmatchable,\nShall give a holiness, a purity,\nTo the yet unbegotten sin of times;\nAnd prove a deadly bloodshed but a jest,\nExampled by this heinous spectacle.\n\nBASTARD.\nIt is a damned and a bloody work;\nThe graceless action of a heavy hand,--\nIf that it be the work of any hand.\n\nSALISBURY.\nIf that it be the work of any hand?--\nWe had a kind of light what would ensue.\nIt is the","question":"SCENE 3.\n\nThe same. Before the castle.\n\n[Enter ARTHUR, on the Walls.]\n\nARTHUR.\nThe wall is high, and yet will I leap down:--\nGood ground, be pitiful and hurt me not!--\nThere's few or none do know me: if they did,\nThis ship-boy's semblance hath disguis'd me quite.\nI am afraid; and yet I'll venture it.\nIf I get down, and do not break my limbs,\nI'll find a thousand shifts to get away:\nAs good to die and go, as die and stay.\n\n[Leaps down.]\n\nO me! my uncle's spirit is in these stones:--\nHeaven take my soul, and England keep my bones!\n\n[Dies.]\n\n[Enter PEMBROKE, SALISBURY, and BIGOT.]\n\nSALISBURY.\nLords, I will meet him at Saint Edmunds-Bury;\nIt is our safety, and we must embrace\nThis gentle offer of the perilous time.\n\nPEMBROKE.\nWho brought that letter from the cardinal?\n\nSALISBURY.\nThe Count Melun, a noble lord of France,\nWhose private with me of the Dauphin's love\nIs much more general than these lines import.\n\nBIGOT.\nTo-morrow morning let us meet him then.\n\nSALISBURY.\nOr rather then set forward; for 'twill be\nTwo long days' journey, lords, or e'er we meet.\n\n[Enter the BASTARD.]\n\nBASTARD.\nOnce more to-day well met, distemper'd lords!\nThe king by me requests your presence straight.\n\nSALISBURY.\nThe King hath dispossess'd himself of us.\nWe will not line his thin bestained cloak\nWith our pure honours, nor attend the foot\nThat leaves the print"} {"answer":"of blood where'er it walks.\nReturn and tell him so: we know the worst.\n\nBASTARD.\nWhate'er you think, good words, I think, were best.\n\nSALISBURY.\nOur griefs, and not our manners, reason now.\n\nBASTARD.\nBut there is little reason in your grief;\nTherefore 'twere reason you had manners now.\n\nPEMBROKE.\nSir, sir, impatience hath his privilege.\n\nBASTARD.\n 'Tis true,--to hurt his master, no man else.\n\nSALISBURY.\nThis is the prison:--what is he lies here?\n\n[Seeing Arthur.]\n\nPEMBROKE.\nO death, made proud with pure and princely beauty!\nThe earth had not a hole to hide this deed.\n\nSALISBURY.\nMurder, as hating what himself hath done,\nDoth lay it open to urge on revenge.\n\nBIGOT.\nOr, when he doom'd this beauty to a grave,\nFound it too precious-princely for a grave.\n\nSALISBURY.\nSir Richard, what think you? Have you beheld,\nOr have you read or heard, or could you think?\nOr do you almost think, although you see,\nThat you do see? could thought, without this object,\nForm such another? This is the very top,\nThe height, the crest, or crest unto the crest,\nOf murder's arms: this is the bloodiest shame,\nThe wildest savagery, the vilest stroke,\nThat ever wall-ey'd wrath or staring rage\nPresented to the tears of soft remorse.\n\nPEMBROKE.\nAll murders past do stand excus'd in this;\nAnd this, so sole and so unmatchable,\nShall give a holiness, a purity,\nTo the yet unbegotten sin of times;\nAnd prove a deadly bloodshed but a jest,\nExampled by this heinous spectacle.\n\nBASTARD.\nIt is a damned and a bloody work;\nThe graceless action of a heavy hand,--\nIf that it be the work of any hand.\n\nSALISBURY.\nIf that it be the work of any hand?--\nWe had a kind of light what would ensue.\nIt is the","question":"SCENE 3.\n\nThe same. Before the castle.\n\n[Enter ARTHUR, on the Walls.]\n\nARTHUR.\nThe wall is high, and yet will I leap down:--\nGood ground, be pitiful and hurt me not!--\nThere's few or none do know me: if they did,\nThis ship-boy's semblance hath disguis'd me quite.\nI am afraid; and yet I'll venture it.\nIf I get down, and do not break my limbs,\nI'll find a thousand shifts to get away:\nAs good to die and go, as die and stay.\n\n[Leaps down.]\n\nO me! my uncle's spirit is in these stones:--\nHeaven take my soul, and England keep my bones!\n\n[Dies.]\n\n[Enter PEMBROKE, SALISBURY, and BIGOT.]\n\nSALISBURY.\nLords, I will meet him at Saint Edmunds-Bury;\nIt is our safety, and we must embrace\nThis gentle offer of the perilous time.\n\nPEMBROKE.\nWho brought that letter from the cardinal?\n\nSALISBURY.\nThe Count Melun, a noble lord of France,\nWhose private with me of the Dauphin's love\nIs much more general than these lines import.\n\nBIGOT.\nTo-morrow morning let us meet him then.\n\nSALISBURY.\nOr rather then set forward; for 'twill be\nTwo long days' journey, lords, or e'er we meet.\n\n[Enter the BASTARD.]\n\nBASTARD.\nOnce more to-day well met, distemper'd lords!\nThe king by me requests your presence straight.\n\nSALISBURY.\nThe King hath dispossess'd himself of us.\nWe will not line his thin bestained cloak\nWith our pure honours, nor attend the foot\nThat leaves the print"} {"answer":"thirty miles high, which are altogether impassable, by reason\nof the volcanoes upon the tops: neither do the most learned know what\nsort of mortals inhabit beyond those mountains, or whether they be\ninhabited at all. On the three other sides it is bounded by the ocean.\nThere is not one sea-port in the whole kingdom, and those parts of the\ncoasts into which the rivers issue, are so full of pointed rocks, and\nthe sea generally so rough, that there is no venturing with the smallest\nof their boats; so that these people are wholly excluded from any\ncommerce with the rest of the world.\n\nBut the large rivers are full of vessels, and abound with excellent\nfish, for they seldom get any from the sea, because the sea-fish are of\nthe same size with those in Europe, and consequently not worth catching,\nwhereby it is manifest, that nature, in the production of plants and\nanimals of so extraordinary a bulk, is wholly confined to this\ncontinent, of which I leave the reasons to be determined by\nphilosophers. However, now and then, they take a whale, that happens to\nbe dashed against the rocks, which the common people feed on heartily.\nThese whales I have known so large, that a man could hardly carry one\nupon his shoulders; and sometimes, for curiosity, they are brought in\nhampers to Lorbrulgrud: I saw one of them in a dish at the king's table,\nwhich passed for a rarity, but I did not observe he was fond of it; for\nI think indeed the bigness disgusted him, although I have seen one\nsomewhat larger","question":"CHAPTER IV.\n\n THE COUNTRY DESCRIBED. A PROPOSAL FOR CORRECTING MODERN MAPS. THE\n KING'S PALACE, AND SOME ACCOUNT OF THE METROPOLIS. THE AUTHOR'S WAY\n OF TRAVELLING. THE CHIEF TEMPLE DESCRIBED.\n\n\nI now intend to give the reader a short description of this country, as\nfar as I travelled in it, which was not above two thousand miles round\nLorbrulgrud, the metropolis. For the queen, whom I always attended,\nnever went farther when she accompanied the king in his progresses, and\nthere staid till his majesty returned from viewing his frontiers. The\nwhole extent of this prince's dominions reacheth about six thousand\nmiles in length, and from three to five in breadth. From whence I cannot\nbut conclude, that our geographers of Europe are in a great error, by\nsupposing nothing but sea between Japan and California; for it was ever\nmy opinion, that there must be a balance of earth to counterpoise the\ngreat continent of Tartary; and therefore they ought to correct their\nmaps and charts, by joining this vast tract of land to the northwest\nparts of America, wherein I shall be ready to lend them my assistance.\n\nThe kingdom is a peninsula, terminated to the northeast by a ridge of\nmountains,"} {"answer":"a good show\non't.--[_Aside._] Marry, I'll ride your horse as well as I ride you.\n\n _Enter_ FABIAN _and_ VIOLA.\n\nI have his horse [_To_ FABIAN.] to take up the quarrel; I have persuaded\nhim, the youth's a devil.\n\n _Fab._ [_To_ SIR TOBY.] He is as horribly conceited of him; and\npants, as if a bear were at his heels.\n\n _Sir To._ [_To_ VIOLA.] There's no remedy, sir; he will fight with\nyou for his oath sake: marry, he hath better bethought him of his\nquarrel, and he finds that now scarce to be worth talking of: therefore\ndraw, for the supportance of his vow; he protests, he will not hurt you.\n\n _Vio._ [_Draws her Sword._] Pray heaven defend me!--[_Aside._] A\nlittle thing would make me tell them how much I lack of a man.\n\n _Fab._ [_To_ VIOLA.] Give ground, if you see him furious.\n\n _Sir To._ Come, Sir Andrew, there's no remedy; the gentleman will,\nfor his honour's sake, have one bout with you: he cannot by the duello\navoid it: but he has promised me, as he is a gentleman and a soldier, he\nwill not hurt you. Come on; to 't.\n\n _Sir And._ [_Draws._] Pray heaven, he keep his oath!\n\n _Vio._ I do assure you, 'tis against my will.\n\n [_They fight._--SIR TOBY _and_ FABIAN _urge on_ SIR","question":"SCENE II.\n\n\n OLIVIA'S _Garden_.\n\n _Enter_ SIR TOBY, _with_ SIR ANDREW, _in a great fright_.\n\n _Sir To._ Why, man, he's a very devil;--\n\n _Sir And._ Oh!\n\n _Sir To._ I have not seen such a virago. I had a pass with\nhim,--rapier, scabbard, and all,--and he gives me the stuck-in,----\n\n _Sir And._ Oh!\n\n _Sir To._ With such a mortal motion, that it is inevitable: they\nsay, he has been fencer to the Sophy.\n\n _Sir And._ Plague on't, I'll not meddle with him.\n\n _Sir To._ Ay, but he will not now be pacified: Fabian can scarce\nhold him yonder.\n\n _Sir And._ Plague on't; an I thought he had been valiant, and so\ncunning in fence, I'd have seen him damn'd ere I had challenged him. Let\nhim let the matter slip, and I'll give him my horse, grey Capilet.\n\n _Sir To._ I'll make the motion: Stand here, make"} {"answer":"a good show\non't.--[_Aside._] Marry, I'll ride your horse as well as I ride you.\n\n _Enter_ FABIAN _and_ VIOLA.\n\nI have his horse [_To_ FABIAN.] to take up the quarrel; I have persuaded\nhim, the youth's a devil.\n\n _Fab._ [_To_ SIR TOBY.] He is as horribly conceited of him; and\npants, as if a bear were at his heels.\n\n _Sir To._ [_To_ VIOLA.] There's no remedy, sir; he will fight with\nyou for his oath sake: marry, he hath better bethought him of his\nquarrel, and he finds that now scarce to be worth talking of: therefore\ndraw, for the supportance of his vow; he protests, he will not hurt you.\n\n _Vio._ [_Draws her Sword._] Pray heaven defend me!--[_Aside._] A\nlittle thing would make me tell them how much I lack of a man.\n\n _Fab._ [_To_ VIOLA.] Give ground, if you see him furious.\n\n _Sir To._ Come, Sir Andrew, there's no remedy; the gentleman will,\nfor his honour's sake, have one bout with you: he cannot by the duello\navoid it: but he has promised me, as he is a gentleman and a soldier, he\nwill not hurt you. Come on; to 't.\n\n _Sir And._ [_Draws._] Pray heaven, he keep his oath!\n\n _Vio._ I do assure you, 'tis against my will.\n\n [_They fight._--SIR TOBY _and_ FABIAN _urge on_ SIR","question":"SCENE II.\n\n\n OLIVIA'S _Garden_.\n\n _Enter_ SIR TOBY, _with_ SIR ANDREW, _in a great fright_.\n\n _Sir To._ Why, man, he's a very devil;--\n\n _Sir And._ Oh!\n\n _Sir To._ I have not seen such a virago. I had a pass with\nhim,--rapier, scabbard, and all,--and he gives me the stuck-in,----\n\n _Sir And._ Oh!\n\n _Sir To._ With such a mortal motion, that it is inevitable: they\nsay, he has been fencer to the Sophy.\n\n _Sir And._ Plague on't, I'll not meddle with him.\n\n _Sir To._ Ay, but he will not now be pacified: Fabian can scarce\nhold him yonder.\n\n _Sir And._ Plague on't; an I thought he had been valiant, and so\ncunning in fence, I'd have seen him damn'd ere I had challenged him. Let\nhim let the matter slip, and I'll give him my horse, grey Capilet.\n\n _Sir To._ I'll make the motion: Stand here, make"} {"answer":"saw him.\n\nFix did not look at the state of things in the same light. The storm\ngreatly pleased him. His satisfaction would have been complete had the\nRangoon been forced to retreat before the violence of wind and waves.\nEach delay filled him with hope, for it became more and more probable\nthat Fogg would be obliged to remain some days at Hong Kong; and now\nthe heavens themselves became his allies, with the gusts and squalls.\nIt mattered not that they made him sea-sick--he made no account of this\ninconvenience; and, whilst his body was writhing under their effects,\nhis spirit bounded with hopeful exultation.\n\nPassepartout was enraged beyond expression by the unpropitious weather.\nEverything had gone so well till now! Earth and sea had seemed to be\nat his master's service; steamers and railways obeyed him; wind and\nsteam united to speed his journey. Had the hour of adversity come?\nPassepartout was as much excited as if the twenty thousand pounds were\nto come from his own pocket. The storm exasperated him, the gale made\nhim furious, and he longed to lash the obstinate sea into obedience.\nPoor fellow! Fix carefully concealed from him his own satisfaction,\nfor, had he betrayed it, Passepartout could scarcely have restrained\nhimself from personal violence.\n\nPassepartout remained on deck as long as the tempest lasted, being\nunable to remain quiet below, and taking it into his head to aid the\nprogress of the ship by lending a hand with the crew. He overwhelmed\nthe captain, officers, and sailors, who could not help laughing at his\nimpatience, with all","question":"\nThe weather was bad during the latter days of the voyage. The wind,\nobstinately remaining in the north-west, blew a gale, and retarded the\nsteamer. The Rangoon rolled heavily and the passengers became\nimpatient of the long, monstrous waves which the wind raised before\ntheir path. A sort of tempest arose on the 3rd of November, the squall\nknocking the vessel about with fury, and the waves running high. The\nRangoon reefed all her sails, and even the rigging proved too much,\nwhistling and shaking amid the squall. The steamer was forced to\nproceed slowly, and the captain estimated that she would reach Hong\nKong twenty hours behind time, and more if the storm lasted.\n\nPhileas Fogg gazed at the tempestuous sea, which seemed to be\nstruggling especially to delay him, with his habitual tranquillity. He\nnever changed countenance for an instant, though a delay of twenty\nhours, by making him too late for the Yokohama boat, would almost\ninevitably cause the loss of the wager. But this man of nerve\nmanifested neither impatience nor annoyance; it seemed as if the storm\nwere a part of his programme, and had been foreseen. Aouda was amazed\nto find him as calm as he had been from the first time she"} {"answer":"they walked off together, Passepartout chatting volubly as they\nwent along.\n\n\"Above all,\" said he; \"don't let me lose the steamer.\"\n\n\"You have plenty of time; it's only twelve o'clock.\"\n\nPassepartout pulled out his big watch. \"Twelve!\" he exclaimed; \"why,\nit's only eight minutes before ten.\"\n\n\"Your watch is slow.\"\n\n\"My watch? A family watch, monsieur, which has come down from my\ngreat-grandfather! It doesn't vary five minutes in the year. It's a\nperfect chronometer, look you.\"\n\n\"I see how it is,\" said Fix. \"You have kept London time, which is two\nhours behind that of Suez. You ought to regulate your watch at noon in\neach country.\"\n\n\"I regulate my watch? Never!\"\n\n\"Well, then, it will not agree with the sun.\"\n\n\"So much the worse for the sun, monsieur. The sun will be wrong, then!\"\n\nAnd the worthy fellow returned the watch to its fob with a defiant\ngesture. After a few minutes silence, Fix resumed: \"You left London\nhastily, then?\"\n\n\"I rather think so! Last Friday at eight o'clock in the evening,\nMonsieur Fogg came home from his club, and three-quarters of an hour\nafterwards we were off.\"\n\n\"But where is your master going?\"\n\n\"Always straight ahead. He is going round the world.\"\n\n\"Round the world?\" cried Fix.\n\n\"Yes, and in eighty days! He says it is on a wager; but, between us, I\ndon't believe a word of it. That wouldn't be common sense. There's\nsomething else in the wind.\"\n\n\"Ah! Mr. Fogg is a character, is he?\"\n\n\"I should say he was.\"\n\n\"Is he rich?\"\n\n\"No doubt, for he is carrying an","question":"\nFix soon rejoined Passepartout, who was lounging and looking about on\nthe quay, as if he did not feel that he, at least, was obliged not to\nsee anything.\n\n\"Well, my friend,\" said the detective, coming up with him, \"is your\npassport visaed?\"\n\n\"Ah, it's you, is it, monsieur?\" responded Passepartout. \"Thanks, yes,\nthe passport is all right.\"\n\n\"And you are looking about you?\"\n\n\"Yes; but we travel so fast that I seem to be journeying in a dream.\nSo this is Suez?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"In Egypt?\"\n\n\"Certainly, in Egypt.\"\n\n\"And in Africa?\"\n\n\"In Africa.\"\n\n\"In Africa!\" repeated Passepartout. \"Just think, monsieur, I had no\nidea that we should go farther than Paris; and all that I saw of Paris\nwas between twenty minutes past seven and twenty minutes before nine in\nthe morning, between the Northern and the Lyons stations, through the\nwindows of a car, and in a driving rain! How I regret not having seen\nonce more Pere la Chaise and the circus in the Champs Elysees!