AP Lit

While Candide, the Baron, Pangloss, Martin, and Cacambo were relating their several adventures, were reasoning on the contingent or non-contingent events of the universe, disputing on effects and causes, on moral and physical evil, on liberty and necessity, and on the consolations a slave may feel even on a Turkish galley, they arrived at the house of the Transylvanian prince on the banks of the Propontis. The first objects which met their sight were Cunegonde and the old woman hanging towels out to dry. The main contrast in the opening paragraph is between

Abstract argument and concrete activities

COKETOWN, to which Messrs. Bounderby and Gradgrind now walked, was a triumph of fact; it had no greater taint of fancy in it than Mrs. Gradgrind herself. Let us strike the key-note, Coketown, before pursuing our tune. It was a town of red brick, or of brick that would have been red if the smoke and ashes had allowed it; but as matters stood, it was a town of unnatural red and black like the painted face of a savage. It was a town of machinery and tall chimneys, out of which interminable serpents of smoke trailed themselves for ever and ever, and never got uncoiled. It had a black canal in it, and a river that ran purple with ill-smelling dye, and vast piles of building full of windows where there was a rattling and a trembling all day long, and where the piston of the steam-engine worked monotonously up and down, like the head of an elephant in a state of melancholy madness. It contained several large streets all very like one another, and many small streets still more like one another, inhabited by people equally like one another, who all went in and out at the same hours, with the same sound upon the same pavements, to do the same work, and to whom every day was the same as yesterday and to-morrow, and every year the counterpart of the last and the next. These attributes of Coketown were in the main inseparable from the work by which it was sustained; against them were to be set off, comforts of life which found their way all over the world, and elegancies of life which made, we will not ask how much of the fine lady, who could scarcely bear to hear the place mentioned. The rest of its features were voluntary, and they were these. You saw nothing in Coketown but what was severely workful. If the members of a religious persuasion built a chapel there - as the members of eighteen religious persuasions had done - they made it a pious warehouse of red brick, with sometimes (but this is only in highly ornamental examples) a bell in a birdcage on the top of it. The solitary exception was the New Church; a stuccoed edifice with a square steeple over the door, terminating in four short pinnacles like florid wooden legs. All the public inscriptions in the town were painted alike, in severe characters of black and white. The jail might have been the infirmary, the infirmary might have been the jail, the town-hall might have been either, or both, or anything else, for anything that appeared to the contrary in the graces of their construction. Fact, fact, fact, everywhere in the material aspect of the town; fact, fact, fact, everywhere in the immaterial. The M'Choakumchild school was all fact, and the school of design was all fact, and the relations between master and man were all fact, and everything was fact between the lying-in hospital and the cemetery, and what you couldn't state in figures, or show to be purchaseable in the cheapest market and saleable in the dearest, was not, and never should be, world without end, Amen. The parody at the very end of the passage does which of the following?

Adds irony.

Certainly the religious and moral ideas of the Dodsons and Tullivers were of too specific a kind to be arrived at deductively, from the statement that they were part of the Protestant population of Great Britain. Their theory of life had its core of soundness, as all (5) theories must have on which decent and prosperous families have been reared and have flourished; but it had the very slightest tincture of theology. If, in the maiden days of the Dodson sisters, their Bibles opened more easily at some parts than others, it was because (10) of dried tulip-petals, which had been distributed quite impartially, without preference for the historical, devotional, or doctrinal. Their religion was of a simple, semi-pagan kind, but there was no heresy in it, — if heresy properly means choice, — for they didn't know (15) there was any other religion, except that of chapel- goers, which appeared to run in families, like asthma. How _should_ they know? The vicar of their pleasant rural parish was not a controversialist, but a good hand at whist, and one who had a joke always ready (20) for a blooming female parishioner. The religion of the Dodsons consisted in revering whatever was customary and respectable; it was necessary to be baptized, else one could not be buried in the church-yard, and to take the sacrament before death, as a security against more (25) dimly understood perils; but it was of equal necessity to have the proper pall-bearers and well-cured hams at one's funeral, and to leave an unimpeachable will. A Dodson would not be taxed with the omission of anything that was becoming, or that belonged to that (30) eternal fitness of things which was plainly indicated in the practice of the most substantial parishioners, and in the family traditions, — such as obedience to parents, faithfulness to kindred, industry, rigid honesty, thrift, the thorough scouring of wooden and copper (35) utensils, the hoarding of coins likely to disappear from the currency, the production of first-rate commodities for the market, and the general preference of whatever was home-made. The Dodsons were a very proud race, and their pride lay in the utter frustration of all (40) desire to tax them with a breach of traditional duty or propriety. A wholesome pride in many respects, since it identified honor with perfect integrity, thoroughness of work, and faithfulness to admitted rules; and society owes some worthy qualities in many of her (45) members to mothers of the Dodson class, who made their butter and their fromenty well, and would have felt disgraced to make it otherwise. To be honest and poor was never a Dodson motto, still less to seem rich though being poor; rather, the family badge was to be (50) honest and rich, and not only rich, but richer than was supposed. To live respected, and have the proper bearers at your funeral, was an achievement of the ends of existence that would be entirely nullified if, on the reading of your will, you sank in the opinion (55) of your fellow-men, either by turning out to be poorer than they expected, or by leaving your money in a capricious manner, without strict regard to degrees of kin. The right thing must always be done toward kindred. The right thing was to correct them severely, (60) if they were other than a credit to the family, but still not to alienate from them the smallest rightful share in the family shoebuckles and other property. A conspicuous quality in the Dodson character was its genuineness; its vices and virtues alike were (65) phases of a proud honest egoism, which had a hearty dislike to whatever made against its own credit and interest, and would be frankly hard of speech to inconvenient "kin," but would never forsake or ignore them, — would not let them want bread, but only (70) require them to eat it with bitter herbs. Which of the following would the Dodsons probably NOT approve of in a family member?

An indifference to the value of property

COKETOWN, to which Messrs. Bounderby and Gradgrind now walked, was a triumph of fact; it had no greater taint of fancy in it than Mrs. Gradgrind herself. Let us strike the key-note, Coketown, before pursuing our tune. It was a town of red brick, or of brick that would have been red if the smoke and ashes had allowed it; but as matters stood, it was a town of unnatural red and black like the painted face of a savage. It was a town of machinery and tall chimneys, out of which interminable serpents of smoke trailed themselves for ever and ever, and never got uncoiled. It had a black canal in it, and a river that ran purple with ill-smelling dye, and vast piles of building full of windows where there was a rattling and a trembling all day long, and where the piston of the steam-engine worked monotonously up and down, like the head of an elephant in a state of melancholy madness. It contained several large streets all very like one another, and many small streets still more like one another, inhabited by people equally like one another, who all went in and out at the same hours, with the same sound upon the same pavements, to do the same work, and to whom every day was the same as yesterday and to-morrow, and every year the counterpart of the last and the next. These attributes of Coketown were in the main inseparable from the work by which it was sustained; against them were to be set off, comforts of life which found their way all over the world, and elegancies of life which made, we will not ask how much of the fine lady, who could scarcely bear to hear the place mentioned. The rest of its features were voluntary, and they were these. You saw nothing in Coketown but what was severely workful. If the members of a religious persuasion built a chapel there - as the members of eighteen religious persuasions had done - they made it a pious warehouse of red brick, with sometimes (but this is only in highly ornamental examples) a bell in a birdcage on the top of it. The solitary exception was the New Church; a stuccoed edifice with a square steeple over the door, terminating in four short pinnacles like florid wooden legs. All the public inscriptions in the town were painted alike, in severe characters of black and white. The jail might have been the infirmary, the infirmary might have been the jail, the town-hall might have been either, or both, or anything else, for anything that appeared to the contrary in the graces of their construction. Fact, fact, fact, everywhere in the material aspect of the town; fact, fact, fact, everywhere in the immaterial. The M'Choakumchild school was all fact, and the school of design was all fact, and the relations between master and man were all fact, and everything was fact between the lying-in hospital and the cemetery, and what you couldn't state in figures, or show to be purchaseable in the cheapest market and saleable in the dearest, was not, and never should be, world without end, Amen. In the second paragraph, which qualities of the town receive the greatest emphasis?

Its dinginesss and predictability

"You used to carry your tobacco in a rubber pouch," said Edna, picking up the pouch and examining the needlework. "Yes; it was lost." "Where did you buy this one? In Mexico?" "It was given to me by a Vera Cruz girl; they are very generous," he replied, striking a match and lighting his cigarette. "They are very handsome, I suppose, those Mexican women; very picturesque, with their black eyes and their lace scarfs." "Some are; others are hideous, just as you find women everywhere." "What was she like—the one who gave you the pouch? You must have known her very well." "She was very ordinary. She wasn't of the slightest importance. I knew her well enough." "Did you visit at her house? Was it interesting? I should like to know and hear about the people you met, and the impressions they made on you." "There are some people who leave impressions not so lasting as the imprint of an oar upon the water." "Was she such a one?" "It would be ungenerous for me to admit that she was of that order and kind." He thrust the pouch back in his pocket, as if to put away the subject with the trifle which had brought it up. Arobin dropped in with a message from Mrs. Merriman, to say that the card party was postponed on account of the illness of one of her children. "How do you do, Arobin?" said Robert, rising from the obscurity. "Oh! Lebrun. To be sure! I heard yesterday you were back. How did they treat you down in Mexique?" "Fairly well." "But not well enough to keep you there. Stunning girls, though, in Mexico. I thought I should never get away from Vera Cruz when I was down there a couple of years ago." "Did they embroider slippers and tobacco pouches and hat-bands and things for you?" asked Edna. "Oh! my! no! I didn't get so deep in their regard. I fear they made more impression on me than I made on them." "You were less fortunate than Robert, then." "I am always less fortunate than Robert. Has he been imparting tender confidences?" "I've been imposing myself long enough," said Robert, rising, and shaking hands with Edna. "Please convey my regards to Mr. Pontellier when you write." He shook hands with Arobin and went away. "Fine fellow, that Lebrun," said Arobin when Robert had gone. "I never heard you speak of him." "I knew him last summer at Grand Isle," she replied. "Here is that photograph of yours. Don't you want it?" "What do I want with it? Throw it away." She threw it back on the table. "I'm not going to Mrs. Merriman's," she said. "If you see her, tell her so. But perhaps I had better write. I think I shall write now, and say that I am sorry her child is sick, and tell her not to count on me." "It would be a good scheme," acquiesced Arobin. "I don't blame you; stupid lot!" Edna opened the blotter, and having procured paper and pen, began to write the note. Arobin lit a cigar and read the evening paper, which he had in his pocket. "What is the date?" she asked. He told her. "Will you mail this for me when you go out?" "Certainly." He read to her little bits out of the newspaper, while she straightened things on the table. "What do you want to do?" he asked, throwing aside the paper. "Do you want to go out for a walk or a drive or anything? It would be a fine night to drive." "No; I don't want to do anything but just be quiet. You go away and amuse yourself. Don't stay." "I'll go away if I must; but I shan't amuse myself. You know that I only live when I am near you." He stood up to bid her good night. "Is that one of the things you always say to women?" "I have said it before, but I don't think I ever came so near meaning it," he answered with a smile. There were no warm lights in her eyes; only a dreamy, absent look. "Good night. I adore you. Sleep well," he said, and he kissed her hand and went away. She stayed alone in a kind of reverie—a sort of stupor. Step by step she lived over every instant of the time she had been with Robert after he had entered Mademoiselle Reisz's door. She recalled his words, his looks. How few and meager they had been for her hungry heart! A vision—a transcendently seductive vision of a Mexican girl arose before her. She writhed with a jealous pang. She wondered when he would come back. He had not said he would come back. She had been with him, had heard his voice and touched his hand. But some way he had seemed nearer to her off there in Mexico. In the passage as a whole, which detail seems to upset Edna the most