\"\n\n\"You are in a great hurry, then?\"\n\n\"I am not, but my master is. By the way, I must buy some shoes and\nshirts. We came away without trunks, only with a carpet-bag.\"\n\n\"I will show you an excellent shop for getting what you want.\"\n\n\"Really, monsieur, you are very kind.\"\n\nAnd"} {"answer":"I shall give worse payment.\n\n _Clo._ By my troth, thou hast an open hand:--These wise men, that\ngive fools money, get themselves a good report after fourteen years'\npurchase.\n\n _Enter_ SIR ANDREW.\n\n _Sir And._ Now, sir, have I met you again? There's for you.\n [_Striking_ SEBASTIAN.\n\n _Seb._ [_Draws his sword._] Why, there's for thee, and there, and\nthere:--Are all the people mad?\n\n [_Beating_ SIR ANDREW.\n\n _Enter_ SIR TOBY _and_ FABIAN.\n\n _Sir To._ Hold, sir, or I'll throw your dagger o'er the house.\n\n _Clo._ This will I tell my lady straight--I would not be in some of\nyour coats for","question":"SCENE III.\n\n\n _The Street before_ OLIVIA'S _House_.\n\n _Enter_ SEBASTIAN _and_ CLOWN.\n\n _Clo._ Will you make me believe, that I am not sent for you?\n\n _Seb._ Go to, go to, thou art a foolish fellow; Let me be clear of\nthee.\n\n _Clo._ Well held out, i' faith! No, I do not know you; nor I am not\nsent to you by my lady, to bid you come speak with her; nor your name is\nnot Cesario; nor this is not my nose neither:--Nothing, that is so, is\nso.\n\n _Seb._ I pr'ythee, vent thy folly somewhere else;--Thou know'st not\nme.\n\n _Clo._ Vent my folly! He has heard that word of some great man, and\nnow applies it to a fool.--I pr'ythee, tell me what I shall vent to my\nlady; Shall I vent to her, that thou art coming?\n\n _Seb._ I pr'ythee, foolish Greek, depart from me; There's money for\nthee; if you tarry longer,"} {"answer":"thrice told?\n@@@@\n\nARMADO.\nI am ill at reck'ning; it fitteth the spirit of a tapster.\n\nMOTH.\nYou are a gentleman and a gamester, sir.\n\nARMADO.\nI confess both: they are both the varnish of a complete man.\n\nMOTH.\nThen I am sure you know how much the gross sum of deuce-ace\namounts to.\n\nARMADO.\nIt doth amount to one more than two.\n\nMOTH.\nWhich the base vulgar do call three.\n\nARMADO.\nTrue.\n\nMOTH.\nWhy, sir, is this such a piece of study? Now here's three\nstudied ere ye'll thrice wink; and how easy it is to put 'years'\nto the word 'three,' and study three years in two words, the\ndancing horse will tell you.\n\nARMADO.\nA most fine figure!\n\nMOTH.\n[Aside] To prove you a cipher.\n\nARMADO.\nI will hereupon confess I am in love; and as it is base for\na soldier to love, so am I in love with a base wench. If drawing\nmy sword against the humour of affection would deliver me from\nthe reprobate thought of it, I would take Desire prisoner, and\nransom him to any French courtier for a new-devised curtsy. I\nthink scorn to sigh: methinks I should out-swear Cupid. Comfort\nme, boy: what great men have been in love?\n\nMOTH.\nHercules, master.\n\nARMADO.\nMost sweet Hercules! More authority, dear boy, name more;\nand, sweet my child, let them be men of good repute and carriage.\n\nMOTH.\nSamson, master: he was a man of good carriage, great\ncarriage, for he carried the town gates on his back like a\nporter; and he was in love.\n\nARMADO.\nO well-knit Samson! strong-jointed Samson! I do excel thee\nin my rapier as much as thou didst me in carrying gates. I am in\nlove too. Who was Samson's love,","question":"SCENE II.\n\nThe park.\n\n[Enter ARMADO and MOTH.]\n\nARMADO.\nBoy, what sign is it when a man of great spirit grows\nmelancholy?\n\nMOTH.\nA great sign, sir, that he will look sad.\n\nARMADO.\nWhy, sadness is one and the self-same thing, dear imp.\n\nMOTH.\nNo, no; O Lord, sir, no.\n\nARMADO.\nHow canst thou part sadness and melancholy, my tender\njuvenal?\n\nMOTH.\nBy a familiar demonstration of the working, my tough senior.\n\nARMADO.\nWhy tough senior? Why tough senior?\n\nMOTH.\nWhy tender juvenal? Why tender juvenal?\n\nARMADO.\nI spoke it, tender juvenal, as a congruent epitheton\nappertaining to thy young days, which we may nominate tender.\n\nMOTH.\nAnd I, tough senior, as an appertinent title to your old\ntime, which we may name tough.\n\nARMADO.\nPretty and apt.\n\nMOTH.\nHow mean you, sir? I pretty, and my saying apt? or I apt, and\nmy saying pretty?\n\nARMADO.\nThou pretty, because little.\n\nMOTH.\nLittle pretty, because little. Wherefore apt?\n\nARMADO.\nAnd therefore apt, because quick.\n\nMOTH.\nSpeak you this in my praise, master?\n\nARMADO.\nIn thy condign praise.\n\nMOTH.\nI will praise an eel with the same praise.\n\nARMADO.\nWhat! That an eel is ingenious?\n\nMOTH.\nThat an eel is quick.\n\nARMADO.\nI do say thou art quick in answers: thou heat'st my blood.\n\nMOTH.\nI am answered, sir.\n\nARMADO.\nI love not to be crossed.\n\nMOTH.\n[Aside] He speaks the mere contrary: crosses love not him.\n\nARMADO.\nI have promised to study three years with the duke.\n\nMOTH.\nYou may do it in an hour, sir.\n\nARMADO.\nImpossible.\n\nMOTH.\nHow many is one"} {"answer":"thrice told?\n@@@@\n\nARMADO.\nI am ill at reck'ning; it fitteth the spirit of a tapster.\n\nMOTH.\nYou are a gentleman and a gamester, sir.\n\nARMADO.\nI confess both: they are both the varnish of a complete man.\n\nMOTH.\nThen I am sure you know how much the gross sum of deuce-ace\namounts to.\n\nARMADO.\nIt doth amount to one more than two.\n\nMOTH.\nWhich the base vulgar do call three.\n\nARMADO.\nTrue.\n\nMOTH.\nWhy, sir, is this such a piece of study? Now here's three\nstudied ere ye'll thrice wink; and how easy it is to put 'years'\nto the word 'three,' and study three years in two words, the\ndancing horse will tell you.\n\nARMADO.\nA most fine figure!\n\nMOTH.\n[Aside] To prove you a cipher.\n\nARMADO.\nI will hereupon confess I am in love; and as it is base for\na soldier to love, so am I in love with a base wench. If drawing\nmy sword against the humour of affection would deliver me from\nthe reprobate thought of it, I would take Desire prisoner, and\nransom him to any French courtier for a new-devised curtsy. I\nthink scorn to sigh: methinks I should out-swear Cupid. Comfort\nme, boy: what great men have been in love?\n\nMOTH.\nHercules, master.\n\nARMADO.\nMost sweet Hercules! More authority, dear boy, name more;\nand, sweet my child, let them be men of good repute and carriage.\n\nMOTH.\nSamson, master: he was a man of good carriage, great\ncarriage, for he carried the town gates on his back like a\nporter; and he was in love.\n\nARMADO.\nO well-knit Samson! strong-jointed Samson! I do excel thee\nin my rapier as much as thou didst me in carrying gates. I am in\nlove too. Who was Samson's love,","question":"SCENE II.\n\nThe park.\n\n[Enter ARMADO and MOTH.]\n\nARMADO.\nBoy, what sign is it when a man of great spirit grows\nmelancholy?\n\nMOTH.\nA great sign, sir, that he will look sad.\n\nARMADO.\nWhy, sadness is one and the self-same thing, dear imp.\n\nMOTH.\nNo, no; O Lord, sir, no.\n\nARMADO.\nHow canst thou part sadness and melancholy, my tender\njuvenal?\n\nMOTH.\nBy a familiar demonstration of the working, my tough senior.\n\nARMADO.\nWhy tough senior? Why tough senior?\n\nMOTH.\nWhy tender juvenal? Why tender juvenal?\n\nARMADO.\nI spoke it, tender juvenal, as a congruent epitheton\nappertaining to thy young days, which we may nominate tender.\n\nMOTH.\nAnd I, tough senior, as an appertinent title to your old\ntime, which we may name tough.\n\nARMADO.\nPretty and apt.\n\nMOTH.\nHow mean you, sir? I pretty, and my saying apt? or I apt, and\nmy saying pretty?\n\nARMADO.\nThou pretty, because little.\n\nMOTH.\nLittle pretty, because little. Wherefore apt?\n\nARMADO.\nAnd therefore apt, because quick.\n\nMOTH.\nSpeak you this in my praise, master?\n\nARMADO.\nIn thy condign praise.\n\nMOTH.\nI will praise an eel with the same praise.\n\nARMADO.\nWhat! That an eel is ingenious?\n\nMOTH.\nThat an eel is quick.\n\nARMADO.\nI do say thou art quick in answers: thou heat'st my blood.\n\nMOTH.\nI am answered, sir.\n\nARMADO.\nI love not to be crossed.\n\nMOTH.\n[Aside] He speaks the mere contrary: crosses love not him.\n\nARMADO.\nI have promised to study three years with the duke.\n\nMOTH.\nYou may do it in an hour, sir.\n\nARMADO.\nImpossible.\n\nMOTH.\nHow many is one"} {"answer":"been the wife of Hercules,\n Six of his labours you'd have done, and sav'd\n Your husband so much sweat. Cominius,\n Droop not; adieu. Farewell, my wife, my mother.\n I'll do well yet. Thou old and true Menenius,\n Thy tears are salter than a younger man's\n And venomous to thine eyes. My sometime General,\n I have seen thee stern, and thou hast oft beheld\n Heart-hard'ning spectacles; tell these sad women\n 'Tis fond to wail inevitable strokes,\n As 'tis to laugh at 'em. My mother, you wot well\n My hazards still have been your solace; and\n Believe't not lightly- though I go alone,\n Like to a lonely dragon, that his fen\n Makes fear'd and talk'd of more than seen- your son\n Will or exceed the common or be caught\n With cautelous baits and practice.\n VOLUMNIA. My first son,\n Whither wilt thou go? Take good Cominius\n With thee awhile; determine on some course\n More than a wild exposture to each chance\n That starts i' th' way before thee.\n VIRGILIA. O the gods!\n COMINIUS. I'll follow thee a month, devise with thee\n Where thou shalt rest, that thou","question":"ACT IV. SCENE I.\nRome. Before a gate of the city\n\nEnter CORIOLANUS, VOLUMNIA, VIRGILIA, MENENIUS, COMINIUS,\nwith the young NOBILITY of Rome\n\n CORIOLANUS. Come, leave your tears; a brief farewell. The beast\n With many heads butts me away. Nay, mother,\n Where is your ancient courage? You were us'd\n To say extremities was the trier of spirits;\n That common chances common men could bear;\n That when the sea was calm all boats alike\n Show'd mastership in floating; fortune's blows,\n When most struck home, being gentle wounded craves\n A noble cunning. You were us'd to load me\n With precepts that would make invincible\n The heart that conn'd them.\n VIRGILIA. O heavens! O heavens!\n CORIOLANUS. Nay, I prithee, woman-\n VOLUMNIA. Now the red pestilence strike all trades in Rome,\n And occupations perish!\n CORIOLANUS. What, what, what!\n I shall be lov'd when I am lack'd. Nay, mother,\n Resume that spirit when you were wont to say,\n If you had"} {"answer":"been the wife of Hercules,\n Six of his labours you'd have done, and sav'd\n Your husband so much sweat. Cominius,\n Droop not; adieu. Farewell, my wife, my mother.\n I'll do well yet. Thou old and true Menenius,\n Thy tears are salter than a younger man's\n And venomous to thine eyes. My sometime General,\n I have seen thee stern, and thou hast oft beheld\n Heart-hard'ning spectacles; tell these sad women\n 'Tis fond to wail inevitable strokes,\n As 'tis to laugh at 'em. My mother, you wot well\n My hazards still have been your solace; and\n Believe't not lightly- though I go alone,\n Like to a lonely dragon, that his fen\n Makes fear'd and talk'd of more than seen- your son\n Will or exceed the common or be caught\n With cautelous baits and practice.\n VOLUMNIA. My first son,\n Whither wilt thou go? Take good Cominius\n With thee awhile; determine on some course\n More than a wild exposture to each chance\n That starts i' th' way before thee.\n VIRGILIA. O the gods!\n COMINIUS. I'll follow thee a month, devise with thee\n Where thou shalt rest, that thou","question":"ACT IV. SCENE I.\nRome. Before a gate of the city\n\nEnter CORIOLANUS, VOLUMNIA, VIRGILIA, MENENIUS, COMINIUS,\nwith the young NOBILITY of Rome\n\n CORIOLANUS. Come, leave your tears; a brief farewell. The beast\n With many heads butts me away. Nay, mother,\n Where is your ancient courage? You were us'd\n To say extremities was the trier of spirits;\n That common chances common men could bear;\n That when the sea was calm all boats alike\n Show'd mastership in floating; fortune's blows,\n When most struck home, being gentle wounded craves\n A noble cunning. You were us'd to load me\n With precepts that would make invincible\n The heart that conn'd them.\n VIRGILIA. O heavens! O heavens!\n CORIOLANUS. Nay, I prithee, woman-\n VOLUMNIA. Now the red pestilence strike all trades in Rome,\n And occupations perish!\n CORIOLANUS. What, what, what!\n I shall be lov'd when I am lack'd. Nay, mother,\n Resume that spirit when you were wont to say,\n If you had"} {"answer":"Verona.\n FIRST OUTLAW. Whence came you?\n VALENTINE. From Milan.\n THIRD OUTLAW. Have you long sojourn'd there?\n VALENTINE. Some sixteen months, and longer might have stay'd,\n If crooked fortune had not thwarted me.\n FIRST OUTLAW. What, were you banish'd thence?\n VALENTINE. I was.\n SECOND OUTLAW. For what offence?\n VALENTINE. For that which now torments me to rehearse:\n I kill'd a man, whose death I much repent;\n But yet I slew him manfully in fight,\n Without false vantage or base treachery.\n FIRST OUTLAW. Why, ne'er repent it, if it were done so.\n But were you banish'd for so small a fault?\n VALENTINE. I was, and held me glad of such a doom.\n SECOND OUTLAW. Have you the tongues?\n VALENTINE. My youthful travel therein made me happy,\n Or else I often had been miserable.\n THIRD OUTLAW. By the bare scalp of Robin Hood's fat friar,\n This fellow were a king for our wild faction!\n FIRST OUTLAW. We'll have him. Sirs, a word.\n SPEED. Master, be one of them; it's an honourable kind of\nthievery.\n VALENTINE. Peace, villain!\n SECOND OUTLAW. Tell us this: have you anything to take to?\n VALENTINE. Nothing but my fortune.\n THIRD OUTLAW. Know, then, that some of us are gentlemen,\n Such as the fury of ungovern'd youth\n ","question":"ACT IV. SCENE I.\n\nThe frontiers of Mantua. A forest\n\nEnter certain OUTLAWS\n\n FIRST OUTLAW. Fellows, stand fast; I see a passenger.\n SECOND OUTLAW. If there be ten, shrink not, but down with 'em.\n\n Enter VALENTINE and SPEED\n\n THIRD OUTLAW. Stand, sir, and throw us that you have about ye;\n If not, we'll make you sit, and rifle you.\n SPEED. Sir, we are undone; these are the villains\n That all the travellers do fear so much.\n VALENTINE. My friends-\n FIRST OUTLAW. That's not so, sir; we are your enemies.\n SECOND OUTLAW. Peace! we'll hear him.\n THIRD OUTLAW. Ay, by my beard, will we; for he is a proper man.\n VALENTINE. Then know that I have little wealth to lose;\n A man I am cross'd with adversity;\n My riches are these poor habiliments,\n Of which if you should here disfurnish me,\n You take the sum and substance that I have.\n SECOND OUTLAW. Whither travel you?\n VALENTINE. To"} {"answer":"first some rash individuals, principally of the gentler\nsex, espoused his cause, which became still more popular when the\nIllustrated London News came out with his portrait, copied from a\nphotograph in the Reform Club. A few readers of the Daily Telegraph\neven dared to say, \"Why not, after all? Stranger things have come to\npass.\"\n\nAt last a long article appeared, on the 7th of October, in the bulletin\nof the Royal Geographical Society, which treated the question from\nevery point of view, and demonstrated the utter folly of the enterprise.\n\nEverything, it said, was against the travellers, every obstacle imposed\nalike by man and by nature. A miraculous agreement of the times of\ndeparture and arrival, which was impossible, was absolutely necessary\nto his success. He might, perhaps, reckon on the arrival of trains at\nthe designated hours, in Europe, where the distances were relatively\nmoderate; but when he calculated upon crossing India in three days, and\nthe United States in seven, could he rely beyond misgiving upon\naccomplishing his task? There were accidents to machinery, the\nliability of trains to run off the line, collisions, bad weather, the\nblocking up by snow--were not all these against Phileas Fogg? Would he\nnot find himself, when travelling by steamer in winter, at the mercy of\nthe winds and fogs? Is it uncommon for the best ocean steamers to be\ntwo or three days behind time? But a single delay would suffice to\nfatally break the chain of communication; should Phileas Fogg once\nmiss, even by an hour; a steamer, he would have to wait","question":"\nPhileas Fogg rightly suspected that his departure from London would\ncreate a lively sensation at the West End. The news of the bet spread\nthrough the Reform Club, and afforded an exciting topic of conversation\nto its members. From the club it soon got into the papers throughout\nEngland. The boasted \"tour of the world\" was talked about, disputed,\nargued with as much warmth as if the subject were another Alabama\nclaim. Some took sides with Phileas Fogg, but the large majority shook\ntheir heads and declared against him; it was absurd, impossible, they\ndeclared, that the tour of the world could be made, except\ntheoretically and on paper, in this minimum of time, and with the\nexisting means of travelling. The Times, Standard, Morning Post, and\nDaily News, and twenty other highly respectable newspapers scouted Mr.\nFogg's project as madness; the Daily Telegraph alone hesitatingly\nsupported him. People in general thought him a lunatic, and blamed his\nReform Club friends for having accepted a wager which betrayed the\nmental aberration of its proposer.\n\nArticles no less passionate than logical appeared on the question, for\ngeography is one of the pet subjects of the English; and the columns\ndevoted to Phileas Fogg's venture were eagerly devoured by all classes\nof readers. At"} {"answer":"whenever I'm disappointed in anything.\"\n\n\"I don't see where the comforting comes in myself,\" said Marilla.\n\n\"Why, because it sounds so nice and romantic, just as if I were a\nheroine in a book, you know. I am so fond of romantic things, and a\ngraveyard full of buried hopes is about as romantic a thing as one can\nimagine isn't it? I'm rather glad I have one. Are we going across the\nLake of Shining Waters today?\"\n\n\"We're not going over Barry's pond, if that's what you mean by your Lake\nof Shining Waters. We're going by the shore road.\"\n\n\"Shore road sounds nice,\" said Anne dreamily. \"Is it as nice as it\nsounds? Just when you said 'shore road' I saw it in a picture in my\nmind, as quick as that! And White Sands is a pretty name, too; but I\ndon't like it as well as Avonlea. Avonlea is a lovely name. It just\nsounds like music. How far is it to White Sands?\"\n\n\"It's five miles; and as you're evidently bent on talking you might as\nwell talk to some purpose by telling me what you know about yourself.\"\n\n\"Oh, what I _know_ about myself isn't really worth telling,\" said Anne\neagerly. \"If you'll only let me tell you what I _imagine_ about myself\nyou'll think it ever so much more interesting.\"\n\n\"No, I don't want any of your imaginings. Just you stick to bald facts.\nBegin at the beginning. Where were you born and how old are you?\"\n\n\"I was eleven last March,\" said Anne, resigning herself to bald facts\nwith a little sigh. \"And I","question":"\n\n|DO you know,\" said Anne confidentially, \"I've made up my mind to enjoy\nthis drive. It's been my experience that you can nearly always enjoy\nthings if you make up your mind firmly that you will. Of course, you\nmust make it up _firmly_. I am not going to think about going back to\nthe asylum while we're having our drive. I'm just going to think about\nthe drive. Oh, look, there's one little early wild rose out! Isn't it\nlovely? Don't you think it must be glad to be a rose? Wouldn't it be\nnice if roses could talk? I'm sure they could tell us such lovely\nthings. And isn't pink the most bewitching color in the world? I love\nit, but I can't wear it. Redheaded people can't wear pink, not even in\nimagination. Did you ever know of anybody whose hair was red when she\nwas young, but got to be another color when she grew up?\"\n\n\"No, I don't know as I ever did,\" said Marilla mercilessly, \"and I\nshouldn't think it likely to happen in your case either.\"\n\nAnne sighed.\n\n\"Well, that is another hope gone. 'My life is a perfect graveyard of\nburied hopes.' That's a sentence I read in a book once, and I say it\nover to comfort myself"} {"answer":"whenever I'm disappointed in anything.\"\n\n\"I don't see where the comforting comes in myself,\" said Marilla.\n\n\"Why, because it sounds so nice and romantic, just as if I were a\nheroine in a book, you know. I am so fond of romantic things, and a\ngraveyard full of buried hopes is about as romantic a thing as one can\nimagine isn't it? I'm rather glad I have one. Are we going across the\nLake of Shining Waters today?\"\n\n\"We're not going over Barry's pond, if that's what you mean by your Lake\nof Shining Waters. We're going by the shore road.\"\n\n\"Shore road sounds nice,\" said Anne dreamily. \"Is it as nice as it\nsounds? Just when you said 'shore road' I saw it in a picture in my\nmind, as quick as that! And White Sands is a pretty name, too; but I\ndon't like it as well as Avonlea. Avonlea is a lovely name. It just\nsounds like music. How far is it to White Sands?\"\n\n\"It's five miles; and as you're evidently bent on talking you might as\nwell talk to some purpose by telling me what you know about yourself.\"\n\n\"Oh, what I _know_ about myself isn't really worth telling,\" said Anne\neagerly. \"If you'll only let me tell you what I _imagine_ about myself\nyou'll think it ever so much more interesting.\"\n\n\"No, I don't want any of your imaginings. Just you stick to bald facts.\nBegin at the beginning. Where were you born and how old are you?\"\n\n\"I was eleven last March,\" said Anne, resigning herself to bald facts\nwith a little sigh. \"And I","question":"\n\n|DO you know,\" said Anne confidentially, \"I've made up my mind to enjoy\nthis drive. It's been my experience that you can nearly always enjoy\nthings if you make up your mind firmly that you will. Of course, you\nmust make it up _firmly_. I am not going to think about going back to\nthe asylum while we're having our drive. I'm just going to think about\nthe drive. Oh, look, there's one little early wild rose out! Isn't it\nlovely? Don't you think it must be glad to be a rose? Wouldn't it be\nnice if roses could talk? I'm sure they could tell us such lovely\nthings. And isn't pink the most bewitching color in the world? I love\nit, but I can't wear it. Redheaded people can't wear pink, not even in\nimagination. Did you ever know of anybody whose hair was red when she\nwas young, but got to be another color when she grew up?\"\n\n\"No, I don't know as I ever did,\" said Marilla mercilessly, \"and I\nshouldn't think it likely to happen in your case either.\"\n\nAnne sighed.\n\n\"Well, that is another hope gone. 'My life is a perfect graveyard of\nburied hopes.' That's a sentence I read in a book once, and I say it\nover to comfort myself"} {"answer":"was a\nsailor.\n\n _Fab._ She did show favour to the youth in your sight, only to\nexasperate you, to awake your dormouse valour, to put fire in your\nheart, and brimstone in your liver: you should then have accosted her;\nand with some excellent jests, fire-new from the mint, you should have\nbang'd the youth into dumbness. This was look'd for at your hand, and\nthis was baulk'd: the double gilt of this opportunity you let time wash\noff, and you are now sailed into the north of my lady's opinion: where\nyou will hang like an icicle on a Dutchman's beard, unless you do redeem\nit by some laudable attempt, either of valour or policy.\n\n _Sir And._ An it be any way, it must be with valour; for policy I\nhate.\n\n _Sir To._ Why, then, build me thy fortunes upon the basis of valour.\nChallenge me the Count's youth to fight with him; hurt him in eleven\nplaces; my niece shall take note of it: and assure thyself, there is no\nlove-broker in the world can more prevail in man's commendation with\nwoman, than report of valour.\n\n _Fab._ There is no way but this, Sir Andrew.\n\n _Sir And._ Will either of you bear me a challenge to him?\n\n _Sir To._ Go write it in a martial hand; be curst and brief; it is\nno matter how witty, so it be eloquent, and full of invention: taunt him\nwith the license of ink: if thou _thou'st_ him some","question":"SCENE IV.\n\n\n _A Room in_ OLIVIA'S _House_.\n\n _Enter_ SIR ANDREW, FABIAN, _and_ SIR TOBY.\n\n _Sir And._ No, faith, I'll not stay a jot longer.\n\n _Sir To._ Thy reason, dear venom, give thy reason.\n\n _Fab._ You must needs yield your reason, Sir Andrew.\n\n _Sir And._ Marry, I saw your niece do more favours to the Count's\nserving man, than ever she bestowed upon me; I saw't this moment in the\ngarden.\n\n _Sir To._ Did she see thee the while, old boy? tell me that.\n\n _Sir And._ As plain as I see you now.\n\n _Fab._ This was a great argument of love in her toward you.\n\n _Sir And._ 'Slight! will you make an ass o' me?\n\n _Fab._ I will prove it legitimate, sir, upon the oaths of judgment\nand reason.\n\n _Sir To._ And they have been grand jury-men, since before Noah"} {"answer":"was a\nsailor.\n\n _Fab._ She did show favour to the youth in your sight, only to\nexasperate you, to awake your dormouse valour, to put fire in your\nheart, and brimstone in your liver: you should then have accosted her;\nand with some excellent jests, fire-new from the mint, you should have\nbang'd the youth into dumbness. This was look'd for at your hand, and\nthis was baulk'd: the double gilt of this opportunity you let time wash\noff, and you are now sailed into the north of my lady's opinion: where\nyou will hang like an icicle on a Dutchman's beard, unless you do redeem\nit by some laudable attempt, either of valour or policy.\n\n _Sir And._ An it be any way, it must be with valour; for policy I\nhate.\n\n _Sir To._ Why, then, build me thy fortunes upon the basis of valour.\nChallenge me the Count's youth to fight with him; hurt him in eleven\nplaces; my niece shall take note of it: and assure thyself, there is no\nlove-broker in the world can more prevail in man's commendation with\nwoman, than report of valour.\n\n _Fab._ There is no way but this, Sir Andrew.\n\n _Sir And._ Will either of you bear me a challenge to him?\n\n _Sir To._ Go write it in a martial hand; be curst and brief; it is\nno matter how witty, so it be eloquent, and full of invention: taunt him\nwith the license of ink: if thou _thou'st_ him some","question":"SCENE IV.\n\n\n _A Room in_ OLIVIA'S _House_.\n\n _Enter_ SIR ANDREW, FABIAN, _and_ SIR TOBY.\n\n _Sir And._ No, faith, I'll not stay a jot longer.\n\n _Sir To._ Thy reason, dear venom, give thy reason.\n\n _Fab._ You must needs yield your reason, Sir Andrew.\n\n _Sir And._ Marry, I saw your niece do more favours to the Count's\nserving man, than ever she bestowed upon me; I saw't this moment in the\ngarden.\n\n _Sir To._ Did she see thee the while, old boy? tell me that.\n\n _Sir And._ As plain as I see you now.\n\n _Fab._ This was a great argument of love in her toward you.\n\n _Sir And._ 'Slight! will you make an ass o' me?\n\n _Fab._ I will prove it legitimate, sir, upon the oaths of judgment\nand reason.\n\n _Sir To._ And they have been grand jury-men, since before Noah"} {"answer":" Exit Servingman.\n We shall be much unfurnish'd for this time.\n What, is my daughter gone to Friar Laurence?\n\n Nurse. Ay, forsooth.\n\n Cap. Well, be may chance to do some good on her.\n A peevish self-will'd harlotry it is.\n\n Enter Juliet.\n\n\n Nurse. See where she comes from shrift with merry look.\n\n Cap. How now, my headstrong? Where have you been gadding?\n\n Jul. Where I have learnt me to repent the sin\n Of disobedient opposition\n To you and your behests, and am enjoin'd\n By holy Laurence to fall prostrate here\n To beg your pardon. Pardon, I beseech you!\n Henceforward I am ever rul'd by you.\n\n Cap. Send for the County. Go tell him of this.\n I'll have this knot knit up to-morrow morning.\n\n Jul. I met the youthful lord at Laurence' cell\n And gave him what becomed love I might,\n Not stepping o'er the bounds of modesty.\n\n Cap. Why, I am glad on't. This is well. Stand up.\n This is as't should be. Let me see the County.\n Ay, marry, go,","question":"Scene II.\nCapulet's house.\n\nEnter Father Capulet, Mother, Nurse, and Servingmen,\n two or three.\n\n\n Cap. So many guests invite as here are writ.\n [Exit a Servingman.]\n Sirrah, go hire me twenty cunning cooks.\n\n Serv. You shall have none ill, sir; for I'll try if they can\n lick their fingers.\n\n Cap. How canst thou try them so?\n\n Serv. Marry, sir, 'tis an ill cook that cannot lick his own\n fingers. Therefore he that cannot lick his fingers goes not\n with me.\n\n Cap. Go, begone.\n "} {"answer":" Exit Servingman.\n We shall be much unfurnish'd for this time.\n What, is my daughter gone to Friar Laurence?\n\n Nurse. Ay, forsooth.\n\n Cap. Well, be may chance to do some good on her.\n A peevish self-will'd harlotry it is.\n\n Enter Juliet.\n\n\n Nurse. See where she comes from shrift with merry look.\n\n Cap. How now, my headstrong? Where have you been gadding?\n\n Jul. Where I have learnt me to repent the sin\n Of disobedient opposition\n To you and your behests, and am enjoin'd\n By holy Laurence to fall prostrate here\n To beg your pardon. Pardon, I beseech you!\n Henceforward I am ever rul'd by you.\n\n Cap. Send for the County. Go tell him of this.\n I'll have this knot knit up to-morrow morning.\n\n Jul. I met the youthful lord at Laurence' cell\n And gave him what becomed love I might,\n Not stepping o'er the bounds of modesty.\n\n Cap. Why, I am glad on't. This is well. Stand up.\n This is as't should be. Let me see the County.\n Ay, marry, go,","question":"Scene II.\nCapulet's house.\n\nEnter Father Capulet, Mother, Nurse, and Servingmen,\n two or three.\n\n\n Cap. So many guests invite as here are writ.\n [Exit a Servingman.]\n Sirrah, go hire me twenty cunning cooks.\n\n Serv. You shall have none ill, sir; for I'll try if they can\n lick their fingers.\n\n Cap. How canst thou try them so?\n\n Serv. Marry, sir, 'tis an ill cook that cannot lick his own\n fingers. Therefore he that cannot lick his fingers goes not\n with me.\n\n Cap. Go, begone.\n "} {"answer":"with six strangers who had come to spend\nthe Carnival at Venice.\n\nCacambo waited at table upon one of the strangers; towards the end of\nthe entertainment he drew near his master, and whispered in his ear:\n\n\"Sire, your Majesty may start when you please, the vessel is ready.\"\n\nOn saying these words he went out. The company in great surprise looked\nat one another without speaking a word, when another domestic approached\nhis master and said to him:\n\n\"Sire, your Majesty's chaise is at Padua, and the boat is ready.\"\n\nThe master gave a nod and the servant went away. The company all stared\nat one another again, and their surprise redoubled. A third valet came\nup to a third stranger, saying:\n\n\"Sire, believe me, your Majesty ought not to stay here any longer. I am\ngoing to get everything ready.\"\n\nAnd immediately he disappeared. Candide and Martin did not doubt that\nthis was a masquerade of the Carnival. Then a fourth domestic said to a\nfourth master:\n\n\"Your Majesty may depart when you please.\"\n\nSaying this he went away like the rest. The fifth valet said the same\nthing to the fifth master. But the sixth valet spoke differently to the\nsixth stranger, who sat near Candide. He said to him:\n\n\"Faith, Sire, they will no longer give credit to your Majesty nor to me,\nand we may perhaps both of us be put in jail this very night. Therefore\nI will take care of myself. Adieu.\"\n\nThe servants being all gone, the six strangers, with Candide and Martin,\nremained in a profound silence. At length Candide broke it.\n\n\"Gentlemen,\" said he, \"this is","question":"\n\nOne evening that Candide and Martin were going to sit down to supper\nwith some foreigners who lodged in the same inn, a man whose complexion\nwas as black as soot, came behind Candide, and taking him by the arm,\nsaid:\n\n\"Get yourself ready to go along with us; do not fail.\"\n\nUpon this he turned round and saw--Cacambo! Nothing but the sight of\nCunegonde could have astonished and delighted him more. He was on the\npoint of going mad with joy. He embraced his dear friend.\n\n\"Cunegonde is here, without doubt; where is she? Take me to her that I\nmay die of joy in her company.\"\n\n\"Cunegonde is not here,\" said Cacambo, \"she is at Constantinople.\"\n\n\"Oh, heavens! at Constantinople! But were she in China I would fly\nthither; let us be off.\"\n\n\"We shall set out after supper,\" replied Cacambo. \"I can tell you\nnothing more; I am a slave, my master awaits me, I must serve him at\ntable; speak not a word, eat, and then get ready.\"\n\nCandide, distracted between joy and grief, delighted at seeing his\nfaithful agent again, astonished at finding him a slave, filled with the\nfresh hope of recovering his mistress, his heart palpitating, his\nunderstanding confused, sat down to table with Martin, who saw all these\nscenes quite unconcerned, and"} {"answer":"deceit?\nWhy should I then be false, since it is true\nThat I must die here, and live hence by truth?\nI say again, if Louis do will the day,\nHe is forsworn if e'er those eyes of yours\nBehold another day break in the east:\nBut even this night,--whose black contagious breath\nAlready smokes about the burning crest\nOf the old, feeble, and day-wearied sun,--\nEven this ill night, your breathing shall expire;\nPaying the fine of rated treachery\nEven with a treacherous fine of all your lives,\nIf Louis by your assistance win the day.\nCommend me to one Hubert, with your king;\nThe love of him,--and this respect besides,\nFor that my grandsire was an Englishman,--\nAwakes my conscience to confess all this.\nIn lieu whereof, I pray you, bear me hence\nFrom forth the noise and rumour of the field,\nWhere I may think the remnant of my thoughts\nIn peace, and part this body and my soul\nWith contemplation and devout desires.\n\nSALISBURY.\nWe do believe thee:--and beshrew my soul\nBut I do love the favour and the form\nOf this most fair occasion, by the which\nWe will untread the steps of damned flight;\nAnd like a bated and retired flood,\nLeaving our rankness and irregular course,\nStoop low within those bounds we have o'erlook'd,\nAnd calmly run on in obedience\nEven to our ocean, to our great King John.--\nMy arm shall give thee help to bear thee hence;\nFor I do see the cruel pangs of death\nRight in thine eye.--Away, my friends! New flight,\nAnd happy newness, that intends old right.