Robert's potential relationship with a Mexican girl

COKETOWN, to which Messrs. Bounderby and Gradgrind now walked, was a triumph of fact; it had no greater taint of fancy in it than Mrs. Gradgrind herself. Let us strike the key-note, Coketown, before pursuing our tune. It was a town of red brick, or of brick that would have been red if the smoke and ashes had allowed it; but as matters stood, it was a town of unnatural red and black like the painted face of a savage. It was a town of machinery and tall chimneys, out of which interminable serpents of smoke trailed themselves for ever and ever, and never got uncoiled. It had a black canal in it, and a river that ran purple with ill-smelling dye, and vast piles of building full of windows where there was a rattling and a trembling all day long, and where the piston of the steam-engine worked monotonously up and down, like the head of an elephant in a state of melancholy madness. It contained several large streets all very like one another, and many small streets still more like one another, inhabited by people equally like one another, who all went in and out at the same hours, with the same sound upon the same pavements, to do the same work, and to whom every day was the same as yesterday and to-morrow, and every year the counterpart of the last and the next. These attributes of Coketown were in the main inseparable from the work by which it was sustained; against them were to be set off, comforts of life which found their way all over the world, and elegancies of life which made, we will not ask how much of the fine lady, who could scarcely bear to hear the place mentioned. The rest of its features were voluntary, and they were these. You saw nothing in Coketown but what was severely workful. If the members of a religious persuasion built a chapel there - as the members of eighteen religious persuasions had done - they made it a pious warehouse of red brick, with sometimes (but this is only in highly ornamental examples) a bell in a birdcage on the top of it. The solitary exception was the New Church; a stuccoed edifice with a square steeple over the door, terminating in four short pinnacles like florid wooden legs. All the public inscriptions in the town were painted alike, in severe characters of black and white. The jail might have been the infirmary, the infirmary might have been the jail, the town-hall might have been either, or both, or anything else, for anything that appeared to the contrary in the graces of their construction. Fact, fact, fact, everywhere in the material aspect of the town; fact, fact, fact, everywhere in the immaterial. The M'Choakumchild school was all fact, and the school of design was all fact, and the relations between master and man were all fact, and everything was fact between the lying-in hospital and the cemetery, and what you couldn't state in figures, or show to be purchaseable in the cheapest market and saleable in the dearest, was not, and never should be, world without end, Amen. Which of the following functions as the unifying element for the passage?

The repetition of the word fact

Certainly the religious and moral ideas of the Dodsons and Tullivers were of too specific a kind to be arrived at deductively, from the statement that they were part of the Protestant population of Great Britain. Their theory of life had its core of soundness, as all (5) theories must have on which decent and prosperous families have been reared and have flourished; but it had the very slightest tincture of theology. If, in the maiden days of the Dodson sisters, their Bibles opened more easily at some parts than others, it was because (10) of dried tulip-petals, which had been distributed quite impartially, without preference for the historical, devotional, or doctrinal. Their religion was of a simple, semi-pagan kind, but there was no heresy in it, — if heresy properly means choice, — for they didn't know (15) there was any other religion, except that of chapel- goers, which appeared to run in families, like asthma. How _should_ they know? The vicar of their pleasant rural parish was not a controversialist, but a good hand at whist, and one who had a joke always ready (20) for a blooming female parishioner. The religion of the Dodsons consisted in revering whatever was customary and respectable; it was necessary to be baptized, else one could not be buried in the church-yard, and to take the sacrament before death, as a security against more (25) dimly understood perils; but it was of equal necessity to have the proper pall-bearers and well-cured hams at one's funeral, and to leave an unimpeachable will. A Dodson would not be taxed with the omission of anything that was becoming, or that belonged to that (30) eternal fitness of things which was plainly indicated in the practice of the most substantial parishioners, and in the family traditions, — such as obedience to parents, faithfulness to kindred, industry, rigid honesty, thrift, the thorough scouring of wooden and copper (35) utensils, the hoarding of coins likely to disappear from the currency, the production of first-rate commodities for the market, and the general preference of whatever was home-made. The Dodsons were a very proud race, and their pride lay in the utter frustration of all (40) desire to tax them with a breach of traditional duty or propriety. A wholesome pride in many respects, since it identified honor with perfect integrity, thoroughness of work, and faithfulness to admitted rules; and society owes some worthy qualities in many of her (45) members to mothers of the Dodson class, who made their butter and their fromenty well, and would have felt disgraced to make it otherwise. To be honest and poor was never a Dodson motto, still less to seem rich though being poor; rather, the family badge was to be (50) honest and rich, and not only rich, but richer than was supposed. To live respected, and have the proper bearers at your funeral, was an achievement of the ends of existence that would be entirely nullified if, on the reading of your will, you sank in the opinion (55) of your fellow-men, either by turning out to be poorer than they expected, or by leaving your money in a capricious manner, without strict regard to degrees of kin. The right thing must always be done toward kindred. The right thing was to correct them severely, (60) if they were other than a credit to the family, but still not to alienate from them the smallest rightful share in the family shoebuckles and other property. A conspicuous quality in the Dodson character was its genuineness; its vices and virtues alike were (65) phases of a proud honest egoism, which had a hearty dislike to whatever made against its own credit and interest, and would be frankly hard of speech to inconvenient "kin," but would never forsake or ignore them, — would not let them want bread, but only (70) require them to eat it with bitter herbs. From the first sentence, one can infer which of the following about the Dodsons' and Tullivers' religious and moral ideas?

They are not typical of those of British Protestants in general.

Certainly the religious and moral ideas of the Dodsons and Tullivers were of too specific a kind to be arrived at deductively, from the statement that they were part of the Protestant population of Great Britain. Their theory of life had its core of soundness, as all (5) theories must have on which decent and prosperous families have been reared and have flourished; but it had the very slightest tincture of theology. If, in the maiden days of the Dodson sisters, their Bibles opened more easily at some parts than others, it was because (10) of dried tulip-petals, which had been distributed quite impartially, without preference for the historical, devotional, or doctrinal. Their religion was of a simple, semi-pagan kind, but there was no heresy in it, — if heresy properly means choice, — for they didn't know (15) there was any other religion, except that of chapel- goers, which appeared to run in families, like asthma. How _should_ they know? The vicar of their pleasant rural parish was not a controversialist, but a good hand at whist, and one who had a joke always ready (20) for a blooming female parishioner. The religion of the Dodsons consisted in revering whatever was customary and respectable; it was necessary to be baptized, else one could not be buried in the church-yard, and to take the sacrament before death, as a security against more (25) dimly understood perils; but it was of equal necessity to have the proper pall-bearers and well-cured hams at one's funeral, and to leave an unimpeachable will. A Dodson would not be taxed with the omission of anything that was becoming, or that belonged to that (30) eternal fitness of things which was plainly indicated in the practice of the most substantial parishioners, and in the family traditions, — such as obedience to parents, faithfulness to kindred, industry, rigid honesty, thrift, the thorough scouring of wooden and copper (35) utensils, the hoarding of coins likely to disappear from the currency, the production of first-rate commodities for the market, and the general preference of whatever was home-made. The Dodsons were a very proud race, and their pride lay in the utter frustration of all (40) desire to tax them with a breach of traditional duty or propriety. A wholesome pride in many respects, since it identified honor with perfect integrity, thoroughness of work, and faithfulness to admitted rules; and society owes some worthy qualities in many of her (45) members to mothers of the Dodson class, who made their butter and their fromenty well, and would have felt disgraced to make it otherwise. To be honest and poor was never a Dodson motto, still less to seem rich though being poor; rather, the family badge was to be (50) honest and rich, and not only rich, but richer than was supposed. To live respected, and have the proper bearers at your funeral, was an achievement of the ends of existence that would be entirely nullified if, on the reading of your will, you sank in the opinion (55) of your fellow-men, either by turning out to be poorer than they expected, or by leaving your money in a capricious manner, without strict regard to degrees of kin. The right thing must always be done toward kindred. The right thing was to correct them severely, (60) if they were other than a credit to the family, but still not to alienate from them the smallest rightful share in the family shoebuckles and other property. A conspicuous quality in the Dodson character was its genuineness; its vices and virtues alike were (65) phases of a proud honest egoism, which had a hearty dislike to whatever made against its own credit and interest, and would be frankly hard of speech to inconvenient "kin," but would never forsake or ignore them, — would not let them want bread, but only (70) require them to eat it with bitter herbs. In the passage, the narrator is most concerned with

describing the values held by the Dodsons

Certainly the religious and moral ideas of the Dodsons and Tullivers were of too specific a kind to be arrived at deductively, from the statement that they were part of the Protestant population of Great Britain. Their theory of life had its core of soundness, as all (5) theories must have on which decent and prosperous families have been reared and have flourished; but it had the very slightest tincture of theology. If, in the maiden days of the Dodson sisters, their Bibles opened more easily at some parts than others, it was because (10) of dried tulip-petals, which had been distributed quite impartially, without preference for the historical, devotional, or doctrinal. Their religion was of a simple, semi-pagan kind, but there was no heresy in it, — if heresy properly means choice, — for they didn't know (15) there was any other religion, except that of chapel- goers, which appeared to run in families, like asthma. How _should_ they know? The vicar of their pleasant rural parish was not a controversialist, but a good hand at whist, and one who had a joke always ready (20) for a blooming female parishioner. The religion of the Dodsons consisted in revering whatever was customary and respectable; it was necessary to be baptized, else one could not be buried in the church-yard, and to take the sacrament before death, as a security against more (25) dimly understood perils; but it was of equal necessity to have the proper pall-bearers and well-cured hams at one's funeral, and to leave an unimpeachable will. A Dodson would not be taxed with the omission of anything that was becoming, or that belonged to that (30) eternal fitness of things which was plainly indicated in the practice of the most substantial parishioners, and in the family traditions, — such as obedience to parents, faithfulness to kindred, industry, rigid honesty, thrift, the thorough scouring of wooden and copper (35) utensils, the hoarding of coins likely to disappear from the currency, the production of first-rate commodities for the market, and the general preference of whatever was home-made. The Dodsons were a very proud race, and their pride lay in the utter frustration of all (40) desire to tax them with a breach of traditional duty or propriety. A wholesome pride in many respects, since it identified honor with perfect integrity, thoroughness of work, and faithfulness to admitted rules; and society owes some worthy qualities in many of her (45) members to mothers of the Dodson class, who made their butter and their fromenty well, and would have felt disgraced to make it otherwise. To be honest and poor was never a Dodson motto, still less to seem rich though being poor; rather, the family badge was to be (50) honest and rich, and not only rich, but richer than was supposed. To live respected, and have the proper bearers at your funeral, was an achievement of the ends of existence that would be entirely nullified if, on the reading of your will, you sank in the opinion (55) of your fellow-men, either by turning out to be poorer than they expected, or by leaving your money in a capricious manner, without strict regard to degrees of kin. The right thing must always be done toward kindred. The right thing was to correct them severely, (60) if they were other than a credit to the family, but still not to alienate from them the smallest rightful share in the family shoebuckles and other property. A conspicuous quality in the Dodson character was its genuineness; its vices and virtues alike were (65) phases of a proud honest egoism, which had a hearty dislike to whatever made against its own credit and interest, and would be frankly hard of speech to inconvenient "kin," but would never forsake or ignore them, — would not let them want bread, but only (70) require them to eat it with bitter herbs. In lines 13-17 with the phrase "Their religion . . . asthma", the narrator draws attention to the Dodson sisters'

untroubled complacency

A green and yellow parrot, which hung in a cage outside the door, kept repeating over and over: "Allez vous-en! Allez vous-en! Sapristi! That's all right!" The caged parrot can be seen as a representation of

Edna

Gertrude. Hamlet, thou hast thy father much offended. Hamlet. Mother, you have my father much offended. Which best explains the use of the word father. The word father