\n\n[Exeunt, leading off MELUN.]\n\n\n\n\nSCENE 5.\n\nThe same. The French camp.\n\n[Enter LEWIS and his train.]\n\nLOUIS.\nThe sun of heaven,","question":"SCENE 4.\n\nThe same. Another part of the same.\n\n[Enter SALISBURY, PEMBROKE, and others.]\n\nSALISBURY.\nI did not think the king so stor'd with friends.\n\nPEMBROKE.\nUp once again; put spirit in the French;\nIf they miscarry, we miscarry too.\n\nSALISBURY.\nThat misbegotten devil, Falconbridge,\nIn spite of spite, alone upholds the day.\n\nPEMBROKE.\nThey say King John, sore sick, hath left the field.\n\n[Enter MELUN wounded, and led by Soldiers.]\n\nMELUN.\nLead me to the revolts of England here.\n\nSALISBURY.\nWhen we were happy we had other names.\n\nPEMBROKE.\nIt is the Count Melun.\n\nSALISBURY.\nWounded to death.\n\nMELUN.\nFly, noble English, you are bought and sold;\nUnthread the rude eye of rebellion,\nAnd welcome home again discarded faith.\nSeek out King John, and fall before his feet;\nFor if the French be lords of this loud day,\nHe means to recompense the pains you take\nBy cutting off your heads: thus hath he sworn,\nAnd I with him, and many more with me,\nUpon the altar at Saint Edmunds-bury;\nEven on that altar where we swore to you\nDear amity and everlasting love.\n\nSALISBURY.\nMay this be possible? may this be true?\n\nMELUN.\nHave I not hideous death within my view,\nRetaining but a quantity of life,\nWhich bleeds away even as a form of wax\nResolveth from his figure 'gainst the fire?\nWhat in the world should make me now deceive,\nSince I must lose the use of all"} {"answer":"in the evening, on the threshold\nof the Reform Club saloon?\n\nThe anxiety in which, for three days, London society existed, cannot be\ndescribed. Telegrams were sent to America and Asia for news of Phileas\nFogg. Messengers were dispatched to the house in Saville Row morning\nand evening. No news. The police were ignorant what had become of the\ndetective, Fix, who had so unfortunately followed up a false scent.\nBets increased, nevertheless, in number and value. Phileas Fogg, like\na racehorse, was drawing near his last turning-point. The bonds were\nquoted, no longer at a hundred below par, but at twenty, at ten, and at\nfive; and paralytic old Lord Albemarle bet even in his favour.\n\nA great crowd was collected in Pall Mall and the neighbouring streets\non Saturday evening; it seemed like a multitude of brokers permanently\nestablished around the Reform Club. Circulation was impeded, and\neverywhere disputes, discussions, and financial transactions were going\non. The police had great difficulty in keeping back the crowd, and as\nthe hour when Phileas Fogg was due approached, the excitement rose to\nits highest pitch.\n\nThe five antagonists of Phileas Fogg had met in the great saloon of the\nclub. John Sullivan and Samuel Fallentin, the bankers, Andrew Stuart,\nthe engineer, Gauthier Ralph, the director of the Bank of England, and\nThomas Flanagan, the brewer, one and all waited anxiously.\n\nWhen the clock indicated twenty minutes past eight, Andrew Stuart got\nup, saying, \"Gentlemen, in twenty minutes the time agreed upon between\nMr. Fogg and ourselves will have expired.\"\n\n\"What time did the last train arrive","question":"\nIt is time to relate what a change took place in English public opinion\nwhen it transpired that the real bankrobber, a certain James Strand,\nhad been arrested, on the 17th day of December, at Edinburgh. Three\ndays before, Phileas Fogg had been a criminal, who was being\ndesperately followed up by the police; now he was an honourable\ngentleman, mathematically pursuing his eccentric journey round the\nworld.\n\nThe papers resumed their discussion about the wager; all those who had\nlaid bets, for or against him, revived their interest, as if by magic;\nthe \"Phileas Fogg bonds\" again became negotiable, and many new wagers\nwere made. Phileas Fogg's name was once more at a premium on 'Change.\n\nHis five friends of the Reform Club passed these three days in a state\nof feverish suspense. Would Phileas Fogg, whom they had forgotten,\nreappear before their eyes! Where was he at this moment? The 17th of\nDecember, the day of James Strand's arrest, was the seventy-sixth since\nPhileas Fogg's departure, and no news of him had been received. Was he\ndead? Had he abandoned the effort, or was he continuing his journey\nalong the route agreed upon? And would he appear on Saturday, the 21st\nof December, at a quarter before nine"} {"answer":"in the evening, on the threshold\nof the Reform Club saloon?\n\nThe anxiety in which, for three days, London society existed, cannot be\ndescribed. Telegrams were sent to America and Asia for news of Phileas\nFogg. Messengers were dispatched to the house in Saville Row morning\nand evening. No news. The police were ignorant what had become of the\ndetective, Fix, who had so unfortunately followed up a false scent.\nBets increased, nevertheless, in number and value. Phileas Fogg, like\na racehorse, was drawing near his last turning-point. The bonds were\nquoted, no longer at a hundred below par, but at twenty, at ten, and at\nfive; and paralytic old Lord Albemarle bet even in his favour.\n\nA great crowd was collected in Pall Mall and the neighbouring streets\non Saturday evening; it seemed like a multitude of brokers permanently\nestablished around the Reform Club. Circulation was impeded, and\neverywhere disputes, discussions, and financial transactions were going\non. The police had great difficulty in keeping back the crowd, and as\nthe hour when Phileas Fogg was due approached, the excitement rose to\nits highest pitch.\n\nThe five antagonists of Phileas Fogg had met in the great saloon of the\nclub. John Sullivan and Samuel Fallentin, the bankers, Andrew Stuart,\nthe engineer, Gauthier Ralph, the director of the Bank of England, and\nThomas Flanagan, the brewer, one and all waited anxiously.\n\nWhen the clock indicated twenty minutes past eight, Andrew Stuart got\nup, saying, \"Gentlemen, in twenty minutes the time agreed upon between\nMr. Fogg and ourselves will have expired.\"\n\n\"What time did the last train arrive","question":"\nIt is time to relate what a change took place in English public opinion\nwhen it transpired that the real bankrobber, a certain James Strand,\nhad been arrested, on the 17th day of December, at Edinburgh. Three\ndays before, Phileas Fogg had been a criminal, who was being\ndesperately followed up by the police; now he was an honourable\ngentleman, mathematically pursuing his eccentric journey round the\nworld.\n\nThe papers resumed their discussion about the wager; all those who had\nlaid bets, for or against him, revived their interest, as if by magic;\nthe \"Phileas Fogg bonds\" again became negotiable, and many new wagers\nwere made. Phileas Fogg's name was once more at a premium on 'Change.\n\nHis five friends of the Reform Club passed these three days in a state\nof feverish suspense. Would Phileas Fogg, whom they had forgotten,\nreappear before their eyes! Where was he at this moment? The 17th of\nDecember, the day of James Strand's arrest, was the seventy-sixth since\nPhileas Fogg's departure, and no news of him had been received. Was he\ndead? Had he abandoned the effort, or was he continuing his journey\nalong the route agreed upon? And would he appear on Saturday, the 21st\nof December, at a quarter before nine"} {"answer":"I\n Destroy your happiness? 'Twere too unjust!\n\nCYRANO:\n And I,--because by Nature's freak I have\n The gift to say--all that perchance you feel.\n Shall I be fatal to your happiness?\n\nCHRISTIAN:\n Tell all!\n\nCYRANO:\n It is ill done to tempt me thus!\n\nCHRISTIAN:\n Too long I've borne about within myself\n A rival to myself--I'll make an end!\n\nCYRANO:\n Christian!\n\nCHRISTIAN:\n Our union, without witness--secret--\n Clandestine--can be easily dissolved\n If we survive.\n\nCYRANO:\n My God!--he still persists!\n\nCHRISTIAN:\n I will be loved myself--or not at all!\n --I'll go see what they do--there, at the end\n Of the post: speak to her, and then let her choose\n One of us two!\n\nCYRANO:\n It will be you.\n\nCHRISTIAN:\n Pray God!\n(He calls):\n Roxane!\n\nCYRANO:\n No! no!\n\nROXANE (coming up quickly):\n What?\n\nCHRISTIAN:\n Cyrano has things\n Important for your ear. . .\n\n(She hastens to Cyrano. Christian goes out.)\n\n\n\n\nRoxane, Cyrano. Then Le Bret, Carbon de Castel-Jaloux, the cadets, Ragueneau,\nDe Guiche, etc.\n\nROXANE:\n Important, how?\n\nCYRANO (in despair. to Roxane):\n He's gone! 'Tis naught!--Oh, you know how he sees\n Importance in a trifle!\n\nROXANE (warmly):\n Did he doubt\n Of what I said?--Ah, yes, I saw he doubted!\n\nCYRANO (taking her hand):\n But are you sure you told him all the truth?\n\nROXANE:\n Yes, I would love him were he. . .\n\n(She hesitates.)\n\nCYRANO:\n Does that word\n Embarrass you before my face, Roxane?\n\nROXANE:\n I. . .\n\nCYRANO (smiling sadly):\n","question":"Christian, Cyrano. At back Roxane talking to Carbon and some cadets.\n\nCHRISTIAN (calling toward Cyrano's tent):\n Cyrano!\n\nCYRANO (reappearing, fully armed):\n What? Why so pale?\n\nCHRISTIAN:\n She does not love me!\n\nCYRANO:\n What?\n\nCHRISTIAN:\n 'Tis you she loves!\n\nCYRANO:\n No!\n\nCHRISTIAN:\n --For she loves me only for my soul!\n\nCYRANO:\n Truly?\n\nCHRISTIAN:\n Yes! Thus--you see, that soul is you,. . .\n Therefore, 'tis you she loves!--And you--love her!\n\nCYRANO:\n I?\n\nCHRISTIAN:\n Oh, I know it!\n\nCYRANO:\n Ay, 'tis true!\n\nCHRISTIAN:\n You love\n To madness!\n\nCYRANO:\n Ay! and worse!\n\nCHRISTIAN:\n Then tell her so!\n\nCYRANO:\n No!\n\nCHRISTIAN:\n And why not?\n\nCYRANO:\n Look at my face!--be answered!\n\nCHRISTIAN:\n She'd love me--were I ugly.\n\nCYRANO:\n Said she so?\n\nCHRISTIAN:\n Ay! in those words!\n\nCYRANO:\n I'm glad she told you that!\n But pooh!--believe it not! I am well pleased\n She thought to tell you. Take it not for truth.\n Never grow ugly:--she'd reproach me then!\n\nCHRISTIAN:\n That I intend discovering!\n\nCYRANO:\n No! I beg!\n\nCHRISTIAN:\n Ay! she shall choose between us!--Tell her all!\n\nCYRANO:\n No! no! I will not have it! Spare me this!\n\nCHRISTIAN:\n Because my face is haply fair, shall"} {"answer":" Between two horses, which doth bear him best;\n Between two girls, which hath the merriest eye\n I have perhaps some shallow spirit of judgment;\n But in these nice sharp quillets of the law,\n Good faith, I am no wiser than a daw.\n PLANTAGENET. Tut, tut, here is a mannerly forbearance:\n The truth appears so naked on my side\n That any purblind eye may find it out.\n SOMERSET. And on my side it is so well apparell'd,\n So clear, so shining, and so evident,\n That it will glimmer through a blind man's eye.\n PLANTAGENET. Since you are tongue-tied and so loath to speak,\n In dumb significants proclaim your thoughts.\n Let him that is a true-born gentleman\n And stands upon the honour of his birth,\n If he suppose that I have pleaded truth,\n From off this brier pluck a white rose with me.\n SOMERSET. Let him that is no coward nor no flatterer,\n But dare maintain the party of the truth,\n Pluck a red rose from off this thorn with me.\n WARWICK. I love no colours; and, without all colour\n Of base insinuating flattery,\n I pluck this white rose with Plantagenet.\n SUFFOLK. I","question":"SCENE 4.\n\n London. The Temple garden\n\n Enter the EARLS OF SOMERSET, SUFFOLK, and WARWICK;\n RICHARD PLANTAGENET, VERNON, and another LAWYER\n\n PLANTAGENET. Great lords and gentlemen, what means this\n silence?\n Dare no man answer in a case of truth?\n SUFFOLK. Within the Temple Hall we were too loud;\n The garden here is more convenient.\n PLANTAGENET. Then say at once if I maintain'd the truth;\n Or else was wrangling Somerset in th' error?\n SUFFOLK. Faith, I have been a truant in the law\n And never yet could frame my will to it;\n And therefore frame the law unto my will.\n SOMERSET. Judge you, my Lord of Warwick, then, between us.\n WARWICK. Between two hawks, which flies the higher pitch;\n Between two dogs, which hath the deeper mouth;\n Between two blades, which bears the better temper;\n "} {"answer":"some better time.\nBy heaven, Hubert, I am almost asham'd\nTo say what good respect I have of thee.\n\nHUBERT.\nI am much bounden to your majesty.\n\nKING JOHN.\nGood friend, thou hast no cause to say so yet:\nBut thou shalt have; and creep time ne'er so slow,\nYet it shall come for me to do thee good.\nI had a thing to say,--but let it go:\nThe sun is in the heaven, and the proud day,\nAttended with the pleasures of the world,\nIs all too wanton and too full of gawds\nTo give me audience:--if the midnight bell\nDid, with his iron tongue and brazen mouth,\nSound on into the drowsy race of night;\nIf this same were a churchyard where we stand,\nAnd thou possessed with a thousand wrongs;\nOr if that surly spirit, melancholy,\nHad bak'd thy blood and made it heavy-thick,\nWhich else runs tickling up and down the veins,\nMaking that idiot, laughter, keep men's eyes,\nAnd strain their cheeks to idle merriment--\nA passion hateful to my purposes;--\nOr if that thou couldst see me without eyes,\nHear me without thine ears, and make reply\nWithout a tongue, using conceit alone,\nWithout eyes, ears, and harmful sound of words,--\nThen, in despite of brooded watchful day,\nI would into thy bosom pour my thoughts:\nBut, ah, I will not!--yet I love thee well;\nAnd, by my troth, I think thou lov'st me well.\n\nHUBERT.\nSo well that what you bid me undertake,\nThough that my death were adjunct to my act,\nBy heaven, I would do it.\n\nKING JOHN.\nDo not I know thou wouldst?\nGood Hubert, Hubert, Hubert, throw thine eye\nOn yon young boy: I'll tell thee what, my","question":"SCENE 3.\n\nThe same.\n\n[Alarums, Excursions, Retreat. Enter KING JOHN, ELINOR, ARTHUR,\nthe BASTARD, HUBERT, and LORDS.]\n\nKING JOHN.\n[To ELINOR] So shall it be; your grace shall stay behind,\nSo strongly guarded.--\n[To ARTHUR] Cousin, look not sad;\nThy grandam loves thee, and thy uncle will\nAs dear be to thee as thy father was.\n\nARTHUR.\nO, this will make my mother die with grief!\n\nKING JOHN.\nCousin [To the BASTARD], away for England; haste before:\nAnd, ere our coming, see thou shake the bags\nOf hoarding abbots; imprison'd angels\nSet at liberty: the fat ribs of peace\nMust by the hungry now be fed upon:\nUse our commission in his utmost force.\n\nBASTARD.\nBell, book, and candle shall not drive me back,\nWhen gold and silver becks me to come on.\nI leave your highness.--Grandam, I will pray,--\nIf ever I remember to be holy,--\nFor your fair safety; so, I kiss your hand.\n\nELINOR.\nFarewell, gentle cousin.\n\nKING JOHN.\nCoz, farewell.\n\n[Exit BASTARD.]\n\nELINOR.\nCome hither, little kinsman; hark, a word.\n\n[She takes Arthur aside.]\n\nKING JOHN.\nCome hither, Hubert. O my gentle Hubert,\nWe owe thee much! within this wall of flesh\nThere is a soul counts thee her creditor,\nAnd with advantage means to pay thy love:\nAnd, my good friend, thy voluntary oath\nLives in this bosom, dearly cherished.\nGive me thy hand. I had a thing to say,--\nBut I will fit it with"} {"answer":" on the walls of Corioli\n\n Tullus Aufidius, is he within your walls?\n FIRST SENATOR. No, nor a man that fears you less than he:\n That's lesser than a little. [Drum afar off] Hark, our\ndrums\n Are bringing forth our youth. We'll break our walls\n Rather than they shall pound us up; our gates,\n Which yet seem shut, we have but pinn'd with rushes;\n They'll open of themselves. [Alarum far off] Hark you far\noff!\n There is Aufidius. List what work he makes\n Amongst your cloven army.\n MARCIUS. O, they are at it!\n LARTIUS. Their noise be our instruction. Ladders, ho!\n\n Enter the army of the Volsces\n\n MARCIUS. They fear us not, but issue forth their city.\n Now put your shields before your hearts, and fight\n With hearts more proof than shields. Advance, brave Titus.\n They do disdain us much beyond our thoughts,\n Which makes me sweat with wrath. Come on, my fellows.\n He that retires, I'll take him for a Volsce,\n And he shall feel mine edge.\n\n Alarum. The Romans are beat","question":"SCENE IV.\nBefore Corioli\n\nEnter MARCIUS, TITUS LARTIUS, with drum and colours,\nwith CAPTAINS and soldiers. To them a MESSENGER\n\n MARCIUS. Yonder comes news; a wager- they have met.\n LARTIUS. My horse to yours- no.\n MARCIUS. 'Tis done.\n LARTIUS. Agreed.\n MARCIUS. Say, has our general met the enemy?\n MESSENGER. They lie in view, but have not spoke as yet.\n LARTIUS. So, the good horse is mine.\n MARCIUS. I'll buy him of you.\n LARTIUS. No, I'll nor sell nor give him; lend you him I will\n For half a hundred years. Summon the town.\n MARCIUS. How far off lie these armies?\n MESSENGER. Within this mile and half.\n MARCIUS. Then shall we hear their 'larum, and they ours.\n Now, Mars, I prithee, make us quick in work,\n That we with smoking swords may march from hence\n To help our fielded friends! Come, blow thy blast.