Gertrude refers to Claudius and Hamlet refers to King Hamlet

COKETOWN, to which Messrs. Bounderby and Gradgrind now walked, was a triumph of fact; it had no greater taint of fancy in it than Mrs. Gradgrind herself. Let us strike the key-note, Coketown, before pursuing our tune. It was a town of red brick, or of brick that would have been red if the smoke and ashes had allowed it; but as matters stood, it was a town of unnatural red and black like the painted face of a savage. It was a town of machinery and tall chimneys, out of which interminable serpents of smoke trailed themselves for ever and ever, and never got uncoiled. It had a black canal in it, and a river that ran purple with ill-smelling dye, and vast piles of building full of windows where there was a rattling and a trembling all day long, and where the piston of the steam-engine worked monotonously up and down, like the head of an elephant in a state of melancholy madness. It contained several large streets all very like one another, and many small streets still more like one another, inhabited by people equally like one another, who all went in and out at the same hours, with the same sound upon the same pavements, to do the same work, and to whom every day was the same as yesterday and to-morrow, and every year the counterpart of the last and the next. These attributes of Coketown were in the main inseparable from the work by which it was sustained; against them were to be set off, comforts of life which found their way all over the world, and elegancies of life which made, we will not ask how much of the fine lady, who could scarcely bear to hear the place mentioned. The rest of its features were voluntary, and they were these. You saw nothing in Coketown but what was severely workful. If the members of a religious persuasion built a chapel there - as the members of eighteen religious persuasions had done - they made it a pious warehouse of red brick, with sometimes (but this is only in highly ornamental examples) a bell in a birdcage on the top of it. The solitary exception was the New Church; a stuccoed edifice with a square steeple over the door, terminating in four short pinnacles like florid wooden legs. All the public inscriptions in the town were painted alike, in severe characters of black and white. The jail might have been the infirmary, the infirmary might have been the jail, the town-hall might have been either, or both, or anything else, for anything that appeared to the contrary in the graces of their construction. Fact, fact, fact, everywhere in the material aspect of the town; fact, fact, fact, everywhere in the immaterial. The M'Choakumchild school was all fact, and the school of design was all fact, and the relations between master and man were all fact, and everything was fact between the lying-in hospital and the cemetery, and what you couldn't state in figures, or show to be purchaseable in the cheapest market and saleable in the dearest, was not, and never should be, world without end, Amen. "Serpents" is used primarily as

an emblem of industrial blight

It had never recovered the heavy fine imposed upon Walpole Crawley, first baronet, for peculation in the Tape and Sealing Wax Office. Sir Walpole was a jolly fellow, eager to seize and to spend money (alieni appetens, sui profusus, as Mr. Crawley would remark with a sigh), and in his day beloved by all the county for the constant drunkenness and hospitality which was maintained at Queen's Crawley. The cellars were filled with burgundy then, the kennels with hounds, and the stables with gallant hunters; now, such horses as Queen's Crawley possessed went to plough, or ran in the Trafalgar Coach; and it was with a team of these very horses, on an off-day, that Miss Sharp was brought to the Hall; for boor as he was, Sir Pitt was a stickler for his dignity while at home, and seldom drove out but with four horses, and though he dined off boiled mutton, had always three footmen to serve it. If mere parsimony could have made a man rich, Sir Pitt Crawley might have become very wealthy—if he had been an attorney in a country town, with no capital but his brains, it is very possible that he would have turned them to good account, and might have achieved for himself a very considerable influence and competency. But he was unluckily endowed with a good name and a large though encumbered estate, both of which went rather to injure than to advance him. He had a taste for law, which cost him many thousands yearly; and being a great deal too clever to be robbed, as he said, by any single agent, allowed his affairs to be mismanaged by a dozen, whom he all equally mistrusted. He was such a sharp landlord, that he could hardly find any but bankrupt tenants; and such a close farmer, as to grudge almost the seed to the ground, whereupon revengeful Nature grudged him the crops which she granted to more liberal husbandmen. He speculated in every possible way; he worked mines; bought canal-shares; horsed coaches; took government contracts, and was the busiest man and magistrate of his county. As he would not pay honest agents at his granite quarry, he had the satisfaction of finding that four overseers ran away, and took fortunes with them to America. For want of proper precautions, his coal-mines filled with water: the government flung his contract of damaged beef upon his hands: and for his coach-horses, every mail proprietor in the kingdom knew that he lost more horses than any man in the country, from underfeeding and buying cheap. The narrator's irony is reflected with which phrase

"he was unluckily endowed with a good name"

COKETOWN, to which Messrs. Bounderby and Gradgrind now walked, was a triumph of fact; it had no greater taint of fancy in it than Mrs. Gradgrind herself. Let us strike the key-note, Coketown, before pursuing our tune. It was a town of red brick, or of brick that would have been red if the smoke and ashes had allowed it; but as matters stood, it was a town of unnatural red and black like the painted face of a savage. It was a town of machinery and tall chimneys, out of which interminable serpents of smoke trailed themselves for ever and ever, and never got uncoiled. It had a black canal in it, and a river that ran purple with ill-smelling dye, and vast piles of building full of windows where there was a rattling and a trembling all day long, and where the piston of the steam-engine worked monotonously up and down, like the head of an elephant in a state of melancholy madness. It contained several large streets all very like one another, and many small streets still more like one another, inhabited by people equally like one another, who all went in and out at the same hours, with the same sound upon the same pavements, to do the same work, and to whom every day was the same as yesterday and to-morrow, and every year the counterpart of the last and the next. These attributes of Coketown were in the main inseparable from the work by which it was sustained; against them were to be set off, comforts of life which found their way all over the world, and elegancies of life which made, we will not ask how much of the fine lady, who could scarcely bear to hear the place mentioned. The rest of its features were voluntary, and they were these. You saw nothing in Coketown but what was severely workful. If the members of a religious persuasion built a chapel there - as the members of eighteen religious persuasions had done - they made it a pious warehouse of red brick, with sometimes (but this is only in highly ornamental examples) a bell in a birdcage on the top of it. The solitary exception was the New Church; a stuccoed edifice with a square steeple over the door, terminating in four short pinnacles like florid wooden legs. All the public inscriptions in the town were painted alike, in severe characters of black and white. The jail might have been the infirmary, the infirmary might have been the jail, the town-hall might have been either, or both, or anything else, for anything that appeared to the contrary in the graces of their construction. Fact, fact, fact, everywhere in the material aspect of the town; fact, fact, fact, everywhere in the immaterial. The M'Choakumchild school was all fact, and the school of design was all fact, and the relations between master and man were all fact, and everything was fact between the lying-in hospital and the cemetery, and what you couldn't state in figures, or show to be purchaseable in the cheapest market and saleable in the dearest, was not, and never should be, world without end, Amen. Compose a theme statement about the Coketown passage. Remember that a theme statement should 1) contain an abstract idea, 2) be complete idea, and 3) reflect a universal message.

Dickens' Hard Times explores the idea of how industrialization can taint a town/civilization.

Certainly the religious and moral ideas of the Dodsons and Tullivers were of too specific a kind to be arrived at deductively, from the statement that they were part of the Protestant population of Great Britain. Their theory of life had its core of soundness, as all (5) theories must have on which decent and prosperous families have been reared and have flourished; but it had the very slightest tincture of theology. If, in the maiden days of the Dodson sisters, their Bibles opened more easily at some parts than others, it was because (10) of dried tulip-petals, which had been distributed quite impartially, without preference for the historical, devotional, or doctrinal. Their religion was of a simple, semi-pagan kind, but there was no heresy in it, — if heresy properly means choice, — for they didn't know (15) there was any other religion, except that of chapel- goers, which appeared to run in families, like asthma. How _should_ they know? The vicar of their pleasant rural parish was not a controversialist, but a good hand at whist, and one who had a joke always ready (20) for a blooming female parishioner. The religion of the Dodsons consisted in revering whatever was customary and respectable; it was necessary to be baptized, else one could not be buried in the church-yard, and to take the sacrament before death, as a security against more (25) dimly understood perils; but it was of equal necessity to have the proper pall-bearers and well-cured hams at one's funeral, and to leave an unimpeachable will. A Dodson would not be taxed with the omission of anything that was becoming, or that belonged to that (30) eternal fitness of things which was plainly indicated in the practice of the most substantial parishioners, and in the family traditions, — such as obedience to parents, faithfulness to kindred, industry, rigid honesty, thrift, the thorough scouring of wooden and copper (35) utensils, the hoarding of coins likely to disappear from the currency, the production of first-rate commodities for the market, and the general preference of whatever was home-made. The Dodsons were a very proud race, and their pride lay in the utter frustration of all (40) desire to tax them with a breach of traditional duty or propriety. A wholesome pride in many respects, since it identified honor with perfect integrity, thoroughness of work, and faithfulness to admitted rules; and society owes some worthy qualities in many of her (45) members to mothers of the Dodson class, who made their butter and their fromenty well, and would have felt disgraced to make it otherwise. To be honest and poor was never a Dodson motto, still less to seem rich though being poor; rather, the family badge was to be (50) honest and rich, and not only rich, but richer than was supposed. To live respected, and have the proper bearers at your funeral, was an achievement of the ends of existence that would be entirely nullified if, on the reading of your will, you sank in the opinion (55) of your fellow-men, either by turning out to be poorer than they expected, or by leaving your money in a capricious manner, without strict regard to degrees of kin. The right thing must always be done toward kindred. The right thing was to correct them severely, (60) if they were other than a credit to the family, but still not to alienate from them the smallest rightful share in the family shoebuckles and other property. A conspicuous quality in the Dodson character was its genuineness; its vices and virtues alike were (65) phases of a proud honest egoism, which had a hearty dislike to whatever made against its own credit and interest, and would be frankly hard of speech to inconvenient "kin," but would never forsake or ignore them, — would not let them want bread, but only (70) require them to eat it with bitter herbs. In line 69, the adjective "inconvenient" is used

euphemistically

Certainly the religious and moral ideas of the Dodsons and Tullivers were of too specific a kind to be arrived at deductively, from the statement that they were part of the Protestant population of Great Britain. Their theory of life had its core of soundness, as all (5) theories must have on which decent and prosperous families have been reared and have flourished; but it had the very slightest tincture of theology. If, in the maiden days of the Dodson sisters, their Bibles opened more easily at some parts than others, it was because (10) of dried tulip-petals, which had been distributed quite impartially, without preference for the historical, devotional, or doctrinal. Their religion was of a simple, semi-pagan kind, but there was no heresy in it, — if heresy properly means choice, — for they didn't know (15) there was any other religion, except that of chapel- goers, which appeared to run in families, like asthma. How _should_ they know? The vicar of their pleasant rural parish was not a controversialist, but a good hand at whist, and one who had a joke always ready (20) for a blooming female parishioner. The religion of the Dodsons consisted in revering whatever was customary and respectable; it was necessary to be baptized, else one could not be buried in the church-yard, and to take the sacrament before death, as a security against more (25) dimly understood perils; but it was of equal necessity to have the proper pall-bearers and well-cured hams at one's funeral, and to leave an unimpeachable will. A Dodson would not be taxed with the omission of anything that was becoming, or that belonged to that (30) eternal fitness of things which was plainly indicated in the practice of the most substantial parishioners, and in the family traditions, — such as obedience to parents, faithfulness to kindred, industry, rigid honesty, thrift, the thorough scouring of wooden and copper (35) utensils, the hoarding of coins likely to disappear from the currency, the production of first-rate commodities for the market, and the general preference of whatever was home-made. The Dodsons were a very proud race, and their pride lay in the utter frustration of all (40) desire to tax them with a breach of traditional duty or propriety. A wholesome pride in many respects, since it identified honor with perfect integrity, thoroughness of work, and faithfulness to admitted rules; and society owes some worthy qualities in many of her (45) members to mothers of the Dodson class, who made their butter and their fromenty well, and would have felt disgraced to make it otherwise. To be honest and poor was never a Dodson motto, still less to seem rich though being poor; rather, the family badge was to be (50) honest and rich, and not only rich, but richer than was supposed. To live respected, and have the proper bearers at your funeral, was an achievement of the ends of existence that would be entirely nullified if, on the reading of your will, you sank in the opinion (55) of your fellow-men, either by turning out to be poorer than they expected, or by leaving your money in a capricious manner, without strict regard to degrees of kin. The right thing must always be done toward kindred. The right thing was to correct them severely, (60) if they were other than a credit to the family, but still not to alienate from them the smallest rightful share in the family shoebuckles and other property. A conspicuous quality in the Dodson character was its genuineness; its vices and virtues alike were (65) phases of a proud honest egoism, which had a hearty dislike to whatever made against its own credit and interest, and would be frankly hard of speech to inconvenient "kin," but would never forsake or ignore them, — would not let them want bread, but only (70) require them to eat it with bitter herbs. The last sentence implies that the Dodsons would require that errant relatives