\n\n They sound a parley. Enter two SENATORS with others,\n "} {"answer":"which he was incessantly twitching. He was\njust now manifesting unmistakable signs of impatience, nervously pacing\nup and down, and unable to stand still for a moment. This was Fix, one\nof the detectives who had been dispatched from England in search of the\nbank robber; it was his task to narrowly watch every passenger who\narrived at Suez, and to follow up all who seemed to be suspicious\ncharacters, or bore a resemblance to the description of the criminal,\nwhich he had received two days before from the police headquarters at\nLondon. The detective was evidently inspired by the hope of obtaining\nthe splendid reward which would be the prize of success, and awaited\nwith a feverish impatience, easy to understand, the arrival of the\nsteamer Mongolia.\n\n\"So you say, consul,\" asked he for the twentieth time, \"that this\nsteamer is never behind time?\"\n\n\"No, Mr. Fix,\" replied the consul. \"She was bespoken yesterday at Port\nSaid, and the rest of the way is of no account to such a craft. I\nrepeat that the Mongolia has been in advance of the time required by\nthe company's regulations, and gained the prize awarded for excess of\nspeed.\"\n\n\"Does she come directly from Brindisi?\"\n\n\"Directly from Brindisi; she takes on the Indian mails there, and she\nleft there Saturday at five p.m. Have patience, Mr. Fix; she will not\nbe late. But really, I don't see how, from the description you have,\nyou will be able to recognise your man, even if he is on board the\nMongolia.\"\n\n\"A man rather feels the presence of these fellows, consul,","question":"\nThe circumstances under which this telegraphic dispatch about Phileas\nFogg was sent were as follows:\n\nThe steamer Mongolia, belonging to the Peninsular and Oriental Company,\nbuilt of iron, of two thousand eight hundred tons burden, and five\nhundred horse-power, was due at eleven o'clock a.m. on Wednesday, the\n9th of October, at Suez. The Mongolia plied regularly between Brindisi\nand Bombay via the Suez Canal, and was one of the fastest steamers\nbelonging to the company, always making more than ten knots an hour\nbetween Brindisi and Suez, and nine and a half between Suez and Bombay.\n\nTwo men were promenading up and down the wharves, among the crowd of\nnatives and strangers who were sojourning at this once straggling\nvillage--now, thanks to the enterprise of M. Lesseps, a fast-growing\ntown. One was the British consul at Suez, who, despite the prophecies\nof the English Government, and the unfavourable predictions of\nStephenson, was in the habit of seeing, from his office window, English\nships daily passing to and fro on the great canal, by which the old\nroundabout route from England to India by the Cape of Good Hope was\nabridged by at least a half. The other was a small, slight-built\npersonage, with a nervous, intelligent face, and bright eyes peering\nout from under eyebrows"} {"answer":"which he was incessantly twitching. He was\njust now manifesting unmistakable signs of impatience, nervously pacing\nup and down, and unable to stand still for a moment. This was Fix, one\nof the detectives who had been dispatched from England in search of the\nbank robber; it was his task to narrowly watch every passenger who\narrived at Suez, and to follow up all who seemed to be suspicious\ncharacters, or bore a resemblance to the description of the criminal,\nwhich he had received two days before from the police headquarters at\nLondon. The detective was evidently inspired by the hope of obtaining\nthe splendid reward which would be the prize of success, and awaited\nwith a feverish impatience, easy to understand, the arrival of the\nsteamer Mongolia.\n\n\"So you say, consul,\" asked he for the twentieth time, \"that this\nsteamer is never behind time?\"\n\n\"No, Mr. Fix,\" replied the consul. \"She was bespoken yesterday at Port\nSaid, and the rest of the way is of no account to such a craft. I\nrepeat that the Mongolia has been in advance of the time required by\nthe company's regulations, and gained the prize awarded for excess of\nspeed.\"\n\n\"Does she come directly from Brindisi?\"\n\n\"Directly from Brindisi; she takes on the Indian mails there, and she\nleft there Saturday at five p.m. Have patience, Mr. Fix; she will not\nbe late. But really, I don't see how, from the description you have,\nyou will be able to recognise your man, even if he is on board the\nMongolia.\"\n\n\"A man rather feels the presence of these fellows, consul,","question":"\nThe circumstances under which this telegraphic dispatch about Phileas\nFogg was sent were as follows:\n\nThe steamer Mongolia, belonging to the Peninsular and Oriental Company,\nbuilt of iron, of two thousand eight hundred tons burden, and five\nhundred horse-power, was due at eleven o'clock a.m. on Wednesday, the\n9th of October, at Suez. The Mongolia plied regularly between Brindisi\nand Bombay via the Suez Canal, and was one of the fastest steamers\nbelonging to the company, always making more than ten knots an hour\nbetween Brindisi and Suez, and nine and a half between Suez and Bombay.\n\nTwo men were promenading up and down the wharves, among the crowd of\nnatives and strangers who were sojourning at this once straggling\nvillage--now, thanks to the enterprise of M. Lesseps, a fast-growing\ntown. One was the British consul at Suez, who, despite the prophecies\nof the English Government, and the unfavourable predictions of\nStephenson, was in the habit of seeing, from his office window, English\nships daily passing to and fro on the great canal, by which the old\nroundabout route from England to India by the Cape of Good Hope was\nabridged by at least a half. The other was a small, slight-built\npersonage, with a nervous, intelligent face, and bright eyes peering\nout from under eyebrows"} {"answer":"get so far as London, even for poor Isabella's sake; and\nwho consequently was now most nervously and apprehensively happy in\nforestalling this too short visit.\n\nHe thought much of the evils of the journey for her, and not a little\nof the fatigues of his own horses and coachman who were to bring some\nof the party the last half of the way; but his alarms were needless;\nthe sixteen miles being happily accomplished, and Mr. and Mrs. John\nKnightley, their five children, and a competent number of nursery-maids,\nall reaching Hartfield in safety. The bustle and joy of such an arrival,\nthe many to be talked to, welcomed, encouraged, and variously dispersed\nand disposed of, produced a noise and confusion which his nerves could\nnot have borne under any other cause, nor have endured much longer even\nfor this; but the ways of Hartfield and the feelings of her father\nwere so respected by Mrs. John Knightley, that in spite of maternal\nsolicitude for the immediate enjoyment of her little ones, and for their\nhaving instantly all the liberty and attendance, all the eating and\ndrinking, and sleeping and playing, which they could possibly wish for,\nwithout the smallest delay, the children were never allowed to be long\na disturbance to him, either in themselves or in any restless attendance\non them.\n\nMrs. John Knightley was a pretty, elegant little woman, of gentle, quiet\nmanners, and a disposition remarkably amiable and affectionate; wrapt\nup in her family; a devoted wife, a doating mother, and so tenderly\nattached to her father and sister that, but for these higher ties, a\nwarmer love might","question":"\n\nMr. Elton must now be left to himself. It was no longer in Emma's power\nto superintend his happiness or quicken his measures. The coming of her\nsister's family was so very near at hand, that first in anticipation,\nand then in reality, it became henceforth her prime object of interest;\nand during the ten days of their stay at Hartfield it was not to be\nexpected--she did not herself expect--that any thing beyond occasional,\nfortuitous assistance could be afforded by her to the lovers. They might\nadvance rapidly if they would, however; they must advance somehow or\nother whether they would or no. She hardly wished to have more leisure\nfor them. There are people, who the more you do for them, the less they\nwill do for themselves.\n\nMr. and Mrs. John Knightley, from having been longer than usual absent\nfrom Surry, were exciting of course rather more than the usual interest.\nTill this year, every long vacation since their marriage had been\ndivided between Hartfield and Donwell Abbey; but all the holidays of\nthis autumn had been given to sea-bathing for the children, and it was\ntherefore many months since they had been seen in a regular way by their\nSurry connexions, or seen at all by Mr. Woodhouse, who could not be\ninduced to"} {"answer":"accosted the\nother with a very pretty manner of politeness. It did not seem as\nif the subject of his address were of great importance; indeed,\nfrom his pointing, it sometimes appeared as if he were only\ninquiring his way; but the moon shone on his face as he spoke, and\nthe girl was pleased to watch it, it seemed to breathe such an\ninnocent and old-world kindness of disposition, yet with something\nhigh too, as of a well-founded self-content. Presently her eye\nwandered to the other, and she was surprised to recognise in him a\ncertain Mr. Hyde, who had once visited her master and for whom she\nhad conceived a dislike. He had in his hand a heavy cane, with which\nhe was trifling; but he answered never a word, and seemed to listen\nwith an ill-contained impatience. And then all of a sudden he broke\nout in a great flame of anger, stamping with his foot, brandishing\nthe cane, and carrying on (as the maid described it) like a madman.\nThe old gentleman took a step back, with the air of one very much\nsurprised and a trifle hurt; and at that Mr. Hyde broke out of all\nbounds and clubbed him to the earth. And next moment, with ape-like\nfury, he was trampling his victim under foot and hailing down a\nstorm of blows, under which the bones were audibly shattered and the\nbody jumped upon the roadway. At the horror of these sights and\nsounds, the maid fainted.\n\n30)\n\nIt was two o'clock when she came to herself and called for the\npolice. The murderer was gone long ago;","question":"THE CAREW MURDER CASE\n\nNEARLY a year later, in the month of October, 18---, London was\nstartled by a crime of singular ferocity and rendered all the more\nnotable by the high position of the victim. The details were few and\nstartling. A maid servant living alone in a house not far from the\nriver, had gone up-stairs to bed about eleven. Although a fog rolled\nover the city in the small hours, the early part of the night was\ncloudless, and the lane, which the maid's window overlooked, was\nbrilliantly lit by the full moon. It seems she was romantically\ngiven, for she sat down upon her box, which stood immediately under\nthe window, and fell into a dream of musing. Never (she used to say,\n with streaming tears, when she narrated that experience), never had\nshe felt more at peace with all men or thought more kindly of the\nworld. And as she so sat she became aware of an aged and beautiful\ngentleman with white hair, drawing near along the lane; and\nadvancing to meet him, another and very small gentleman, to whom at\nfirst she\n\n29)\n\npaid less attention. When they had come within speech (which was\n just under the maid's eyes) the older man bowed and"} {"answer":"accosted the\nother with a very pretty manner of politeness. It did not seem as\nif the subject of his address were of great importance; indeed,\nfrom his pointing, it sometimes appeared as if he were only\ninquiring his way; but the moon shone on his face as he spoke, and\nthe girl was pleased to watch it, it seemed to breathe such an\ninnocent and old-world kindness of disposition, yet with something\nhigh too, as of a well-founded self-content. Presently her eye\nwandered to the other, and she was surprised to recognise in him a\ncertain Mr. Hyde, who had once visited her master and for whom she\nhad conceived a dislike. He had in his hand a heavy cane, with which\nhe was trifling; but he answered never a word, and seemed to listen\nwith an ill-contained impatience. And then all of a sudden he broke\nout in a great flame of anger, stamping with his foot, brandishing\nthe cane, and carrying on (as the maid described it) like a madman.\nThe old gentleman took a step back, with the air of one very much\nsurprised and a trifle hurt; and at that Mr. Hyde broke out of all\nbounds and clubbed him to the earth. And next moment, with ape-like\nfury, he was trampling his victim under foot and hailing down a\nstorm of blows, under which the bones were audibly shattered and the\nbody jumped upon the roadway. At the horror of these sights and\nsounds, the maid fainted.\n\n30)\n\nIt was two o'clock when she came to herself and called for the\npolice. The murderer was gone long ago;","question":"THE CAREW MURDER CASE\n\nNEARLY a year later, in the month of October, 18---, London was\nstartled by a crime of singular ferocity and rendered all the more\nnotable by the high position of the victim. The details were few and\nstartling. A maid servant living alone in a house not far from the\nriver, had gone up-stairs to bed about eleven. Although a fog rolled\nover the city in the small hours, the early part of the night was\ncloudless, and the lane, which the maid's window overlooked, was\nbrilliantly lit by the full moon. It seems she was romantically\ngiven, for she sat down upon her box, which stood immediately under\nthe window, and fell into a dream of musing. Never (she used to say,\n with streaming tears, when she narrated that experience), never had\nshe felt more at peace with all men or thought more kindly of the\nworld. And as she so sat she became aware of an aged and beautiful\ngentleman with white hair, drawing near along the lane; and\nadvancing to meet him, another and very small gentleman, to whom at\nfirst she\n\n29)\n\npaid less attention. When they had come within speech (which was\n just under the maid's eyes) the older man bowed and"} {"answer":"accosted the\nother with a very pretty manner of politeness. It did not seem as\nif the subject of his address were of great importance; indeed,\nfrom his pointing, it sometimes appeared as if he were only\ninquiring his way; but the moon shone on his face as he spoke, and\nthe girl was pleased to watch it, it seemed to breathe such an\ninnocent and old-world kindness of disposition, yet with something\nhigh too, as of a well-founded self-content. Presently her eye\nwandered to the other, and she was surprised to recognise in him a\ncertain Mr. Hyde, who had once visited her master and for whom she\nhad conceived a dislike. He had in his hand a heavy cane, with which\nhe was trifling; but he answered never a word, and seemed to listen\nwith an ill-contained impatience. And then all of a sudden he broke\nout in a great flame of anger, stamping with his foot, brandishing\nthe cane, and carrying on (as the maid described it) like a madman.\nThe old gentleman took a step back, with the air of one very much\nsurprised and a trifle hurt; and at that Mr. Hyde broke out of all\nbounds and clubbed him to the earth. And next moment, with ape-like\nfury, he was trampling his victim under foot and hailing down a\nstorm of blows, under which the bones were audibly shattered and the\nbody jumped upon the roadway. At the horror of these sights and\nsounds, the maid fainted.\n\n30)\n\nIt was two o'clock when she came to herself and called for the\npolice. The murderer was gone long ago;","question":"THE CAREW MURDER CASE\n\nNEARLY a year later, in the month of October, 18---, London was\nstartled by a crime of singular ferocity and rendered all the more\nnotable by the high position of the victim. The details were few and\nstartling. A maid servant living alone in a house not far from the\nriver, had gone up-stairs to bed about eleven. Although a fog rolled\nover the city in the small hours, the early part of the night was\ncloudless, and the lane, which the maid's window overlooked, was\nbrilliantly lit by the full moon. It seems she was romantically\ngiven, for she sat down upon her box, which stood immediately under\nthe window, and fell into a dream of musing. Never (she used to say,\n with streaming tears, when she narrated that experience), never had\nshe felt more at peace with all men or thought more kindly of the\nworld. And as she so sat she became aware of an aged and beautiful\ngentleman with white hair, drawing near along the lane; and\nadvancing to meet him, another and very small gentleman, to whom at\nfirst she\n\n29)\n\npaid less attention. When they had come within speech (which was\n just under the maid's eyes) the older man bowed and"} {"answer":" his eye, talks like a knell, and his hum is a battery. He\nsits in\n his state as a thing made for Alexander. What he bids be done\nis\n finish'd with his bidding. He wants nothing of a god but\n eternity, and a heaven to throne in.\n SICINIUS. Yes- mercy, if you report him truly.\n MENENIUS. I paint him in the character. Mark what mercy his\nmother\n shall bring from him. There is no more mercy in him than\nthere is\n milk in a male tiger; that shall our poor city find. And all\nthis\n is 'long of you.\n SICINIUS. The gods be good unto us!\n MENENIUS. No, in such a case the gods will not be good unto us.\n When we banish'd him we respected not them; and, he returning\nto\n break our necks, they respect not us.