humbly accept criticism for their shortcomings

Like as the waves make towards the pebbl'd shore, So do our minutes hasten to their end; Each changing place with that which goes before, In sequent toil all forwards do contend. Nativity, once in the main of light, Crawls to maturity, wherewith being crown'd, Crooked eclipses 'gainst his glory fight, And Time that gave doth now his gift confound. Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth And delves the parallels in beauty's brow, Feeds on the rarities of nature's truth, And nothing stands but for his scythe to mow: And yet to times in hope my verse shall stand, Praising thy worth, despite his cruel hand. In line 8, the word confound most likely means

wrong: contradicts I think it is: confuses

Hamlet. Ay, so, God b' wi' ye! [Exeunt Rosencrantz and Guildenstern] Now I am alone. O what a rogue and peasant slave am I! Is it not monstrous that this player here, But in a fiction, in a dream of passion, Could force his soul so to his own conceit That, from her working, all his visage wann'd, Tears in his eyes, distraction in's aspect, A broken voice, and his whole function suiting With forms to his conceit? And all for nothing! For Hecuba! What's Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba, That he should weep for her? What would he do, Had he the motive and the cue for passion That I have? He would drown the stage with tears And cleave the general ear with horrid speech; Make mad the guilty and appal the free, Confound the ignorant, and amaze indeed The very faculties of eyes and ears. Yet I, A dull and muddy-mettled rascal, peak Like John-a-dreams, unpregnant of my cause, And can say nothing! No, not for a king, Upon whose property and most dear life A damn'd defeat was made. Am I a coward? Who calls me villain? breaks my pate across? Plucks off my beard and blows it in my face? Tweaks me by th' nose? gives me the lie i' th' throat As deep as to the lungs? Who does me this, ha? 'Swounds, I should take it! for it cannot be But I am pigeon-liver'd and lack gall To make oppression bitter, or ere this I should have fatted all the region kites With this slave's offal. Bloody bawdy villain! Remorseless, treacherous, lecherous, kindless villain! O, vengeance! Why, what an ass am I! This is most brave, That I, the son of a dear father murther'd, Prompted to my revenge by heaven and hell, Must (like a *****) unpack my heart with words And fall a-cursing like a very drab, A scullion! Fie upon't! foh! About, my brain! Hum, I have heard That guilty creatures, sitting at a play, Have by the very cunning of the scene Been struck so to the soul that presently They have proclaim'd their malefactions; For murther, though it have no tongue, will speak With most miraculous organ, I'll have these Players Play something like the murther of my father Before mine uncle. I'll observe his looks; I'll tent him to the quick. If he but blench, I know my course. The spirit that I have seen May be a devil; and the devil hath power T' assume a pleasing shape; yea, and perhaps Out of my weakness and my melancholy, As he is very potent with such spirits, Abuses me to damn me. I'll have grounds More relative than this. The play's the thing Wherein I'll catch the conscience of the King. Exit. This passage most reflects which tragic element of Hamlet's character?

wrong: Anagnorosis I think it is: Hamartia

Certainly the religious and moral ideas of the Dodsons and Tullivers were of too specific a kind to be arrived at deductively, from the statement that they were part of the Protestant population of Great Britain. Their theory of life had its core of soundness, as all (5) theories must have on which decent and prosperous families have been reared and have flourished; but it had the very slightest tincture of theology. If, in the maiden days of the Dodson sisters, their Bibles opened more easily at some parts than others, it was because (10) of dried tulip-petals, which had been distributed quite impartially, without preference for the historical, devotional, or doctrinal. Their religion was of a simple, semi-pagan kind, but there was no heresy in it, — if heresy properly means choice, — for they didn't know (15) there was any other religion, except that of chapel- goers, which appeared to run in families, like asthma. How _should_ they know? The vicar of their pleasant rural parish was not a controversialist, but a good hand at whist, and one who had a joke always ready (20) for a blooming female parishioner. The religion of the Dodsons consisted in revering whatever was customary and respectable; it was necessary to be baptized, else one could not be buried in the church-yard, and to take the sacrament before death, as a security against more (25) dimly understood perils; but it was of equal necessity to have the proper pall-bearers and well-cured hams at one's funeral, and to leave an unimpeachable will. A Dodson would not be taxed with the omission of anything that was becoming, or that belonged to that (30) eternal fitness of things which was plainly indicated in the practice of the most substantial parishioners, and in the family traditions, — such as obedience to parents, faithfulness to kindred, industry, rigid honesty, thrift, the thorough scouring of wooden and copper (35) utensils, the hoarding of coins likely to disappear from the currency, the production of first-rate commodities for the market, and the general preference of whatever was home-made. The Dodsons were a very proud race, and their pride lay in the utter frustration of all (40) desire to tax them with a breach of traditional duty or propriety. A wholesome pride in many respects, since it identified honor with perfect integrity, thoroughness of work, and faithfulness to admitted rules; and society owes some worthy qualities in many of her (45) members to mothers of the Dodson class, who made their butter and their fromenty well, and would have felt disgraced to make it otherwise. To be honest and poor was never a Dodson motto, still less to seem rich though being poor; rather, the family badge was to be (50) honest and rich, and not only rich, but richer than was supposed. To live respected, and have the proper bearers at your funeral, was an achievement of the ends of existence that would be entirely nullified if, on the reading of your will, you sank in the opinion (55) of your fellow-men, either by turning out to be poorer than they expected, or by leaving your money in a capricious manner, without strict regard to degrees of kin. The right thing must always be done toward kindred. The right thing was to correct them severely, (60) if they were other than a credit to the family, but still not to alienate from them the smallest rightful share in the family shoebuckles and other property. A conspicuous quality in the Dodson character was its genuineness; its vices and virtues alike were (65) phases of a proud honest egoism, which had a hearty dislike to whatever made against its own credit and interest, and would be frankly hard of speech to inconvenient "kin," but would never forsake or ignore them, — would not let them want bread, but only (70) require them to eat it with bitter herbs. The reference to "family shoe-buckles" (line 63) serves chiefly to

satirize the Dodsons' preoccupation with property

Like as the waves make towards the pebbl'd shore, So do our minutes hasten to their end; Each changing place with that which goes before, In sequent toil all forwards do contend. Nativity, once in the main of light, Crawls to maturity, wherewith being crown'd, Crooked eclipses 'gainst his glory fight, And Time that gave doth now his gift confound. Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth And delves the parallels in beauty's brow, Feeds on the rarities of nature's truth, And nothing stands but for his scythe to mow: And yet to times in hope my verse shall stand, Praising thy worth, despite his cruel hand. The major shift in the poem occurs in which line?

13

The following passage comes from Chapter 8 of Kate Chopin's The Awakening. "Do me a favor, Robert," spoke the pretty woman at his side, almost as soon as she and Robert had started their slow, homeward way. She looked up in his face, leaning on his arm beneath the encircling shadow of the umbrella which he had lifted. "Granted; as many as you like," he returned, glancing down into her eyes that were full of thoughtfulness and some speculation. "I only ask for one; let Mrs. Pontellier alone." "Tiens!" he exclaimed, with a sudden, boyish laugh. "Voila que Madame Ratignolle est jalouse!" "Nonsense! I'm in earnest; I mean what I say. Let Mrs. Pontellier alone." "Why?" he asked; himself growing serious at his companion's solicitation. "She is not one of us; she is not like us. She might make the unfortunate blunder of taking you seriously." His face flushed with annoyance, and taking off his soft hat he began to beat it impatiently against his leg as he walked. "Why shouldn't she take me seriously?" he demanded sharply. "Am I a comedian, a clown, a jack-in-the-box? Why shouldn't she? You Creoles! I have no patience with you! Am I always to be regarded as a feature of an amusing programme? I hope Mrs. Pontellier does take me seriously. I hope she has discernment enough to find in me something besides the blagueur. If I thought there was any doubt—" "Oh, enough, Robert!" she broke into his heated outburst. "You are not thinking of what you are saying. You speak with about as little reflection as we might expect from one of those children down there playing in the sand. If your attentions to any married women here were ever offered with any intention of being convincing, you would not be the gentleman we all know you to be, and you would be unfit to associate with the wives and daughters of the people who trust you." The relationship between Madame Ratignolle and Robert can best be described as

wrong: One where Robert challenges her opinions I think it is: One where Robert plays a subservient role

What do you want to do?" he asked, throwing aside the paper. "Do you want to go out for a walk or a drive or anything? It would be a fine night to drive." "No; I don't want to do anything but just be quiet. You go away and amuse yourself. Don't stay." "I'll go away if I must; but I shan't amuse myself. You know that I only live when I am near you." He stood up to bid her good night. "Is that one of the things you always say to women?" "I have said it before, but I don't think I ever came so near meaning it," he answered with a smile. There were no warm lights in her eyes; only a dreamy, absent look. "Good night. I adore you. Sleep well," he said, and he kissed her hand and went away. Which phrase suggests that Arobin is a habitual womanizer

"I have said it before, but I don't think I ever came so near to meaning it."

Like as the waves make towards the pebbl'd shore, So do our minutes hasten to their end; Each changing place with that which goes before, In sequent toil all forwards do contend. Nativity, once in the main of light, Crawls to maturity, wherewith being crown'd, Crooked eclipses 'gainst his glory fight, And Time that gave doth now his gift confound. Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth And delves the parallels in beauty's brow, Feeds on the rarities of nature's truth, And nothing stands but for his scythe to mow: And yet to times in hope my verse shall stand, Praising thy worth, despite his cruel hand. Which two are portrayed as adversaries in the poem?

"Time" and "Nativity"

Like as the waves make towards the pebbl'd shore, So do our minutes hasten to their end; Each changing place with that which goes before, In sequent toil all forwards do contend. Nativity, once in the main of light, Crawls to maturity, wherewith being crown'd, Crooked eclipses 'gainst his glory fight, And Time that gave doth now his gift confound. Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth And delves the parallels in beauty's brow, Feeds on the rarities of nature's truth, And nothing stands but for his scythe to mow: And yet to times in hope my verse shall stand, Praising thy worth, despite his cruel hand. The word "each" most likely refers to

Minutes

"Do me a favor, Robert," spoke the pretty woman at his side, almost as soon as she and Robert had started their slow, homeward way. She looked up in his face, leaning on his arm beneath the encircling shadow of the umbrella which he had lifted. "Granted; as many as you like," he returned, glancing down into her eyes that were full of thoughtfulness and some speculation. "I only ask for one; let Mrs. Pontellier alone." In this passage as a whole, Madame Ratignolle's tone can be described as all of the following EXCEPT

Uncertain

"It isn't pleasant to have a woman tell you—" he went on, unheedingly, but breaking off suddenly: "Now if I were like Arobin-you remember Alcee Arobin and that story of the consul's wife at Biloxi?" And he related the story of Alcee Arobin and the consul's wife; and another about the tenor of the French Opera, who received letters which should never have been written; and still other stories, grave and gay, till Mrs. Pontellier and her possible propensity for taking young men seriously was apparently forgotten. Roberts comment suggest that Alcee Arobin

has a reputation of violating marriages

Certainly the religious and moral ideas of the Dodsons and Tullivers were of too specific a kind to be arrived at deductively, from the statement that they were part of the Protestant population of Great Britain. Their theory of life had its core of soundness, as all (5) theories must have on which decent and prosperous families have been reared and have flourished; but it had the very slightest tincture of theology. If, in the maiden days of the Dodson sisters, their Bibles opened more easily at some parts than others, it was because (10) of dried tulip-petals, which had been distributed quite impartially, without preference for the historical, devotional, or doctrinal. Their religion was of a simple, semi-pagan kind, but there was no heresy in it, — if heresy properly means choice, — for they didn't know (15) there was any other religion, except that of chapel- goers, which appeared to run in families, like asthma. How _should_ they know? The vicar of their pleasant rural parish was not a controversialist, but a good hand at whist, and one who had a joke always ready (20) for a blooming female parishioner. The religion of the Dodsons consisted in revering whatever was customary and respectable; it was necessary to be baptized, else one could not be buried in the church-yard, and to take the sacrament before death, as a security against more (25) dimly understood perils; but it was of equal necessity to have the proper pall-bearers and well-cured hams at one's funeral, and to leave an unimpeachable will. A Dodson would not be taxed with the omission of anything that was becoming, or that belonged to that (30) eternal fitness of things which was plainly indicated in the practice of the most substantial parishioners, and in the family traditions, — such as obedience to parents, faithfulness to kindred, industry, rigid honesty, thrift, the thorough scouring of wooden and copper (35) utensils, the hoarding of coins likely to disappear from the currency, the production of first-rate commodities for the market, and the general preference of whatever was home-made. The Dodsons were a very proud race, and their pride lay in the utter frustration of all (40) desire to tax them with a breach of traditional duty or propriety. A wholesome pride in many respects, since it identified honor with perfect integrity, thoroughness of work, and faithfulness to admitted rules; and society owes some worthy qualities in many of her (45) members to mothers of the Dodson class, who made their butter and their fromenty well, and would have felt disgraced to make it otherwise. To be honest and poor was never a Dodson motto, still less to seem rich though being poor; rather, the family badge was to be (50) honest and rich, and not only rich, but richer than was supposed. To live respected, and have the proper bearers at your funeral, was an achievement of the ends of existence that would be entirely nullified if, on the reading of your will, you sank in the opinion (55) of your fellow-men, either by turning out to be poorer than they expected, or by leaving your money in a capricious manner, without strict regard to degrees of kin. The right thing must always be done toward kindred. The right thing was to correct them severely, (60) if they were other than a credit to the family, but still not to alienate from them the smallest rightful share in the family shoebuckles and other property. A conspicuous quality in the Dodson character was its genuineness; its vices and virtues alike were (65) phases of a proud honest egoism, which had a hearty dislike to whatever made against its own credit and interest, and would be frankly hard of speech to inconvenient "kin," but would never forsake or ignore them, — would not let them want bread, but only (70) require them to eat it with bitter herbs. By commenting that the Dodsons viewed the things described as being "of equal necessity," (lines 23-28) the narrator emphasizes the Dodsons'

tendency not to distinguish between the spiritual and the practical

Compose a thematic statement about the Coketown passage. Make sure that your statement 1) contains an abstract concept, 2) a complete idea, and 3) universal truth or message.

Dickens' Hard Times explores the idea of how industrialization can taint a town/civilization.

Like as the waves make towards the pebbl'd shore, So do our minutes hasten to their end; Each changing place with that which goes before, In sequent toil all forwards do contend. Nativity, once in the main of light, Crawls to maturity, wherewith being crown'd, Crooked eclipses 'gainst his glory fight, And Time that gave doth now his gift confound. Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth And delves the parallels in beauty's brow, Feeds on the rarities of nature's truth, And nothing stands but for his scythe to mow: And yet to times in hope my verse shall stand, Praising thy worth, despite his cruel hand. Which literary term is found in the first line of the poem?

Similie

COKETOWN, to which Messrs. Bounderby and Gradgrind now walked, was a triumph of fact; it had no greater taint of fancy in it than Mrs. Gradgrind herself. Let us strike the key-note, Coketown, before pursuing our tune. It was a town of red brick, or of brick that would have been red if the smoke and ashes had allowed it; but as matters stood, it was a town of unnatural red and black like the painted face of a savage. It was a town of machinery and tall chimneys, out of which interminable serpents of smoke trailed themselves for ever and ever, and never got uncoiled. It had a black canal in it, and a river that ran purple with ill-smelling dye, and vast piles of building full of windows where there was a rattling and a trembling all day long, and where the piston of the steam-engine worked monotonously up and down, like the head of an elephant in a state of melancholy madness. It contained several large streets all very like one another, and many small streets still more like one another, inhabited by people equally like one another, who all went in and out at the same hours, with the same sound upon the same pavements, to do the same work, and to whom every day was the same as yesterday and to-morrow, and every year the counterpart of the last and the next. These attributes of Coketown were in the main inseparable from the work by which it was sustained; against them were to be set off, comforts of life which found their way all over the world, and elegancies of life which made, we will not ask how much of the fine lady, who could scarcely bear to hear the place mentioned. The rest of its features were voluntary, and they were these. You saw nothing in Coketown but what was severely workful. If the members of a religious persuasion built a chapel there - as the members of eighteen religious persuasions had done - they made it a pious warehouse of red brick, with sometimes (but this is only in highly ornamental examples) a bell in a birdcage on the top of it. The solitary exception was the New Church; a stuccoed edifice with a square steeple over the door, terminating in four short pinnacles like florid wooden legs. All the public inscriptions in the town were painted alike, in severe characters of black and white. The jail might have been the infirmary, the infirmary might have been the jail, the town-hall might have been either, or both, or anything else, for anything that appeared to the contrary in the graces of their construction. Fact, fact, fact, everywhere in the material aspect of the town; fact, fact, fact, everywhere in the immaterial. The M'Choakumchild school was all fact, and the school of design was all fact, and the relations between master and man were all fact, and everything was fact between the lying-in hospital and the cemetery, and what you couldn't state in figures, or show to be purchaseable in the cheapest market and saleable in the dearest, was not, and never should be, world without end, Amen. The point of view of the passage is that of

a sardonic and omniscient observer

COKETOWN, to which Messrs. Bounderby and Gradgrind now walked, was a triumph of fact; it had no greater taint of fancy in it than Mrs. Gradgrind herself. Let us strike the key-note, Coketown, before pursuing our tune. It was a town of red brick, or of brick that would have been red if the smoke and ashes had allowed it; but as matters stood, it was a town of unnatural red and black like the painted face of a savage. It was a town of machinery and tall chimneys, out of which interminable serpents of smoke trailed themselves for ever and ever, and never got uncoiled. It had a black canal in it, and a river that ran purple with ill-smelling dye, and vast piles of building full of windows where there was a rattling and a trembling all day long, and where the piston of the steam-engine worked monotonously up and down, like the head of an elephant in a state of melancholy madness. It contained several large streets all very like one another, and many small streets still more like one another, inhabited by people equally like one another, who all went in and out at the same hours, with the same sound upon the same pavements, to do the same work, and to whom every day was the same as yesterday and to-morrow, and every year the counterpart of the last and the next. These attributes of Coketown were in the main inseparable from the work by which it was sustained; against them were to be set off, comforts of life which found their way all over the world, and elegancies of life which made, we will not ask how much of the fine lady, who could scarcely bear to hear the place mentioned. The rest of its features were voluntary, and they were these. You saw nothing in Coketown but what was severely workful. If the members of a religious persuasion built a chapel there - as the members of eighteen religious persuasions had done - they made it a pious warehouse of red brick, with sometimes (but this is only in highly ornamental examples) a bell in a birdcage on the top of it. The solitary exception was the New Church; a stuccoed edifice with a square steeple over the door, terminating in four short pinnacles like florid wooden legs. All the public inscriptions in the town were painted alike, in severe characters of black and white. The jail might have been the infirmary, the infirmary might have been the jail, the town-hall might have been either, or both, or anything else, for anything that appeared to the contrary in the graces of their construction. Fact, fact, fact, everywhere in the material aspect of the town; fact, fact, fact, everywhere in the immaterial. The M'Choakumchild school was all fact, and the school of design was all fact, and the relations between master and man were all fact, and everything was fact between the lying-in hospital and the cemetery, and what you couldn't state in figures, or show to be purchaseable in the cheapest market and saleable in the dearest, was not, and never should be, world without end, Amen. The passage can best be described as

a social commentary within a work of fiction

Like as the waves make towards the pebbl'd shore, So do our minutes hasten to their end; Each changing place with that which goes before, In sequent toil all forwards do contend. Nativity, once in the main of light, Crawls to maturity, wherewith being crown'd, Crooked eclipses 'gainst his glory fight, And Time that gave doth now his gift confound. Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth And delves the parallels in beauty's brow, Feeds on the rarities of nature's truth, And nothing stands but for his scythe to mow: And yet to times in hope my verse shall stand, Praising thy worth, despite his cruel hand. The final couplet of the poem celebrates

wrong: the power of hope during death I think it is: the love of nature ??

COKETOWN, to which Messrs. Bounderby and Gradgrind now walked, was a triumph of fact; it had no greater taint of fancy in it than Mrs. Gradgrind herself. Let us strike the key-note, Coketown, before pursuing our tune. It was a town of red brick, or of brick that would have been red if the smoke and ashes had allowed it; but as matters stood, it was a town of unnatural red and black like the painted face of a savage. It was a town of machinery and tall chimneys, out of which interminable serpents of smoke trailed themselves for ever and ever, and never got uncoiled. It had a black canal in it, and a river that ran purple with ill-smelling dye, and vast piles of building full of windows where there was a rattling and a trembling all day long, and where the piston of the steam-engine worked monotonously up and down, like the head of an elephant in a state of melancholy madness. It contained several large streets all very like one another, and many small streets still more like one another, inhabited by people equally like one another, who all went in and out at the same hours, with the same sound upon the same pavements, to do the same work, and to whom every day was the same as yesterday and to-morrow, and every year the counterpart of the last and the next. These attributes of Coketown were in the main inseparable from the work by which it was sustained; against them were to be set off, comforts of life which found their way all over the world, and elegancies of life which made, we will not ask how much of the fine lady, who could scarcely bear to hear the place mentioned. The rest of its features were voluntary, and they were these. You saw nothing in Coketown but what was severely workful. If the members of a religious persuasion built a chapel there - as the members of eighteen religious persuasions had done - they made it a pious warehouse of red brick, with sometimes (but this is only in highly ornamental examples) a bell in a birdcage on the top of it. The solitary exception was the New Church; a stuccoed edifice with a square steeple over the door, terminating in four short pinnacles like florid wooden legs. All the public inscriptions in the town were painted alike, in severe characters of black and white. The jail might have been the infirmary, the infirmary might have been the jail, the town-hall might have been either, or both, or anything else, for anything that appeared to the contrary in the graces of their construction. Fact, fact, fact, everywhere in the material aspect of the town; fact, fact, fact, everywhere in the immaterial. The M'Choakumchild school was all fact, and the school of design was all fact, and the relations between master and man were all fact, and everything was fact between the lying-in hospital and the cemetery, and what you couldn't state in figures, or show to be purchaseable in the cheapest market and saleable in the dearest, was not, and never should be, world without end, Amen. As used in this passage, fact means most nearly the

functional

The following passage comes from another 18th century novel. It was, perhaps, as much owing to this as to a very fine complexion that his face had a delicacy in it almost inexpressible, and which might have given him an air rather too effeminate, had it not been joined to a most masculine person and mien: which latterhad as much in them of the Hercules as the former had of the Adonis. He was besides active, genteel, gay and good-humoured, and had a flow of animal spirits which enlivened every conversation where he was present. The bold word directly alludes to which italicized word?

wrong: "air" I think it is: "mein"??

COKETOWN, to which Messrs. Bounderby and Gradgrind now walked, was a triumph of fact; it had no greater taint of fancy in it than Mrs. Gradgrind herself. Let us strike the key-note, Coketown, before pursuing our tune. It was a town of red brick, or of brick that would have been red if the smoke and ashes had allowed it; but as matters stood, it was a town of unnatural red and black like the painted face of a savage. It was a town of machinery and tall chimneys, out of which interminable serpents of smoke trailed themselves for ever and ever, and never got uncoiled. It had a black canal in it, and a river that ran purple with ill-smelling dye, and vast piles of building full of windows where there was a rattling and a trembling all day long, and where the piston of the steam-engine worked monotonously up and down, like the head of an elephant in a state of melancholy madness. It contained several large streets all very like one another, and many small streets still more like one another, inhabited by people equally like one another, who all went in and out at the same hours, with the same sound upon the same pavements, to do the same work, and to whom every day was the same as yesterday and to-morrow, and every year the counterpart of the last and the next. These attributes of Coketown were in the main inseparable from the work by which it was sustained; against them were to be set off, comforts of life which found their way all over the world, and elegancies of life which made, we will not ask how much of the fine lady, who could scarcely bear to hear the place mentioned. The rest of its features were voluntary, and they were these. You saw nothing in Coketown but what was severely workful. If the members of a religious persuasion built a chapel there - as the members of eighteen religious persuasions had done - they made it a pious warehouse of red brick, with sometimes (but this is only in highly ornamental examples) a bell in a birdcage on the top of it. The solitary exception was the New Church; a stuccoed edifice with a square steeple over the door, terminating in four short pinnacles like florid wooden legs. All the public inscriptions in the town were painted alike, in severe characters of black and white. The jail might have been the infirmary, the infirmary might have been the jail, the town-hall might have been either, or both, or anything else, for anything that appeared to the contrary in the graces of their construction. Fact, fact, fact, everywhere in the material aspect of the town; fact, fact, fact, everywhere in the immaterial. The M'Choakumchild school was all fact, and the school of design was all fact, and the relations between master and man were all fact, and everything was fact between the lying-in hospital and the cemetery, and what you couldn't state in figures, or show to be purchaseable in the cheapest market and saleable in the dearest, was not, and never should be, world without end, Amen. The third paragraph links what comes before and what follows by which of the following pairs of words?