\n\n Enter a MESSENGER\n\n MESSENGER. Sir, if you'd save your life, fly to your house.\n The plebeians have got your fellow tribune\n And hale him up and down; all swearing if\n The Roman ladies bring not comfort home\n They'll give him death by inches.\n\n ","question":"SCENE IV.\nRome. A public place\n\nEnter MENENIUS and SICINIUS\n\n MENENIUS. See you yond coign o' th' Capitol, yond cornerstone?\n SICINIUS. Why, what of that?\n MENENIUS. If it be possible for you to displace it with your\nlittle\n finger, there is some hope the ladies of Rome, especially his\n mother, may prevail with him. But I say there is no hope\nin't;\n our throats are sentenc'd, and stay upon execution.\n SICINIUS. Is't possible that so short a time can alter the\n condition of a man?\n MENENIUS. There is differency between a grub and a butterfly;\nyet\n your butterfly was a grub. This Marcius is grown from man to\n dragon; he has wings, he's more than a creeping thing.\n SICINIUS. He lov'd his mother dearly.\n MENENIUS. So did he me; and he no more remembers his mother now\n than an eight-year-old horse. The tartness of his face sours\nripe\n grapes; when he walks, he moves like an engine and the ground\n shrinks before his treading. He is able to pierce a corslet\nwith\n "} {"answer":" Ah, God!\n\nROXANE:\n What is it?\n\nCYRANO (to himself--stunned):\n All is over now.\n\n(Renewed reports.)\n\nROXANE:\n What is the matter? Hark! another shot!\n\n(She goes up to look outside.)\n\nCYRANO:\n It is too late, now I can never tell!\n\nROXANE (trying to rush out):\n What has chanced?\n\nCYRANO (rushing to stop her):\n Nothing!\n\n(Some cadets enter, trying to hide something they are carrying, and close\nround it to prevent Roxane approaching.)\n\nROXANE:\n And those men?\n(Cyrano draws her away):\n What were you just about to say before. . .?\n\nCYRANO:\n What was I saying? Nothing now, I swear!\n(Solemnly):\n I swear that Christian's soul, his nature, were. . .\n(Hastily correcting himself):\n Nay, that they are, the noblest, greatest. . .\n\nROXANE:\n Were?\n(With a loud scream):\n Oh!\n\n(She rushes up, pushing every one aside.)\n\nCYRANO:\n All is over now!\n\nROXANE (seeing Christian lying on the ground, wrapped in his cloak):\n O Christian!\n\nLE BRET (to Cyrano):\n Struck by first shot of the enemy!\n\n(Roxane flings herself down by Christian. Fresh reports of cannon--clash of\narms--clamor--beating of drums.)\n\nCARBON (with sword in the air):\n O come! Your muskets.\n\n(Followed by the cadets, he passes to the other side of the ramparts.)\n\nROXANE:\n Christian!\n\nTHE VOICE OF CARBON (from the other side):\n Ho! make haste!\n\nROXANE:\n Christian!\n\nCARBON:\n FORM LINE!\n\nROXANE:\n Christian!\n\nCARBON:\n HANDLE YOUR MATCH!\n\n(Ragueneau rushes up, bringing water in a helmet.)\n\nCHRISTIAN (in a dying voice):\n Roxane!\n\nCYRANO (quickly, whispering into Christian's ear, while Roxane distractedly\ntears a piece of linen from his breast,","question":"Roxane, Cyrano. Then Le Bret, Carbon de Castel-Jaloux, the cadets, Ragueneau,\nDe Guiche, etc.\n\nROXANE:\n Important, how?\n\nCYRANO (in despair. to Roxane):\n He's gone! 'Tis naught!--Oh, you know how he sees\n Importance in a trifle!\n\nROXANE (warmly):\n Did he doubt\n Of what I said?--Ah, yes, I saw he doubted!\n\nCYRANO (taking her hand):\n But are you sure you told him all the truth?\n\nROXANE:\n Yes, I would love him were he. . .\n\n(She hesitates.)\n\nCYRANO:\n Does that word\n Embarrass you before my face, Roxane?\n\nROXANE:\n I. . .\n\nCYRANO (smiling sadly):\n 'Twill not hurt me! Say it! If he were\n Ugly!. . .\n\nROXANE:\n Yes, ugly!\n(Musket report outside):\n Hark! I hear a shot!\n\nCYRANO (ardently):\n Hideous!\n\nROXANE:\n Hideous! yes!\n\nCYRANO:\n Disfigured.\n\nROXANE:\n Ay!\n\nCYRANO:\n Grotesque?\n\nROXANE:\n He could not be grotesque to me!\n\nCYRANO:\n You'd love the same?. . .\n\nROXANE:\n The same--nay, even more!\n\nCYRANO (losing command over himself--aside):\n My God! it's true, perchance, love waits me there!\n(To Roxane):\n I. . .Roxane. . .listen. . .\n\nLE BRET (entering hurriedly--to Cyrano):\n Cyrano!\n\nCYRANO (turning round):\n What?\n\nLE BRET:\n Hush!\n\n(He whispers something to him.)\n\nCYRANO (letting go Roxane's hand and exclaiming):\n"} {"answer":"must we to her window,\n And give some evening music to her ear.\n THURIO. How now, Sir Proteus, are you crept before us?\n PROTEUS. Ay, gentle Thurio; for you know that love\n Will creep in service where it cannot go.\n THURIO. Ay, but I hope, sir, that you love not here.\n PROTEUS. Sir, but I do; or else I would be hence.\n THURIO. Who? Silvia?\n PROTEUS. Ay, Silvia- for your sake.\n THURIO. I thank you for your own. Now, gentlemen,\n Let's tune, and to it lustily awhile.\n\n Enter at a distance, HOST, and JULIA in boy's clothes\n\n HOST. Now, my young guest, methinks you're allycholly; I pray\nyou,\n why is it?\n JULIA. Marry, mine host, because I cannot be merry.\n HOST. Come, we'll have you merry; I'll bring you where you\nshall\n hear music, and see the gentleman that you ask'd for.\n JULIA. But shall I hear him speak?\n HOST. Ay, that you shall. [Music plays]\n JULIA. That will be music.\n HOST. Hark, hark!\n JULIA. Is he among these?\n HOST. Ay; but peace! let's hear 'em.\n\n SONG\n","question":"SCENE II.\n\nMilan. Outside the DUKE'S palace, under SILVIA'S window\n\nEnter PROTEUS\n\n PROTEUS. Already have I been false to Valentine,\n And now I must be as unjust to Thurio.\n Under the colour of commending him\n I have access my own love to prefer;\n But Silvia is too fair, too true, too holy,\n To be corrupted with my worthless gifts.\n When I protest true loyalty to her,\n She twits me with my falsehood to my friend;\n When to her beauty I commend my vows,\n She bids me think how I have been forsworn\n In breaking faith with Julia whom I lov'd;\n And notwithstanding all her sudden quips,\n The least whereof would quell a lover's hope,\n Yet, spaniel-like, the more she spurns my love\n The more it grows and fawneth on her still.\n\n Enter THURIO and MUSICIANS\n\n But here comes Thurio. Now"} {"answer":" 15\n\n _Enter LUCIO._\n\n_Lucio._ Hail, virgin, if you be, as those cheek-roses\nProclaim you are no less! Can you so stead me\nAs bring me to the sight of Isabella,\nA novice of this place, and the fair sister\nTo her unhappy brother Claudio? 20\n\n_Isab._ Why, 'her unhappy brother'? let me ask\nThe rather, for I now must make you know\nI am that Isabella and his sister.\n\n_Lucio._ Gentle and fair, your brother kindly greets you:\nNot to be weary with you, he's in prison. 25\n\n_Isab._ Woe me! for what?\n\n_Lucio._ For that which, if myself might be his judge,\nHe should receive his punishment in thanks:\nHe hath got his friend with child.\n\n_Isab._ Sir, make me not your story.\n\n_Lucio._ It is true. 30\nI would not--though 'tis my familiar sin\nWith maids to seem the lapwing,","question":"SCENE IV. \n\n_A nunnery._\n\n _Enter ISABELLA and FRANCISCA._\n\n_Isab._ And have you nuns no farther privileges?\n\n_Fran._ Are not these large enough?\n\n_Isab._ Yes, truly: I speak not as desiring more;\nBut rather wishing a more strict restraint\nUpon the sisterhood, the votarists of Saint Clare. 5\n\n_Lucio_ [_within_]. Ho! Peace be in this place!\n\n_Isab._ Who's that which calls?\n\n_Fran._ It is a man's voice. Gentle Isabella,\nTurn you the key, and know his business of him;\nYou may, I may not; you are yet unsworn.\nWhen you have vow'd, you must not speak with men 10\nBut in the presence of the prioress:\nThen, if you speak, you must not show your face;\nOr, if you show your face, you must not speak.\nHe calls again; I pray you, answer him. [_Exit._\n\n_Isab._ Peace and prosperity! Who is't that calls? "} {"answer":"banishment, then let them,\n If I say fine, cry 'Fine!'- if death, cry 'Death!'\n Insisting on the old prerogative\n And power i' th' truth o' th' cause.\n AEDILE. I shall inform them.\n BRUTUS. And when such time they have begun to cry,\n Let them not cease, but with a din confus'd\n Enforce the present execution\n Of what we chance to sentence.\n AEDILE. Very well.\n SICINIUS. Make them be strong, and ready for this hint,\n When we shall hap to give't them.\n BRUTUS. Go about it. Exit AEDILE\n Put him to choler straight. He hath been us'd\n Ever to conquer, and to have his worth\n Of contradiction; being once chaf'd, he cannot\n Be rein'd again to temperance; then he speaks\n What's in his heart, and that is there which looks\n With us to break his neck.\n\n Enter CORIOLANUS, MENENIUS and COMINIUS, with others\n\n SICINIUS. Well, here he comes.\n MENENIUS. Calmly, I do beseech you.\n CORIOLANUS. Ay, as an ostler, that for th' poorest piece\n ","question":"SCENE III.\nRome. The Forum\n\nEnter SICINIUS and BRUTUS\n\n BRUTUS. In this point charge him home, that he affects\n Tyrannical power. If he evade us there,\n Enforce him with his envy to the people,\n And that the spoil got on the Antiates\n Was ne'er distributed.\n\n Enter an AEDILE\n\n What, will he come?\n AEDILE. He's coming.\n BRUTUS. How accompanied?\n AEDILE. With old Menenius, and those senators\n That always favour'd him.\n SICINIUS. Have you a catalogue\n Of all the voices that we have procur'd,\n Set down by th' poll?\n AEDILE. I have; 'tis ready.\n SICINIUS. Have you collected them by tribes?\n AEDILE. I have.\n SICINIUS. Assemble presently the people hither;\n And when they hear me say 'It shall be so\n I' th' right and strength o' th' commons' be it either\n For death, for fine, or"} {"answer":"banishment, then let them,\n If I say fine, cry 'Fine!'- if death, cry 'Death!'\n Insisting on the old prerogative\n And power i' th' truth o' th' cause.\n AEDILE. I shall inform them.\n BRUTUS. And when such time they have begun to cry,\n Let them not cease, but with a din confus'd\n Enforce the present execution\n Of what we chance to sentence.\n AEDILE. Very well.\n SICINIUS. Make them be strong, and ready for this hint,\n When we shall hap to give't them.\n BRUTUS. Go about it. Exit AEDILE\n Put him to choler straight. He hath been us'd\n Ever to conquer, and to have his worth\n Of contradiction; being once chaf'd, he cannot\n Be rein'd again to temperance; then he speaks\n What's in his heart, and that is there which looks\n With us to break his neck.\n\n Enter CORIOLANUS, MENENIUS and COMINIUS, with others\n\n SICINIUS. Well, here he comes.\n MENENIUS. Calmly, I do beseech you.\n CORIOLANUS. Ay, as an ostler, that for th' poorest piece\n ","question":"SCENE III.\nRome. The Forum\n\nEnter SICINIUS and BRUTUS\n\n BRUTUS. In this point charge him home, that he affects\n Tyrannical power. If he evade us there,\n Enforce him with his envy to the people,\n And that the spoil got on the Antiates\n Was ne'er distributed.\n\n Enter an AEDILE\n\n What, will he come?\n AEDILE. He's coming.\n BRUTUS. How accompanied?\n AEDILE. With old Menenius, and those senators\n That always favour'd him.\n SICINIUS. Have you a catalogue\n Of all the voices that we have procur'd,\n Set down by th' poll?\n AEDILE. I have; 'tis ready.\n SICINIUS. Have you collected them by tribes?\n AEDILE. I have.\n SICINIUS. Assemble presently the people hither;\n And when they hear me say 'It shall be so\n I' th' right and strength o' th' commons' be it either\n For death, for fine, or"} {"answer":"\"what news of Cunegonde? Is she still a prodigy of\nbeauty? Does she love me still? How is she? Thou hast doubtless bought\nher a palace at Constantinople?\"\n\n\"My dear master,\" answered Cacambo, \"Cunegonde washes dishes on the\nbanks of the Propontis, in the service of a prince, who has very few\ndishes to wash; she is a slave in the family of an ancient sovereign\nnamed Ragotsky,[35] to whom the Grand Turk allows three crowns a day in\nhis exile. But what is worse still is, that she has lost her beauty and\nhas become horribly ugly.\"\n\n\"Well, handsome or ugly,\" replied Candide, \"I am a man of honour, and it\nis my duty to love her still. But how came she to be reduced to so\nabject a state with the five or six millions that you took to her?\"\n\n\"Ah!\" said Cacambo, \"was I not to give two millions to Senor Don\nFernando d'Ibaraa, y Figueora, y Mascarenes, y Lampourdos, y Souza,\nGovernor of Buenos Ayres, for permitting Miss Cunegonde to come away?\nAnd did not a corsair bravely rob us of all the rest? Did not this\ncorsair carry us to Cape Matapan, to Milo, to Nicaria, to Samos, to\nPetra, to the Dardanelles, to Marmora, to Scutari? Cunegonde and the old\nwoman serve the prince I now mentioned to you, and I am slave to the\ndethroned Sultan.\"\n\n\"What a series of shocking calamities!\" cried Candide. \"But after all, I\nhave some diamonds left; and I may easily pay Cunegonde's ransom. Yet it\nis a pity that she is grown so ugly.\"\n\nThen, turning towards Martin: \"Who do","question":"\nThe faithful Cacambo had already prevailed upon the Turkish skipper, who\nwas to conduct the Sultan Achmet to Constantinople, to receive Candide\nand Martin on his ship. They both embarked after having made their\nobeisance to his miserable Highness.\n\n\"You see,\" said Candide to Martin on the way, \"we supped with six\ndethroned kings, and of those six there was one to whom I gave charity.\nPerhaps there are many other princes yet more unfortunate. For my part,\nI have only lost a hundred sheep; and now I am flying into Cunegonde's\narms. My dear Martin, yet once more Pangloss was right: all is for the\nbest.\"\n\n\"I wish it,\" answered Martin.\n\n\"But,\" said Candide, \"it was a very strange adventure we met with at\nVenice. It has never before been seen or heard that six dethroned kings\nhave supped together at a public inn.\"\n\n\"It is not more extraordinary,\" said Martin, \"than most of the things\nthat have happened to us. It is a very common thing for kings to be\ndethroned; and as for the honour we have had of supping in their\ncompany, it is a trifle not worth our attention.\"\n\nNo sooner had Candide got on board the vessel than he flew to his old\nvalet and friend Cacambo, and tenderly embraced him.\n\n\"Well,\" said he,"} {"answer":"\"what news of Cunegonde? Is she still a prodigy of\nbeauty? Does she love me still? How is she? Thou hast doubtless bought\nher a palace at Constantinople?\"\n\n\"My dear master,\" answered Cacambo, \"Cunegonde washes dishes on the\nbanks of the Propontis, in the service of a prince, who has very few\ndishes to wash; she is a slave in the family of an ancient sovereign\nnamed Ragotsky,[35] to whom the Grand Turk allows three crowns a day in\nhis exile. But what is worse still is, that she has lost her beauty and\nhas become horribly ugly.\"\n\n\"Well, handsome or ugly,\" replied Candide, \"I am a man of honour, and it\nis my duty to love her still. But how came she to be reduced to so\nabject a state with the five or six millions that you took to her?\"\n\n\"Ah!\" said Cacambo, \"was I not to give two millions to Senor Don\nFernando d'Ibaraa, y Figueora, y Mascarenes, y Lampourdos, y Souza,\nGovernor of Buenos Ayres, for permitting Miss Cunegonde to come away?\nAnd did not a corsair bravely rob us of all the rest? Did not this\ncorsair carry us to Cape Matapan, to Milo, to Nicaria, to Samos, to\nPetra, to the Dardanelles, to Marmora, to Scutari? Cunegonde and the old\nwoman serve the prince I now mentioned to you, and I am slave to the\ndethroned Sultan.\"\n\n\"What a series of shocking calamities!\" cried Candide. \"But after all, I\nhave some diamonds left; and I may easily pay Cunegonde's ransom. Yet it\nis a pity that she is grown so ugly.\"\n\nThen, turning towards Martin: \"Who do","question":"\nThe faithful Cacambo had already prevailed upon the Turkish skipper, who\nwas to conduct the Sultan Achmet to Constantinople, to receive Candide\nand Martin on his ship. They both embarked after having made their\nobeisance to his miserable Highness.\n\n\"You see,\" said Candide to Martin on the way, \"we supped with six\ndethroned kings, and of those six there was one to whom I gave charity.\nPerhaps there are many other princes yet more unfortunate. For my part,\nI have only lost a hundred sheep; and now I am flying into Cunegonde's\narms. My dear Martin, yet once more Pangloss was right: all is for the\nbest.\"\n\n\"I wish it,\" answered Martin.\n\n\"But,\" said Candide, \"it was a very strange adventure we met with at\nVenice. It has never before been seen or heard that six dethroned kings\nhave supped together at a public inn.\"\n\n\"It is not more extraordinary,\" said Martin, \"than most of the things\nthat have happened to us. It is a very common thing for kings to be\ndethroned; and as for the honour we have had of supping in their\ncompany, it is a trifle not worth our attention.\"\n\nNo sooner had Candide got on board the vessel than he flew to his old\nvalet and friend Cacambo, and tenderly embraced him.\n\n\"Well,\" said he,"} {"answer":"to believe his tales.\n Why favour me so much in such a matter?\n How can you know of what I'm capable?\n And should you trust my outward semblance, brother,\n Or judge therefrom that I'm the better man?\n No, no; you let appearances deceive you;\n I'm anything but what I'm thought to be,\n Alas! and though all men believe me godly,\n The simple truth is, I'm a worthless creature.\n\n (To Damis)\n Yes, my dear son, say on, and call me traitor,\n Abandoned scoundrel, thief, and murderer;\n Heap on me names yet more detestable,\n And I shall not gainsay you; I've deserved them;\n I'll bear this ignominy on my knees,\n To expiate in shame the crimes I've done.\n\n ORGON (to Tartuffe)\n Ah, brother, 'tis too much!\n\n (To his son)\n You'll not relent,\n You blackguard?\n\n DAMIS\n What! His talk can so deceive you ...\n\n ORGON\n Silence, you scoundrel!\n\n (To Tartuffe)\n Brother, rise, I beg you.\n\n (To his son)\n Infamous villain!\n\n DAMIS\n Can he ...\n\n ORGON\n Silence!\n\n DAMIS\n What ...\n\n ORGON\n Another word, I'll break your every bone.\n\n TARTUFFE\n Brother, in God's name, don't be angry with him!\n I'd rather bear myself the bitterest torture\n Than have him get a scratch on my account.\n\n ORGON (to his son)\n Ungrateful monster!\n\n TARTUFFE\n","question":"SCENE VI ORGON, DAMIS, TARTUFFE\n\n\n ORGON\n Just Heaven! Can what I hear be credited?\n\n TARTUFFE\n Yes, brother, I am wicked, I am guilty,\n A miserable sinner, steeped in evil,\n The greatest criminal that ever lived.\n Each moment of my life is stained with soilures;\n And all is but a mass of crime and filth;\n Heaven, for my punishment, I see it plainly,\n Would mortify me now. Whatever wrong\n They find to charge me with, I'll not deny it\n But guard against the pride of self-defence.\n Believe their stories, arm your wrath against me,\n And drive me like a villain from your house;\n I cannot have so great a share of shame\n But what I have deserved a greater still.\n\n ORGON (to his son)\n You miscreant, can you dare, with such a falsehood,\n To try to stain the whiteness of his virtue?\n\n DAMIS\n What! The feigned meekness of this hypocrite\n Makes you discredit ...\n\n ORGON\n Silence, cursed plague!\n\n TARTUFFE\n Ah! Let him speak; you chide him wrongfully;\n You'd do far better"} {"answer":"the moment he set foot on English soil.\nPassepartout wept till he was blind, and felt like blowing his brains\nout.\n\nAouda and he had remained, despite the cold, under the portico of the\nCustom House. Neither wished to leave the place; both were anxious to\nsee Mr. Fogg again.\n\nThat gentleman was really ruined, and that at the moment when he was\nabout to attain his end. This arrest was fatal. Having arrived at\nLiverpool at twenty minutes before twelve on the 21st of December, he\nhad till a quarter before nine that evening to reach the Reform Club,\nthat is, nine hours and a quarter; the journey from Liverpool to London\nwas six hours.\n\nIf anyone, at this moment, had entered the Custom House, he would have\nfound Mr. Fogg seated, motionless, calm, and without apparent anger,\nupon a wooden bench. He was not, it is true, resigned; but this last\nblow failed to force him into an outward betrayal of any emotion. Was\nhe being devoured by one of those secret rages, all the more terrible\nbecause contained, and which only burst forth, with an irresistible\nforce, at the last moment? No one could tell. There he sat, calmly\nwaiting--for what? Did he still cherish hope? Did he still believe,\nnow that the door of this prison was closed upon him, that he would\nsucceed?\n\nHowever that may have been, Mr. Fogg carefully put his watch upon the\ntable, and observed its advancing hands. Not a word escaped his lips,\nbut his look was singularly set and stern. The situation,","question":"\nPhileas Fogg was in prison. He had been shut up in the Custom House,\nand he was to be transferred to London the next day.\n\nPassepartout, when he saw his master arrested, would have fallen upon\nFix had he not been held back by some policemen. Aouda was\nthunderstruck at the suddenness of an event which she could not\nunderstand. Passepartout explained to her how it was that the honest\nand courageous Fogg was arrested as a robber. The young woman's heart\nrevolted against so heinous a charge, and when she saw that she could\nattempt to do nothing to save her protector, she wept bitterly.\n\nAs for Fix, he had arrested Mr. Fogg because it was his duty, whether\nMr. Fogg were guilty or not.\n\nThe thought then struck Passepartout, that he was the cause of this new\nmisfortune! Had he not concealed Fix's errand from his master? When\nFix revealed his true character and purpose, why had he not told Mr.\nFogg? If the latter had been warned, he would no doubt have given Fix\nproof of his innocence, and satisfied him of his mistake; at least, Fix\nwould not have continued his journey at the expense and on the heels of\nhis master, only to arrest him"} {"answer":"the moment he set foot on English soil.\nPassepartout wept till he was blind, and felt like blowing his brains\nout.\n\nAouda and he had remained, despite the cold, under the portico of the\nCustom House. Neither wished to leave the place; both were anxious to\nsee Mr. Fogg again.\n\nThat gentleman was really ruined, and that at the moment when he was\nabout to attain his end. This arrest was fatal. Having arrived at\nLiverpool at twenty minutes before twelve on the 21st of December, he\nhad till a quarter before nine that evening to reach the Reform Club,\nthat is, nine hours and a quarter; the journey from Liverpool to London\nwas six hours.\n\nIf anyone, at this moment, had entered the Custom House, he would have\nfound Mr. Fogg seated, motionless, calm, and without apparent anger,\nupon a wooden bench. He was not, it is true, resigned; but this last\nblow failed to force him into an outward betrayal of any emotion. Was\nhe being devoured by one of those secret rages, all the more terrible\nbecause contained, and which only burst forth, with an irresistible\nforce, at the last moment? No one could tell. There he sat, calmly\nwaiting--for what? Did he still cherish hope? Did he still believe,\nnow that the door of this prison was closed upon him, that he would\nsucceed?\n\nHowever that may have been, Mr. Fogg carefully put his watch upon the\ntable, and observed its advancing hands. Not a word escaped his lips,\nbut his look was singularly set and stern. The situation,","question":"\nPhileas Fogg was in prison. He had been shut up in the Custom House,\nand he was to be transferred to London the next day.\n\nPassepartout, when he saw his master arrested, would have fallen upon\nFix had he not been held back by some policemen. Aouda was\nthunderstruck at the suddenness of an event which she could not\nunderstand. Passepartout explained to her how it was that the honest\nand courageous Fogg was arrested as a robber. The young woman's heart\nrevolted against so heinous a charge, and when she saw that she could\nattempt to do nothing to save her protector, she wept bitterly.\n\nAs for Fix, he had arrested Mr. Fogg because it was his duty, whether\nMr. Fogg were guilty or not.\n\nThe thought then struck Passepartout, that he was the cause of this new\nmisfortune! Had he not concealed Fix's errand from his master? When\nFix revealed his true character and purpose, why had he not told Mr.\nFogg? If the latter had been warned, he would no doubt have given Fix\nproof of his innocence, and satisfied him of his mistake; at least, Fix\nwould not have continued his journey at the expense and on the heels of\nhis master, only to arrest him"} {"answer":"the moment he set foot on English soil.\nPassepartout wept till he was blind, and felt like blowing his brains\nout.\n\nAouda and he had remained, despite the cold, under the portico of the\nCustom House. Neither wished to leave the place; both were anxious to\nsee Mr. Fogg again.\n\nThat gentleman was really ruined, and that at the moment when he was\nabout to attain his end. This arrest was fatal. Having arrived at\nLiverpool at twenty minutes before twelve on the 21st of December, he\nhad till a quarter before nine that evening to reach the Reform Club,\nthat is, nine hours and a quarter; the journey from Liverpool to London\nwas six hours.\n\nIf anyone, at this moment, had entered the Custom House, he would have\nfound Mr. Fogg seated, motionless, calm, and without apparent anger,\nupon a wooden bench. He was not, it is true, resigned; but this last\nblow failed to force him into an outward betrayal of any emotion. Was\nhe being devoured by one of those secret rages, all the more terrible\nbecause contained, and which only burst forth, with an irresistible\nforce, at the last moment? No one could tell. There he sat, calmly\nwaiting--for what? Did he still cherish hope? Did he still believe,\nnow that the door of this prison was closed upon him, that he would\nsucceed?\n\nHowever that may have been, Mr. Fogg carefully put his watch upon the\ntable, and observed its advancing hands. Not a word escaped his lips,\nbut his look was singularly set and stern. The situation,","question":"\nPhileas Fogg was in prison. He had been shut up in the Custom House,\nand he was to be transferred to London the next day.\n\nPassepartout, when he saw his master arrested, would have fallen upon\nFix had he not been held back by some policemen. Aouda was\nthunderstruck at the suddenness of an event which she could not\nunderstand. Passepartout explained to her how it was that the honest\nand courageous Fogg was arrested as a robber. The young woman's heart\nrevolted against so heinous a charge, and when she saw that she could\nattempt to do nothing to save her protector, she wept bitterly.\n\nAs for Fix, he had arrested Mr. Fogg because it was his duty, whether\nMr. Fogg were guilty or not.\n\nThe thought then struck Passepartout, that he was the cause of this new\nmisfortune! Had he not concealed Fix's errand from his master? When\nFix revealed his true character and purpose, why had he not told Mr.\nFogg? If the latter had been warned, he would no doubt have given Fix\nproof of his innocence, and satisfied him of his mistake; at least, Fix\nwould not have continued his journey at the expense and on the heels of\nhis master, only to arrest him"} {"answer":"as soon go kindle fire with snow\n As seek to quench the fire of love with words.\n LUCETTA. I do not seek to quench your love's hot fire,\n But qualify the fire's extreme rage,\n Lest it should burn above the bounds of reason.\n JULIA. The more thou dam'st it up, the more it burns.\n The current that with gentle murmur glides,\n Thou know'st, being stopp'd, impatiently doth rage;\n But when his fair course is not hindered,\n He makes sweet music with th' enamell'd stones,\n Giving a gentle kiss to every sedge\n He overtaketh in his pilgrimage;\n And so by many winding nooks he strays,\n With willing sport, to the wild ocean.\n Then let me go, and hinder not my course.\n I'll be as patient as a gentle stream,\n And make a pastime of each weary step,\n Till the last step have brought me to my love;\n And there I'll rest as, after much turmoil,\n A blessed soul doth in Elysium.\n LUCETTA. But in what habit will you go along?\n JULIA. Not like a woman, for I would prevent\n The loose encounters of lascivious men;\n Gentle Lucetta, fit me with","question":"SCENE VII.\n\nVerona. JULIA'S house\n\nEnter JULIA and LUCETTA\n\n JULIA. Counsel, Lucetta; gentle girl, assist me;\n And, ev'n in kind love, I do conjure thee,\n Who art the table wherein all my thoughts\n Are visibly character'd and engrav'd,\n To lesson me and tell me some good mean\n How, with my honour, I may undertake\n A journey to my loving Proteus.\n LUCETTA. Alas, the way is wearisome and long!\n JULIA. A true-devoted pilgrim is not weary\n To measure kingdoms with his feeble steps;\n Much less shall she that hath Love's wings to fly,\n And when the flight is made to one so dear,\n Of such divine perfection, as Sir Proteus.\n LUCETTA. Better forbear till Proteus make return.\n JULIA. O, know'st thou not his looks are my soul's food?\n Pity the dearth that I have pined in\n By longing for that food so long a time.\n Didst thou but know the inly touch of love.\n Thou wouldst"} {"answer":"by her, and had been looking at her\nattentively for several minutes, addressed her with great complaisance\nin these words: \"I think, madam, I cannot be mistaken; it is a long time\nsince I had the pleasure of seeing you, but is not your name Allen?\"\nThis question answered, as it readily was, the stranger pronounced hers\nto be Thorpe; and Mrs. Allen immediately recognized the features of\na former schoolfellow and intimate, whom she had seen only once since\ntheir respective marriages, and that many years ago. Their joy on this\nmeeting was very great, as well it might, since they had been contented\nto know nothing of each other for the last fifteen years. Compliments\non good looks now passed; and, after observing how time had slipped away\nsince they were last together, how little they had thought of meeting in\nBath, and what a pleasure it was to see an old friend, they proceeded to\nmake inquiries and give intelligence as to their families, sisters, and\ncousins, talking both together, far more ready to give than to receive\ninformation, and each hearing very little of what the other said. Mrs.\nThorpe, however, had one great advantage as a talker, over Mrs. Allen,\nin a family of children; and when she expatiated on the talents of her\nsons, and the beauty of her daughters, when she related their different\nsituations and views--that John was at Oxford, Edward at Merchant\nTaylors', and William at sea--and all of them more beloved and respected\nin their different station than any other three beings ever were, Mrs.\nAllen had no similar information to give,","question":"\n\nWith more than usual eagerness did Catherine hasten to the pump-room the\nnext day, secure within herself of seeing Mr. Tilney there before the\nmorning were over, and ready to meet him with a smile; but no smile\nwas demanded--Mr. Tilney did not appear. Every creature in Bath,\nexcept himself, was to be seen in the room at different periods of the\nfashionable hours; crowds of people were every moment passing in and\nout, up the steps and down; people whom nobody cared about, and nobody\nwanted to see; and he only was absent. \"What a delightful place Bath\nis,\" said Mrs. Allen as they sat down near the great clock, after\nparading the room till they were tired; \"and how pleasant it would be if\nwe had any acquaintance here.\"\n\nThis sentiment had been uttered so often in vain that Mrs. Allen had no\nparticular reason to hope it would be followed with more advantage now;\nbut we are told to \"despair of nothing we would attain,\" as \"unwearied\ndiligence our point would gain\"; and the unwearied diligence with which\nshe had every day wished for the same thing was at length to have its\njust reward, for hardly had she been seated ten minutes before a lady of\nabout her own age, who was sitting"} {"answer":"She says people talked about it\nsomething dreadful. Of course they would think I had no better sense\nthan to let you go decked out like that.\"\n\n\"Oh, I'm so sorry,\" said Anne, tears welling into her eyes. \"I never\nthought you'd mind. The roses and buttercups were so sweet and pretty\nI thought they'd look lovely on my hat. Lots of the little girls had\nartificial flowers on their hats. I'm afraid I'm going to be a dreadful\ntrial to you. Maybe you'd better send me back to the asylum. That would\nbe terrible; I don't think I could endure it; most likely I would go\ninto consumption; I'm so thin as it is, you see. But that would be\nbetter than being a trial to you.\"\n\n\"Nonsense,\" said Marilla, vexed at herself for having made the child\ncry. \"I don't want to send you back to the asylum, I'm sure. All I want\nis that you should behave like other little girls and not make yourself\nridiculous. Don't cry any more. I've got some news for you. Diana Barry\ncame home this afternoon. I'm going up to see if I can borrow a skirt\npattern from Mrs. Barry, and if you like you can come with me and get\nacquainted with Diana.\"\n\nAnne rose to her feet, with clasped hands, the tears still glistening on\nher cheeks; the dish towel she had been hemming slipped unheeded to the\nfloor.\n\n\"Oh, Marilla, I'm frightened--now that it has come I'm actually\nfrightened. What if she shouldn't like me! It would be the most tragical\ndisappointment of my life.\"\n\n\"Now, don't get into a fluster.","question":"\n\n|IT was not until the next Friday that Marilla heard the story of the\nflower-wreathed hat. She came home from Mrs. Lynde's and called Anne to\naccount.\n\n\"Anne, Mrs. Rachel says you went to church last Sunday with your hat\nrigged out ridiculous with roses and buttercups. What on earth put you\nup to such a caper? A pretty-looking object you must have been!\"\n\n\"Oh. I know pink and yellow aren't becoming to me,\" began Anne.\n\n\"Becoming fiddlesticks! It was putting flowers on your hat at all,\nno matter what color they were, that was ridiculous. You are the most\naggravating child!\"\n\n\"I don't see why it's any more ridiculous to wear flowers on your hat\nthan on your dress,\" protested Anne. \"Lots of little girls there had\nbouquets pinned on their dresses. What's the difference?\"\n\nMarilla was not to be drawn from the safe concrete into dubious paths of\nthe abstract.