"inseparable" and "voluntary"

Certainly the religious and moral ideas of the Dodsons and Tullivers were of too specific a kind to be arrived at deductively, from the statement that they were part of the Protestant population of Great Britain. Their theory of life had its core of soundness, as all (5) theories must have on which decent and prosperous families have been reared and have flourished; but it had the very slightest tincture of theology. If, in the maiden days of the Dodson sisters, their Bibles opened more easily at some parts than others, it was because (10) of dried tulip-petals, which had been distributed quite impartially, without preference for the historical, devotional, or doctrinal. Their religion was of a simple, semi-pagan kind, but there was no heresy in it, — if heresy properly means choice, — for they didn't know (15) there was any other religion, except that of chapel- goers, which appeared to run in families, like asthma. How _should_ they know? The vicar of their pleasant rural parish was not a controversialist, but a good hand at whist, and one who had a joke always ready (20) for a blooming female parishioner. The religion of the Dodsons consisted in revering whatever was customary and respectable; it was necessary to be baptized, else one could not be buried in the church-yard, and to take the sacrament before death, as a security against more (25) dimly understood perils; but it was of equal necessity to have the proper pall-bearers and well-cured hams at one's funeral, and to leave an unimpeachable will. A Dodson would not be taxed with the omission of anything that was becoming, or that belonged to that (30) eternal fitness of things which was plainly indicated in the practice of the most substantial parishioners, and in the family traditions, — such as obedience to parents, faithfulness to kindred, industry, rigid honesty, thrift, the thorough scouring of wooden and copper (35) utensils, the hoarding of coins likely to disappear from the currency, the production of first-rate commodities for the market, and the general preference of whatever was home-made. The Dodsons were a very proud race, and their pride lay in the utter frustration of all (40) desire to tax them with a breach of traditional duty or propriety. A wholesome pride in many respects, since it identified honor with perfect integrity, thoroughness of work, and faithfulness to admitted rules; and society owes some worthy qualities in many of her (45) members to mothers of the Dodson class, who made their butter and their fromenty well, and would have felt disgraced to make it otherwise. To be honest and poor was never a Dodson motto, still less to seem rich though being poor; rather, the family badge was to be (50) honest and rich, and not only rich, but richer than was supposed. To live respected, and have the proper bearers at your funeral, was an achievement of the ends of existence that would be entirely nullified if, on the reading of your will, you sank in the opinion (55) of your fellow-men, either by turning out to be poorer than they expected, or by leaving your money in a capricious manner, without strict regard to degrees of kin. The right thing must always be done toward kindred. The right thing was to correct them severely, (60) if they were other than a credit to the family, but still not to alienate from them the smallest rightful share in the family shoebuckles and other property. A conspicuous quality in the Dodson character was its genuineness; its vices and virtues alike were (65) phases of a proud honest egoism, which had a hearty dislike to whatever made against its own credit and interest, and would be frankly hard of speech to inconvenient "kin," but would never forsake or ignore them, — would not let them want bread, but only (70) require them to eat it with bitter herbs. Which of the following expressions most obviously suggests a satirical point of view?

"like asthma" (line 17)

Certainly the religious and moral ideas of the Dodsons and Tullivers were of too specific a kind to be arrived at deductively, from the statement that they were part of the Protestant population of Great Britain. Their theory of life had its core of soundness, as all (5) theories must have on which decent and prosperous families have been reared and have flourished; but it had the very slightest tincture of theology. If, in the maiden days of the Dodson sisters, their Bibles opened more easily at some parts than others, it was because (10) of dried tulip-petals, which had been distributed quite impartially, without preference for the historical, devotional, or doctrinal. Their religion was of a simple, semi-pagan kind, but there was no heresy in it, — if heresy properly means choice, — for they didn't know (15) there was any other religion, except that of chapel- goers, which appeared to run in families, like asthma. How _should_ they know? The vicar of their pleasant rural parish was not a controversialist, but a good hand at whist, and one who had a joke always ready (20) for a blooming female parishioner. The religion of the Dodsons consisted in revering whatever was customary and respectable; it was necessary to be baptized, else one could not be buried in the church-yard, and to take the sacrament before death, as a security against more (25) dimly understood perils; but it was of equal necessity to have the proper pall-bearers and well-cured hams at one's funeral, and to leave an unimpeachable will. A Dodson would not be taxed with the omission of anything that was becoming, or that belonged to that (30) eternal fitness of things which was plainly indicated in the practice of the most substantial parishioners, and in the family traditions, — such as obedience to parents, faithfulness to kindred, industry, rigid honesty, thrift, the thorough scouring of wooden and copper (35) utensils, the hoarding of coins likely to disappear from the currency, the production of first-rate commodities for the market, and the general preference of whatever was home-made. The Dodsons were a very proud race, and their pride lay in the utter frustration of all (40) desire to tax them with a breach of traditional duty or propriety. A wholesome pride in many respects, since it identified honor with perfect integrity, thoroughness of work, and faithfulness to admitted rules; and society owes some worthy qualities in many of her (45) members to mothers of the Dodson class, who made their butter and their fromenty well, and would have felt disgraced to make it otherwise. To be honest and poor was never a Dodson motto, still less to seem rich though being poor; rather, the family badge was to be (50) honest and rich, and not only rich, but richer than was supposed. To live respected, and have the proper bearers at your funeral, was an achievement of the ends of existence that would be entirely nullified if, on the reading of your will, you sank in the opinion (55) of your fellow-men, either by turning out to be poorer than they expected, or by leaving your money in a capricious manner, without strict regard to degrees of kin. The right thing must always be done toward kindred. The right thing was to correct them severely, (60) if they were other than a credit to the family, but still not to alienate from them the smallest rightful share in the family shoebuckles and other property. A conspicuous quality in the Dodson character was its genuineness; its vices and virtues alike were (65) phases of a proud honest egoism, which had a hearty dislike to whatever made against its own credit and interest, and would be frankly hard of speech to inconvenient "kin," but would never forsake or ignore them, — would not let them want bread, but only (70) require them to eat it with bitter herbs. Which of the following is used figuratively?

"to eat it with bitter herbs" (line 71)

After the earthquake had destroyed three-fourths of Lisbon, the sages of that country could think of no means more effectual to prevent utter ruin than to give the people a beautiful auto-da-fé; for it had been decided by the University of Coimbra, that the burning of a few people alive by a slow fire, and with great ceremony, is an infallible secret to hinder the earth from quaking. In this paragraph, which word is NOT used sarcastically?

People

Certainly the religious and moral ideas of the Dodsons and Tullivers were of too specific a kind to be arrived at deductively, from the statement that they were part of the Protestant population of Great Britain. Their theory of life had its core of soundness, as all (5) theories must have on which decent and prosperous families have been reared and have flourished; but it had the very slightest tincture of theology. If, in the maiden days of the Dodson sisters, their Bibles opened more easily at some parts than others, it was because (10) of dried tulip-petals, which had been distributed quite impartially, without preference for the historical, devotional, or doctrinal. Their religion was of a simple, semi-pagan kind, but there was no heresy in it, — if heresy properly means choice, — for they didn't know (15) there was any other religion, except that of chapel- goers, which appeared to run in families, like asthma. How _should_ they know? The vicar of their pleasant rural parish was not a controversialist, but a good hand at whist, and one who had a joke always ready (20) for a blooming female parishioner. The religion of the Dodsons consisted in revering whatever was customary and respectable; it was necessary to be baptized, else one could not be buried in the church-yard, and to take the sacrament before death, as a security against more (25) dimly understood perils; but it was of equal necessity to have the proper pall-bearers and well-cured hams at one's funeral, and to leave an unimpeachable will. A Dodson would not be taxed with the omission of anything that was becoming, or that belonged to that (30) eternal fitness of things which was plainly indicated in the practice of the most substantial parishioners, and in the family traditions, — such as obedience to parents, faithfulness to kindred, industry, rigid honesty, thrift, the thorough scouring of wooden and copper (35) utensils, the hoarding of coins likely to disappear from the currency, the production of first-rate commodities for the market, and the general preference of whatever was home-made. The Dodsons were a very proud race, and their pride lay in the utter frustration of all (40) desire to tax them with a breach of traditional duty or propriety. A wholesome pride in many respects, since it identified honor with perfect integrity, thoroughness of work, and faithfulness to admitted rules; and society owes some worthy qualities in many of her (45) members to mothers of the Dodson class, who made their butter and their fromenty well, and would have felt disgraced to make it otherwise. To be honest and poor was never a Dodson motto, still less to seem rich though being poor; rather, the family badge was to be (50) honest and rich, and not only rich, but richer than was supposed. To live respected, and have the proper bearers at your funeral, was an achievement of the ends of existence that would be entirely nullified if, on the reading of your will, you sank in the opinion (55) of your fellow-men, either by turning out to be poorer than they expected, or by leaving your money in a capricious manner, without strict regard to degrees of kin. The right thing must always be done toward kindred. The right thing was to correct them severely, (60) if they were other than a credit to the family, but still not to alienate from them the smallest rightful share in the family shoebuckles and other property. A conspicuous quality in the Dodson character was its genuineness; its vices and virtues alike were (65) phases of a proud honest egoism, which had a hearty dislike to whatever made against its own credit and interest, and would be frankly hard of speech to inconvenient "kin," but would never forsake or ignore them, — would not let them want bread, but only (70) require them to eat it with bitter herbs. It can be inferred that the vicar mentioned in line 18 was

not particularly interested in theology

KING RICHARD. I have been studying how I may compareThis prison where I live unto the worldAnd, for because the world is populousAnd here is not a creature but myself,I cannot do it. Yet I'll hammer it out.My brain I'll prove the female to my soul,My soul the father; and these two begetA generation of still-breeding thoughts,And these same thoughts people this little world,In humours like the people of this world,For no thought is contented. The better sort,As thoughts of things divine, are intermix'dWith scruples, and do set the word itselfAgainst the word, As thus: 'Come, little ones'; and then again, 'It is as hard to come as for a camel To thread the postern of a small needle's eye.'Thoughts tending to ambition, they do plotUnlikely wonders: how these vain weak nailsMay tear a passage through the flinty ribsOf this hard world, my ragged prison walls;And, for they cannot, die in their own pride.Thoughts tending to content flatter themselvesThat they are not the first of fortune's slaves,Nor shall not be the last; like silly beggarsWho, sitting in the stocks, refuge their shame,That many have and others must sit there;And in this thought they find a kind of ease,Bearing their own misfortunes on the backOf such as have before endur'd the like.Thus play I in one person many people,And none contented. Sometimes am I king;Then treasons make me wish myself a beggar,And so I am. Then crushing penuryPersuades me I was better when a king;Then am I king'd again; and by and byThink that I am unking'd by Bolingbroke,And straight am nothing. But whate'er I be,Nor I, nor any man that but man is,With nothing shall be pleas'd till he be eas'dWith being nothing. [The music plays] In the bold passage the speaker uses which type of language?

wrong: comforting I think it is: contradictory ??

PHILINTE: Now what's got into you? ALCESTE: [seated] Kindly leave me alone. PHILINTE: Come, come, what is it? This lugubrious tone . . . ALCESTE: Leave me, I said; you spoil my solitude. PHILINTE: Oh, listen to me, now, and don't be rude. ALCESTE: I choose to be rude, Sir, and to be hard of hearing. PHILINTE: These ugly moods of yours are not endearing; Friends though we are, I really must insist . . . ALCESTE: [abruptly rising]. Friends? Friends, you say? Well, cross me off your list. I've been your friend till now, as you well know; But after what I saw a moment ago I tell you flatly that our ways must part. I wish no place in a dishonest heart. PHILINTE: Why, what have I done, Alceste? Is this quite just? ALCESTE: My God, you ought to die of self-disgust. I call your conduct inexcusable, Sir, And every man of honor will concur. I see you almost hug a man to death, Exclaim for joy until you're out of breath, And supplement these loving demonstrations With endless offers, vows, and protestations, Then when I ask you "Who was that?, I find That you can barely bring his name to mind! Once the man's back is turned, you cease to love him, And speak with absolute indifference of him! By God, I say it's base and scandalous To falsify the heart's affections thus; If I caught myself behaving in such a way, I'd hang myself for shame, without delay. Which line can best be seen as a hyperbole?

"I'd hang myself for shame, without delay

They had therefore arrested a Biscayan convicted of marrying the godmother of his godchild, and two Portuguese who had taken the pork from the outside of their chicken before eating it; and, after dinner, Dr. Pangloss and his disciple Candide were bound and taken away, one for having spoken, the other for having listened with an air of approval. They were separated and each was placed in an extremely cool room where no one was ever bothered by the sun. A week later they were both dressed in sanbenitos and paper miters. Candide's miter and sanbenito bore painted flames, points downward, and devils without tails or claws; but Pangloss's devils had claws and tails, and his flames were upright. Thus attired, they walked in a procession and heard a deeply moving sermon, followed by beautiful polyphonic music. Candide was flogged in time with the singing, the Biscayan and the two men who had refused to eat pork were burned, and Pangloss was hanged, although this was not customary. That same day the earth shook again, with a terrible uproar. Which detail suggests that religious practices are superstitions?

"That same day the earth shook again, with a terrible uproar."

Like as the waves make towards the pebbl'd shore, So do our minutes hasten to their end; Each changing place with that which goes before, In sequent toil all forwards do contend. Nativity, once in the main of light, Crawls to maturity, wherewith being crown'd, Crooked eclipses 'gainst his glory fight, And Time that gave doth now his gift confound. Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth And delves the parallels in beauty's brow, Feeds on the rarities of nature's truth, And nothing stands but for his scythe to mow: And yet to times in hope my verse shall stand, Praising thy worth, despite his cruel hand. Which lines would mark the end of each stanza?

4, 8, 12, 14

When you come, as you soon must, to the streets of our city, Mad-eyed from stating the obvious, Not proclaiming our fall but begging us In God's name to have self-pity, Spare us all word of the weapons, their force and range, The long numbers that rocket the mind; Our slow, unreckoning hearts will be left behind, Unable to fear what is too strange. Nor shall you scare us with talk of the death of the race. How should we dream of this place without us?— The sun mere fire, the leaves untroubled about us, A stone look on the stone's face? Speak of the world's own change. Though we cannot conceive Of an undreamt thing, we know to our cost How the dreamt cloud crumbles, the vines are blackened by frost, How the view alters. We could believe, If you told us so, that the white-tailed deer will slip Into perfect shade, grown perfectly shy, The lark avoid the reaches of our eye, The jack-pine lose its knuckled grip On the cold ledge, and every torrent burn As Xanthus once, its gliding trout Stunned in a twinkling. What should we be without The dolphin's arc, the dove's return, These things in which we have seen ourselves and spoken? Ask us, prophet, how we shall call Our natures forth when that live tongue is all Dispelled, that glass obscured or broken In which we have said the rose of our love and the clean Horse of our courage, in which beheld The singing locust of the soul unshelled, And all we mean or wish to mean. Ask us, ask us whether with the worldless rose Our hearts shall fail us; come demanding Whether there shall be lofty or long standing When the bronze annals of the oak-tree close. Which of the following best describes the poem as a whole?

A philosophical poem about human beings and nature

Candide, driven from terrestrial paradise, walked a long while without knowing where, weeping, raising his eyes to heaven, turning them often towards the most magnificent of castles which imprisoned the purest of noble young ladies. He lay down to sleep without supper, in the middle of a field between two furrows. The snow fell in large flakes. Next day Candide, all benumbed, dragged himself towards the neighbouring town which was called Waldberghofftrarbk-dikdorff, having no money, dying of hunger and fatigue, he stopped sorrowfully at the door of an inn. Two men dressed in blue observed him. The phrase "terrestrial paradise" can be considered ALL of the following except

A similie

CELIMENE: What a gallant speech! How flattering to me! What a sweet creature you make me out to be! Well then, to save you from the pangs of doubt, All that I've said I hereby cancel out; Now, none but yourself shall make a monkey of you: Are you content?ALCESTE: Why, why am I doomed to love you?I sweat that I shall bless the blissful hour When this poor heart's no longer in your power! I make no secret of it: I've done my best To exorcise this passion from my breast; But thus far all in vain; it will not go; It's for my sins that I must love you so. CELIMENE: Your love for me is matchless, Sir; that's clear. ALCESTE: Indeed, in all the world it has no peer; Words can't describe the nature of my passion, And no man ever loved in such a fashion. CELIMENE: Yes, it's a brand-new fashion, I agree; You show your love by castigating me, And all your speeches are enraged and rude, I've never been so furiously wooed. ALCESTE: Yet you could calm that fury, if you chose, Come, shall we bring our quarrels to a close? Let's speak with open hearts, then, and begin . . . CELIMENE: What is it? BASQUE: Acaste is here. CELIMENE: Well, send him in. The ending of this scene reflects which common pattern in the play as a whole?

Alceste and Celimene's conversation being unfinished

When you come, as you soon must, to the streets of our city, Mad-eyed from stating the obvious, Not proclaiming our fall but begging us In God's name to have self-pity, Spare us all word of the weapons, their force and range, The long numbers that rocket the mind; Our slow, unreckoning hearts will be left behind, Unable to fear what is too strange. Nor shall you scare us with talk of the death of the race. How should we dream of this place without us?— The sun mere fire, the leaves untroubled about us, A stone look on the stone's face? Speak of the world's own change. Though we cannot conceive Of an undreamt thing, we know to our cost How the dreamt cloud crumbles, the vines are blackened by frost, How the view alters. We could believe, If you told us so, that the white-tailed deer will slip Into perfect shade, grown perfectly shy, The lark avoid the reaches of our eye, The jack-pine lose its knuckled grip On the cold ledge, and every torrent burn As Xanthus once, its gliding trout Stunned in a twinkling. What should we be without The dolphin's arc, the dove's return, These things in which we have seen ourselves and spoken? Ask us, prophet, how we shall call Our natures forth when that live tongue is all Dispelled, that glass obscured or broken In which we have said the rose of our love and the clean Horse of our courage, in which beheld The singing locust of the soul unshelled, And all we mean or wish to mean. Ask us, ask us whether with the worldless rose Our hearts shall fail us; come demanding Whether there shall be lofty or long standing When the bronze annals of the oak-tree close. According to the speaker, how do we use the images of the rose (line 29), the horse (line 30), and the locust (line 31)?

As metaphors to aid in comprehending abstractions

KING RICHARD. I have been studying how I may compareThis prison where I live unto the worldAnd, for because the world is populousAnd here is not a creature but myself,I cannot do it. Yet I'll hammer it out.My brain I'll prove the female to my soul,My soul the father; and these two begetA generation of still-breeding thoughts,And these same thoughts people this little world,In humours like the people of this world,For no thought is contented. The better sort,As thoughts of things divine, are intermix'dWith scruples, and do set the word itselfAgainst the word, As thus: 'Come, little ones'; and then again, 'It is as hard to come as for a camel To thread the postern of a small needle's eye.'Thoughts tending to ambition, they do plotUnlikely wonders: how these vain weak nailsMay tear a passage through the flinty ribsOf this hard world, my ragged prison walls;And, for they cannot, die in their own pride.Thoughts tending to content flatter themselvesThat they are not the first of fortune's slaves,Nor shall not be the last; like silly beggarsWho, sitting in the stocks, refuge their shame,That many have and others must sit there;And in this thought they find a kind of ease,Bearing their own misfortunes on the backOf such as have before endur'd the like.Thus play I in one person many people,And none contented. Sometimes am I king;Then treasons make me wish myself a beggar,And so I am. Then crushing penuryPersuades me I was better when a king;Then am I king'd again; and by and byThink that I am unking'd by Bolingbroke,And straight am nothing. But whate'er I be,Nor I, nor any man that but man is,With nothing shall be pleas'd till he be eas'dWith being nothing. [The music plays] In the bold passage the speaker uses

Biblical allusions

ALCESTE: [aside] Good God! Could anything be more inhuman? Was ever a heart so mangled by a woman? When I complain of how she has betrayed me, She bridles, and commences to upbraid me! She tries my tortured patience to the limit; She won't deny her guilt; she glories in it! And yet my heart's too faint and cowardly To break these chains of passion, and be free, To scorn her as it should, and rise above This unrewarded, mad, and bitter love. [To Celimene]: Ah, traitress, in how confident a fashion You take advantage of my helpless passion And use my weakness for you faithless charms To make me once again thrown down my arms! But do at least deny this black transgression; Take back that mocking and perverse confession; Defend this letter and your innocence, And I, poor fool, will aid in your defense. Pretend, pretend, that you are just and true, And I shall make myself believe in you. The paradox that Alceste describes might be best summarized as which of the following:

Celimene scolds and manipulates him, and he loves her even more.

The effect of the wine upon Victor was to change his accustomed volubility into silence. He seemed to have abandoned himself to a reverie, and to be seeing pleasing visions in the amber bead. "Sing," entreated Mrs. Highcamp. "Won't you sing to us?" "Let him alone," said Arobin. "He's posing," offered Mr. Merriman; "let him have it out." "I believe he's paralyzed," laughed Mrs. Merriman. And leaning over the youth's chair, she took the glass from his hand and held it to his lips. He sipped the wine slowly, and when he had drained the glass she laid it upon the table and wiped his lips with her little filmy handkerchief. "Yes, I'll sing for you," he said, turning in his chair toward Mrs. Highcamp. He clasped his hands behind his head, and looking up at the ceiling began to hum a little, trying his voice like a musician tuning an instrument. Then, looking at Edna, he began to sing: "Ah! si tu savais!" "Stop!" she cried, "don't sing that. I don't want you to sing it," and she laid her glass so impetuously and blindly upon the table as to shatter it against a carafe. The wine spilled over Arobin's legs and some of it trickled down upon Mrs. Highcamp's black gauze gown. Victor had lost all idea of courtesy, or else he thought his hostess was not in earnest, for he laughed and went on: "Ah! si tu savais Ce que tes yeux me disent"— "Oh! you mustn't! you mustn't," exclaimed Edna, and pushing back her chair she got up, and going behind him placed her hand over his mouth. He kissed the soft palm that pressed upon his lips. "No, no, I won't, Mrs. Pontellier. I didn't know you meant it," looking up at her with caressing eyes. The touch of his lips was like a pleasing sting to her hand. She lifted the garland of roses from his head and flung it across the room. "Come, Victor; you've posed long enough. Give Mrs. Highcamp her scarf." Mrs. Highcamp undraped the scarf from about him with her own hands. Miss Mayblunt and Mr. Gouvernail suddenly conceived the notion that it was time to say good night. And Mr. and Mrs. Merriman wondered how it could be so late. Before parting from Victor, Mrs. Highcamp invited him to call upon her daughter, who she knew would be charmed to meet him and talk French and sing French songs with him. Victor expressed his desire and intention to call upon Miss Highcamp at the first opportunity which presented itself. He asked if Arobin were going his way. Arobin was not. The mandolin players had long since stolen away. A profound stillness had fallen upon the broad, beautiful street. The voices of Edna's disbanding guests jarred like a discordant note upon the quiet harmony of the night. The imagery of the passage as a whole suggests

Decadence

COKETOWN, to which Messrs. Bounderby and Gradgrind now walked, was a triumph of fact; it had no greater taint of fancy in it than Mrs. Gradgrind herself. Let us strike the key-note, Coketown, before pursuing our tune. It was a town of red brick, or of brick that would have been red if the smoke and ashes had allowed it; but as matters stood, it was a town of unnatural red and black like the painted face of a savage. It was a town of machinery and tall chimneys, out of which interminable serpents of smoke trailed themselves for ever and ever, and never got uncoiled. It had a black canal in it, and a river that ran purple with ill-smelling dye, and vast piles of building full of windows where there was a rattling and a trembling all day long, and where the piston of the steam-engine worked monotonously up and down, like the head of an elephant in a state of melancholy madness. It contained several large streets all very like one another, and many small streets still more like one another, inhabited by people equally like one another, who all went in and out at the same hours, with the same sound upon the same pavements, to do the same work, and to whom every day was the same as yesterday and to-morrow, and every year the counterpart of the last and the next. These attributes of Coketown were in the main inseparable from the work by which it was sustained; against them were to be set off, comforts of life which found their way all over the world, and elegancies of life which made, we will not ask how much of the fine lady, who could scarcely bear to hear the place mentioned. The rest of its features were voluntary, and they were these. You saw nothing in Coketown but what was severely workful. If the members of a religious persuasion built a chapel there - as the members of eighteen religious persuasions had done - they made it a pious warehouse of red brick, with sometimes (but this is only in highly ornamental examples) a bell in a birdcage on the top of it. The solitary exception was the New Church; a stuccoed edifice with a square steeple over the door, terminating in four short pinnacles like florid wooden legs. All the public inscriptions in the town were painted alike, in severe characters of black and white. The jail might have been the infirmary, the infirmary might have been the jail, the town-hall might have been either, or both, or anything else, for anything that appeared to the contrary in the graces of their construction. Fact, fact, fact, everywhere in the material aspect of the town; fact, fact, fact, everywhere in the immaterial. The M'Choakumchild school was all fact, and the school of design was all fact, and the relations between master and man were all fact, and everything was fact between the lying-in hospital and the cemetery, and what you couldn't state in figures, or show to be purchaseable in the cheapest market and saleable in the dearest, was not, and never should be, world without end, Amen. Compose a paragraph that explains how this passage contains literary merit. Base your answers on the content of the module.