\n\n\"Don't answer me back like that, Anne. It was very silly of you to do\nsuch a thing. Never let me catch you at such a trick again. Mrs. Rachel\nsays she thought she would sink through the floor when she saw you come\nin all rigged out like that. She couldn't get near enough to tell you\nto take them off till it was too late."} {"answer":"She says people talked about it\nsomething dreadful. Of course they would think I had no better sense\nthan to let you go decked out like that.\"\n\n\"Oh, I'm so sorry,\" said Anne, tears welling into her eyes. \"I never\nthought you'd mind. The roses and buttercups were so sweet and pretty\nI thought they'd look lovely on my hat. Lots of the little girls had\nartificial flowers on their hats. I'm afraid I'm going to be a dreadful\ntrial to you. Maybe you'd better send me back to the asylum. That would\nbe terrible; I don't think I could endure it; most likely I would go\ninto consumption; I'm so thin as it is, you see. But that would be\nbetter than being a trial to you.\"\n\n\"Nonsense,\" said Marilla, vexed at herself for having made the child\ncry. \"I don't want to send you back to the asylum, I'm sure. All I want\nis that you should behave like other little girls and not make yourself\nridiculous. Don't cry any more. I've got some news for you. Diana Barry\ncame home this afternoon. I'm going up to see if I can borrow a skirt\npattern from Mrs. Barry, and if you like you can come with me and get\nacquainted with Diana.\"\n\nAnne rose to her feet, with clasped hands, the tears still glistening on\nher cheeks; the dish towel she had been hemming slipped unheeded to the\nfloor.\n\n\"Oh, Marilla, I'm frightened--now that it has come I'm actually\nfrightened. What if she shouldn't like me! It would be the most tragical\ndisappointment of my life.\"\n\n\"Now, don't get into a fluster.","question":"\n\n|IT was not until the next Friday that Marilla heard the story of the\nflower-wreathed hat. She came home from Mrs. Lynde's and called Anne to\naccount.\n\n\"Anne, Mrs. Rachel says you went to church last Sunday with your hat\nrigged out ridiculous with roses and buttercups. What on earth put you\nup to such a caper? A pretty-looking object you must have been!\"\n\n\"Oh. I know pink and yellow aren't becoming to me,\" began Anne.\n\n\"Becoming fiddlesticks! It was putting flowers on your hat at all,\nno matter what color they were, that was ridiculous. You are the most\naggravating child!\"\n\n\"I don't see why it's any more ridiculous to wear flowers on your hat\nthan on your dress,\" protested Anne. \"Lots of little girls there had\nbouquets pinned on their dresses. What's the difference?\"\n\nMarilla was not to be drawn from the safe concrete into dubious paths of\nthe abstract.\n\n\"Don't answer me back like that, Anne. It was very silly of you to do\nsuch a thing. Never let me catch you at such a trick again. Mrs. Rachel\nsays she thought she would sink through the floor when she saw you come\nin all rigged out like that. She couldn't get near enough to tell you\nto take them off till it was too late."} {"answer":"her, 'tis most true\n\n Bene. And I doe with an eye of loue requite her\n\n Leo. The sight whereof I thinke you had from me,\nFrom Claudio, and the Prince, but what's your will?\n Bened. Your answer sir is Enigmaticall,\nBut for my will, my will is, your good will\nMay stand with ours, this day to be conioyn'd,\nIn the state of honourable marriage,\nIn which (good Frier) I shall desire your helpe\n\n Leon. My heart is with your liking\n\n Frier. And my helpe.\nEnter Prince and Claudio, with attendants.\n\n Prin. Good morrow to this faire assembly\n\n Leo. Good morrow Prince, good morrow Claudio:\nWe heere attend you, are you yet determin'd,\nTo day to marry with my brothers daughter?\n Claud. Ile hold my minde were she an Ethiope\n\n Leo. Call her forth brother, heres the Frier ready\n\n Prin. Good morrow Benedicke, why what's the matter?\nThat you haue such a Februarie face,\nSo full of frost, of storme, and clowdinesse\n\n Claud. I thinke he thinkes vpon the sauage bull:\nTush, feare not man, wee'll tip thy hornes with gold,\nAnd all Europa shall reioyce at thee,\nAs once Europa did at lusty Ioue,\nWhen he would play the noble beast in loue\n\n Ben. Bull Ioue sir, had an amiable low,\nAnd some such strange bull leapt your fathers Cow,\nA got a Calfe in that same noble feat,\nMuch like to you, for you haue iust his bleat.\nEnter brother, Hero, Beatrice, Margaret, Vrsula.\n\n ","question":"Scene 4.\n\nEnter Leonato, Bene. Marg. Vrsula, old man, Frier, Hero.\n\n Frier. Did I not tell you she was innocent?\n Leo. So are the Prince and Claudio who accus'd her,\nVpon the errour that you heard debated:\nBut Margaret was in some fault for this,\nAlthough against her will as it appeares,\nIn the true course of all the question\n\n Old. Well, I am glad that all things sort so well\n\n Bene. And so am I, being else by faith enforc'd\nTo call young Claudio to a reckoning for it\n\n Leo. Well daughter, and you gentlewomen all,\nWithdraw into a chamber by your selues,\nAnd when I send for you, come hither mask'd:\nThe Prince and Claudio promis'd by this howre\nTo visit me, you know your office Brother,\nYou must be father to your brothers daughter,\nAnd giue her to young Claudio.\n\nExeunt. Ladies.\n\n Old. Which I will doe with confirm'd countenance\n\n Bene. Frier, I must intreat your paines, I thinke\n\n Frier. To doe what Signior?\n Bene. To binde me, or vndoe me, one of them:\nSignior Leonato, truth it is good Signior,\nYour neece regards me with an eye of fauour\n\n Leo. That eye my daughter lent"} {"answer":"her, 'tis most true\n\n Bene. And I doe with an eye of loue requite her\n\n Leo. The sight whereof I thinke you had from me,\nFrom Claudio, and the Prince, but what's your will?\n Bened. Your answer sir is Enigmaticall,\nBut for my will, my will is, your good will\nMay stand with ours, this day to be conioyn'd,\nIn the state of honourable marriage,\nIn which (good Frier) I shall desire your helpe\n\n Leon. My heart is with your liking\n\n Frier. And my helpe.\nEnter Prince and Claudio, with attendants.\n\n Prin. Good morrow to this faire assembly\n\n Leo. Good morrow Prince, good morrow Claudio:\nWe heere attend you, are you yet determin'd,\nTo day to marry with my brothers daughter?\n Claud. Ile hold my minde were she an Ethiope\n\n Leo. Call her forth brother, heres the Frier ready\n\n Prin. Good morrow Benedicke, why what's the matter?\nThat you haue such a Februarie face,\nSo full of frost, of storme, and clowdinesse\n\n Claud. I thinke he thinkes vpon the sauage bull:\nTush, feare not man, wee'll tip thy hornes with gold,\nAnd all Europa shall reioyce at thee,\nAs once Europa did at lusty Ioue,\nWhen he would play the noble beast in loue\n\n Ben. Bull Ioue sir, had an amiable low,\nAnd some such strange bull leapt your fathers Cow,\nA got a Calfe in that same noble feat,\nMuch like to you, for you haue iust his bleat.\nEnter brother, Hero, Beatrice, Margaret, Vrsula.\n\n ","question":"Scene 4.\n\nEnter Leonato, Bene. Marg. Vrsula, old man, Frier, Hero.\n\n Frier. Did I not tell you she was innocent?\n Leo. So are the Prince and Claudio who accus'd her,\nVpon the errour that you heard debated:\nBut Margaret was in some fault for this,\nAlthough against her will as it appeares,\nIn the true course of all the question\n\n Old. Well, I am glad that all things sort so well\n\n Bene. And so am I, being else by faith enforc'd\nTo call young Claudio to a reckoning for it\n\n Leo. Well daughter, and you gentlewomen all,\nWithdraw into a chamber by your selues,\nAnd when I send for you, come hither mask'd:\nThe Prince and Claudio promis'd by this howre\nTo visit me, you know your office Brother,\nYou must be father to your brothers daughter,\nAnd giue her to young Claudio.\n\nExeunt. Ladies.\n\n Old. Which I will doe with confirm'd countenance\n\n Bene. Frier, I must intreat your paines, I thinke\n\n Frier. To doe what Signior?\n Bene. To binde me, or vndoe me, one of them:\nSignior Leonato, truth it is good Signior,\nYour neece regards me with an eye of fauour\n\n Leo. That eye my daughter lent"} {"answer":"bones;\nAnd put my eyeballs in thy vaulty brows;\nAnd ring these fingers with thy household worms;\nAnd stop this gap of breath with fulsome dust,\nAnd be a carrion monster like thyself:\nCome, grin on me; and I will think thou smil'st,\nAnd buss thee as thy wife! Misery's love,\nO, come to me!\n\nKING PHILIP.\nO fair affliction, peace!\n\nCONSTANCE.\nNo, no, I will not, having breath to cry:--\nO, that my tongue were in the thunder's mouth!\nThen with a passion would I shake the world;\nAnd rouse from sleep that fell anatomy\nWhich cannot hear a lady's feeble voice,\nWhich scorns a modern invocation.\n\nPANDULPH.\nLady, you utter madness, and not sorrow.\n\nCONSTANCE.\nThou art not holy to belie me so;\nI am not mad: this hair I tear is mine;\nMy name is Constance; I was Geffrey's wife;\nYoung Arthur is my son, and he is lost:\nI am not mad:--I would to heaven I were!\nFor then, 'tis like I should forget myself:\nO, if I could, what grief should I forget!--\nPreach some philosophy to make me mad,\nAnd thou shalt be canoniz'd, cardinal;\nFor, being not mad, but sensible of grief,\nMy reasonable part produces reason\nHow I may be deliver'd of these woes,\nAnd teaches me to kill or hang myself:\nIf I were mad I should forget my son,\nOr madly think a babe of clouts were he:\nI am not mad; too well, too well I feel\nThe different plague of each calamity.\n\nKING PHILIP.\nBind up those tresses.--O, what love I note\nIn the fair multitude of those her hairs!\nWhere but by a chance a silver drop hath fallen,\nEven to that drop ten thousand wiry friends\nDo glue","question":"SCENE 4.\n\nThe same. The FRENCH KING's tent.\n\n[Enter KING PHILIP, LOUIS, PANDULPH, and Attendants.]\n\nKING PHILIP.\nSo, by a roaring tempest on the flood\nA whole armado of convicted sail\nIs scattered and disjoin'd from fellowship.\n\nPANDULPH.\nCourage and comfort! all shall yet go well.\n\nKING PHILIP.\nWhat can go well, when we have run so ill.\nAre we not beaten? Is not Angiers lost?\nArthur ta'en prisoner? divers dear friends slain?\nAnd bloody England into England gone,\nO'erbearing interruption, spite of France?\n\nLOUIS.\nWhat he hath won, that hath he fortified:\nSo hot a speed with such advice dispos'd,\nSuch temperate order in so fierce a cause,\nDoth want example: who hath read or heard\nOf any kindred action like to this?\n\nKING PHILIP.\nWell could I bear that England had this praise,\nSo we could find some pattern of our shame.--\nLook who comes here! a grave unto a soul;\nHolding the eternal spirit, against her will,\nIn the vile prison of afflicted breath.\n\n[Enter CONSTANCE.]\n\nI pr'ythee, lady, go away with me.\n\nCONSTANCE.\nLo, now! now see the issue of your peace!\n\nKING PHILIP.\nPatience, good lady! comfort, gentle Constance!\n\nCONSTANCE.\nNo, I defy all counsel, all redress,\nBut that which ends all counsel, true redress,\nDeath, death:--O amiable lovely death!\nThou odoriferous stench! sound rottenness!\nArise forth from the couch of lasting night,\nThou hate and terror to prosperity,\nAnd I will kiss thy detestable"} {"answer":"his head,\nas it were, and strut in his gait?\n\nSIMPLE.\nYes, indeed, does he.\n\nQUICKLY.\nWell, heaven send Anne Page no worse fortune! Tell Master Parson\nEvans I will do what I can for your master: Anne is a good girl,\nand I wish--\n\n[Re-enter RUGBY.]\n\nRUGBY.\nOut, alas! here comes my master.\n\nQUICKLY.\nWe shall all be shent. Run in here, good young man; go into this\ncloset. [Shuts SIMPLE in the closet.] He will not stay long. What,\nJohn Rugby! John! what, John, I say! Go, John, go inquire for my\nmaster; I doubt he be not well that he comes not home. \n\n[Exit Rugby.]\n\n[Sings.] And down, down, adown-a, &c.\n\n[Enter DOCTOR CAIUS.]\n\nCAIUS.\nVat is you sing? I do not like des toys. Pray you, go and vetch me\nin my closet une boitine verde--a box, a green-a box: do intend vat\nI speak? a green-a box.\n\nQUICKLY.\nAy, forsooth, I'll fetch it you. [Aside] I am glad he went not in\nhimself: if he had found the young man, he would have been horn-mad.\n\nCAIUS.\nFe, fe, fe fe! ma foi, il fait fort chaud. Je m'en vais a la cour--\nla grande affaire.\n\nQUICKLY.\nIs it this, sir?\n\nCAIUS.\nOui; mettez le au mon pocket: depechez, quickly--Vere is dat knave,\nRugby?\n\nQUICKLY.\nWhat, John Rugby? John!\n\n[Re-enter Rugby.]\n\nRUGBY.\nHere, sir.\n\nCAIUS.\nYou are John Rugby, and you are Jack Rugby: come, take-a your rapier,\nand come after my heel to de court.\n\nRUGBY.\n'Tis ready, sir, here in the porch.\n\nCAIUS.\nBy my trot, I tarry too long--Od's me! Qu'ay j'oublie? Dere is some\nsimples in my closet dat I vill not for the varld I shall leave behind.\n\nQUICKLY.\n[Aside.] Ay me, he'll find the young man there,","question":"SCENE 4.\n\nA room in DOCTOR CAIUS'S house.\n\n[Enter MISTRESS QUICKLY, and SIMPLE.]\n\nQUICKLY.\nWhat, John Rugby! \n\n[Enter RUGBY.]\n\nI pray thee go to the casement, and see if you can see my master,\nMaster Doctor Caius, coming: if he do, i' faith, and find anybody\nin the house, here will be an old abusing of God's patience and the\nKing's English.\n\nRUGBY.\nI'll go watch.\n\nQUICKLY.\nGo; and we'll have a posset for't soon at night, in faith, at the\nlatter end of a sea-coal fire.\n\n[Exit RUGBY.]\n\nAn honest, willing, kind fellow, as ever servant shall come in house\nwithal; and, I warrant you, no tell-tale nor no breed-bate; his worst\nfault is that he is given to prayer; he is something peevish that\nway; but nobody but has his fault; but let that pass. Peter Simple\nyou say your name is?\n\nSIMPLE.\nAy, for fault of a better.\n\nQUICKLY.\nAnd Master Slender's your master?\n\nSIMPLE.\nAy, forsooth.\n\nQUICKLY.\nDoes he not wear a great round beard, like a glover's paring-knife?\n\nSIMPLE.\nNo, forsooth; he hath but a little whey face, with a little yellow\nbeard--a cane-coloured beard.\n\nQUICKLY.\nA softly-sprighted man, is he not?\n\nSIMPLE.\nAy, forsooth; but he is as tall a man of his hands as any is between\nthis and his head; he hath fought with a warrener.\n\nQUICKLY.\nHow say you?--O! I should remember him. Does he not hold up"} {"answer":"his head,\nas it were, and strut in his gait?\n\nSIMPLE.\nYes, indeed, does he.\n\nQUICKLY.\nWell, heaven send Anne Page no worse fortune! Tell Master Parson\nEvans I will do what I can for your master: Anne is a good girl,\nand I wish--\n\n[Re-enter RUGBY.]\n\nRUGBY.\nOut, alas! here comes my master.\n\nQUICKLY.\nWe shall all be shent. Run in here, good young man; go into this\ncloset. [Shuts SIMPLE in the closet.] He will not stay long. What,\nJohn Rugby! John! what, John, I say! Go, John, go inquire for my\nmaster; I doubt he be not well that he comes not home. \n\n[Exit Rugby.]\n\n[Sings.] And down, down, adown-a, &c.\n\n[Enter DOCTOR CAIUS.]\n\nCAIUS.\nVat is you sing? I do not like des toys. Pray you, go and vetch me\nin my closet une boitine verde--a box, a green-a box: do intend vat\nI speak? a green-a box.\n\nQUICKLY.\nAy, forsooth, I'll fetch it you. [Aside] I am glad he went not in\nhimself: if he had found the young man, he would have been horn-mad.\n\nCAIUS.\nFe, fe, fe fe! ma foi, il fait fort chaud. Je m'en vais a la cour--\nla grande affaire.\n\nQUICKLY.\nIs it this, sir?\n\nCAIUS.\nOui; mettez le au mon pocket: depechez, quickly--Vere is dat knave,\nRugby?\n\nQUICKLY.\nWhat, John Rugby? John!\n\n[Re-enter Rugby.]\n\nRUGBY.\nHere, sir.\n\nCAIUS.\nYou are John Rugby, and you are Jack Rugby: come, take-a your rapier,\nand come after my heel to de court.\n\nRUGBY.\n'Tis ready, sir, here in the porch.\n\nCAIUS.\nBy my trot, I tarry too long--Od's me! Qu'ay j'oublie? Dere is some\nsimples in my closet dat I vill not for the varld I shall leave behind.\n\nQUICKLY.\n[Aside.] Ay me, he'll find the young man there,","question":"SCENE 4.\n\nA room in DOCTOR CAIUS'S house.\n\n[Enter MISTRESS QUICKLY, and SIMPLE.]\n\nQUICKLY.\nWhat, John Rugby! \n\n[Enter RUGBY.]\n\nI pray thee go to the casement, and see if you can see my master,\nMaster Doctor Caius, coming: if he do, i' faith, and find anybody\nin the house, here will be an old abusing of God's patience and the\nKing's English.\n\nRUGBY.\nI'll go watch.\n\nQUICKLY.\nGo; and we'll have a posset for't soon at night, in faith, at the\nlatter end of a sea-coal fire.\n\n[Exit RUGBY.]\n\nAn honest, willing, kind fellow, as ever servant shall come in house\nwithal; and, I warrant you, no tell-tale nor no breed-bate; his worst\nfault is that he is given to prayer; he is something peevish that\nway; but nobody but has his fault; but let that pass. Peter Simple\nyou say your name is?\n\nSIMPLE.\nAy, for fault of a better.\n\nQUICKLY.\nAnd Master Slender's your master?\n\nSIMPLE.\nAy, forsooth.\n\nQUICKLY.\nDoes he not wear a great round beard, like a glover's paring-knife?\n\nSIMPLE.\nNo, forsooth; he hath but a little whey face, with a little yellow\nbeard--a cane-coloured beard.\n\nQUICKLY.\nA softly-sprighted man, is he not?\n\nSIMPLE.\nAy, forsooth; but he is as tall a man of his hands as any is between\nthis and his head; he hath fought with a warrener.\n\nQUICKLY.\nHow say you?--O! I should remember him. Does he not hold up"}