Dickens' Hard Times explores the idea of how industrialization can taint a town/civilization. The passage shows this through its use of imagery of the town. Dickens describes the town of being painted of an "unnatural red and black like the painted face of a savage.". Dickens also describes the sound of the steam-engines working "monotonously up and down, like the head of an elephant in a state of melancholy madness.". These descriptions are emphasizing the imagery of the town and how it was tainted by the industrialization. This can be seen in real life world-wide. Countries such as Asia faced intense effects from industrialization that visually showed themselves in their environment. This theme was present in a plethora of novels throughout the industrial revolution as society faced a huge shift in their visual and habitual surroundings.

In a paragraph please explain why the Coketown passage has literary merit. Be sure to include at least one key concept or thinker from Module 2: What is Literary Merit?

Dickens' Hard Times explores the idea of how industrialization can taint a town/civilization. The passage shows this through its use of imagery of the town. Dickens describes the town of being painted of an "unnatural red and black like the painted face of a savage.". Dickens also describes the sound of the steam-engines working "monotonously up and down, like the head of an elephant in a state of melancholy madness.". These descriptions are emphasizing the imagery of the town and how it was tainted by the industrialization. This can be seen in real life world-wide. Countries such as Asia faced intense effects from industrialization that visually showed themselves in their environment. This theme was present in a plethora of novels throughout the industrial revolution as society faced a huge shift in their visual and habitual surroundings.

VOLPONE: Good morning to the day; and next, my gold: Open the shrine, that I may see my Saint. [MOSCA WITHDRAWS THE CURTAIN, AND DISCOVERS PILES OF GOLD, PLATE, JEWELS, ETC.] Hail the world's soul, and mine! more glad than is The teeming earth to see the long'd-for sun Peep through the horns of the celestial Ram, Am I, to view thy splendour darkening his; That lying here, amongst my other hoards, Shew'st like a flame by night; or like the day Struck out of chaos, when all darkness fled Unto the centre. O thou son of Sol, But brighter than thy father, let me kiss, With adoration, thee, and every relick Of sacred treasure, in this blessed room. Well did wise poets, by thy glorious name, Title that age which they would have the best; Thou being the best of things: and far transcending All style of joy, in children, parents, friends, Or any other waking dream on earth: Thy looks when they to Venus did ascribe, They should have given her twenty thousand Cupids; Such are thy beauties and our loves! Dear saint, Riches, the dumb God, that giv'st all men tongues; That canst do nought, and yet mak'st men do all things; The price of souls; even hell, with thee to boot, Is made worth heaven. Thou art virtue, fame, Honour, and all things else. Who can get thee, He shall be noble, valiant, honest, wise,— MOSCA: And what he will, sir. Riches are in fortune A greater good than wisdom is in nature. Which of the following adjectives best describes Volpone's speech?

Idolatrous

ALCESTE: [to Eliante] Madam, your virtuous beauty has no peer; Of all this world, you only are sincere; I've long esteemed you highly, as you know; Permit me ever to esteem you so, And if I do not now request your hand, Forgive me, Madam, and try to understand. I feel unworthy of it; I sense that fate Does not intend me for the married state, That I should do you wrong by offering you My shattered hart's unhappy residue, And that in short . . . ELIANTE: Your argument's well taken: Nor need you fear that I shall feel forsaken. Were I to offer him this hand of mine, Your friend Philinte, I think, would not decline. PHILINTE: Ah, Madam, that's my heart's most cherished goal, For which I'd gladly give my life and soul. ALCESTE: [to Eliante and Philinte]. May you be true to all you now profess, And so deserve unending happiness. Meanwhile, betrayed and wronged in everything, I'll flee this bitter word where vice is king, And seek some spot unpeopled and apart Where I'll be free to have an honest heart. PHILINTE: Come, Madam, let's do everything we can To change the mind of this unhappy man. Which speech pattern does Eliante employ that has been used frequently by Alceste?

Interrupting another character

When you come, as you soon must, to the streets of our city, Mad-eyed from stating the obvious, Not proclaiming our fall but begging us In God's name to have self-pity, Spare us all word of the weapons, their force and range, The long numbers that rocket the mind; Our slow, unreckoning hearts will be left behind, Unable to fear what is too strange. Nor shall you scare us with talk of the death of the race. How should we dream of this place without us?— The sun mere fire, the leaves untroubled about us, A stone look on the stone's face? Speak of the world's own change. Though we cannot conceive Of an undreamt thing, we know to our cost How the dreamt cloud crumbles, the vines are blackened by frost, How the view alters. We could believe, If you told us so, that the white-tailed deer will slip Into perfect shade, grown perfectly shy, The lark avoid the reaches of our eye, The jack-pine lose its knuckled grip On the cold ledge, and every torrent burn As Xanthus once, its gliding trout Stunned in a twinkling. What should we be without The dolphin's arc, the dove's return, These things in which we have seen ourselves and spoken? Ask us, prophet, how we shall call Our natures forth when that live tongue is all Dispelled, that glass obscured or broken In which we have said the rose of our love and the clean Horse of our courage, in which beheld The singing locust of the soul unshelled, And all we mean or wish to mean. Ask us, ask us whether with the worldless rose Our hearts shall fail us; come demanding Whether there shall be lofty or long standing When the bronze annals of the oak-tree close. Which of the following best describes an effect of the repetition of the phrase "ask us" in line 33?

It provides a tone of imploring earnestness.

ARSINOE: Oh, people never censure you, my dear; It's me they criticize. Or so I hear. CELIMENE: Madame, I think we either blame or praise According to our taste and length of days. There is a time of life for coquetry, And there's a season, too, for prudery. When all one's charms are gone, it is, I'm sure, Good strategy to be devout and pure: It makes one seem a little less forsaken. Some days, perhaps, I'll take the road you've taken: Time brings all things. But I have time aplenty, And see no cause to be a prude at twenty. ARSINOE: You give your age in a such a gloating tone That one would think I was an ancient crone; We're not so far apart, n sober truth, That you can mock me with a boast of youth! Madam, you baffle me. I wish I knew What moves you to provoke me as you do. CELIMENE: For my part Madam, I should like to know Why you abuse me everywhere you go. Is it my fault, dear lady, that you and Is not, alas, in very great demand? If men admire me, if they pay me court And daily make me offers of the sort You'd dearly love to have them make to you, How can I help it! What would you have me do? If what you want is lovers, please feel free To take as many as you can from me. Which word choice most likely is used sarcastically?

Madam

Like as the waves make towards the pebbl'd shore, So do our minutes hasten to their end; Each changing place with that which goes before, In sequent toil all forwards do contend. Nativity, once in the main of light, Crawls to maturity, wherewith being crown'd, Crooked eclipses 'gainst his glory fight, And Time that gave doth now his gift confound. Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth And delves the parallels in beauty's brow, Feeds on the rarities of nature's truth, And nothing stands but for his scythe to mow: And yet to times in hope my verse shall stand, Praising thy worth, despite his cruel hand. The following lines contains all of the following literary devices except: "Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth/ And delves the parallels in beauty's brow"

Parallel Structure

Gertrude. One woe doth tread upon another's heel, So fast they follow. Your sister's drown'd, Laertes. Laertes. Drown'd! O, where? Gertrude. There is a willow grows aslant a brook, That shows his hoar leaves in the glassy stream. There with fantastic garlands did she come Of crowflowers, nettles, daisies, and long purples, That liberal shepherds give a grosser name, But our cold maids do dead men's fingers call them. There on the pendant boughs her coronet weeds Clamb'ring to hang, an envious sliver broke, When down her weedy trophies and herself Fell in the weeping brook. Her clothes spread wide And, mermaid-like, awhile they bore her up; Which time she chaunted snatches of old tunes, As one incapable of her own distress, Or like a creature native and indued Unto that element; but long it could not be Till that her garments, heavy with their drink, Pull'd the poor wretch from her melodious lay To muddy death. Laertes. Alas, then she is drown'd? Gertrude. Drown'd, drown'd. Laertes. Too much of water hast thou, poor Ophelia, And therefore I forbid my tears; but yet It is our trick; nature her custom holds, Let shame say what it will. When these are gone, The woman will be out. Adieu, my lord. I have a speech of fire, that fain would blaze But that this folly douts it. Exit. Claudius. Let's follow, Gertrude. How much I had to do to calm his rage I Now fear I this will give it start again; Therefore let's follow. Which death does "another's heel" refer to?

Polonius's Death

When you come, as you soon must, to the streets of our city, Mad-eyed from stating the obvious, Not proclaiming our fall but begging us In God's name to have self-pity, Spare us all word of the weapons, their force and range, The long numbers that rocket the mind; Our slow, unreckoning hearts will be left behind, Unable to fear what is too strange. Nor shall you scare us with talk of the death of the race. How should we dream of this place without us?— The sun mere fire, the leaves untroubled about us, A stone look on the stone's face? Speak of the world's own change. Though we cannot conceive Of an undreamt thing, we know to our cost How the dreamt cloud crumbles, the vines are blackened by frost, How the view alters. We could believe, If you told us so, that the white-tailed deer will slip Into perfect shade, grown perfectly shy, The lark avoid the reaches of our eye, The jack-pine lose its knuckled grip On the cold ledge, and every torrent burn As Xanthus once, its gliding trout Stunned in a twinkling. What should we be without The dolphin's arc, the dove's return, These things in which we have seen ourselves and spoken? Ask us, prophet, how we shall call Our natures forth when that live tongue is all Dispelled, that glass obscured or broken In which we have said the rose of our love and the clean Horse of our courage, in which beheld The singing locust of the soul unshelled, And all we mean or wish to mean. Ask us, ask us whether with the worldless rose Our hearts shall fail us; come demanding Whether there shall be lofty or long standing When the bronze annals of the oak-tree close. In line 13 ("Speak of the world's own change"), the speaker is doing which of the following?

Prescribing what the prophet should say

"Comrade," said one, "here is a well-built young fellow, and of proper height." They went up to Candide and very civilly invited him to dinner. "Gentlemen," replied Candide, with a most engaging modesty, "you do me great honour, but I have not wherewithal to pay my share." "Oh, sir," said one of the blues to him, "people of your appearance and of your merit never pay anything: are you not five feet five inches high?" "Yes, sir, that is my height," answered he, making a low bow. "Come, sir, seat yourself; not only will we pay your reckoning, but we will never suffer such a man as you to want money; men are only born to assist one another." "You are right," said Candide; "this is what I was always taught by Mr. Pangloss, and I see plainly that all is for the best." They begged of him to accept a few crowns. He took them, and wished to give them his note; they refused; they seated themselves at table. "Love you not deeply?" "Oh yes," answered he; "I deeply love Miss Cunegonde." "No," said one of the gentlemen, "we ask you if you do not deeply love the King of the Bulgarians?" "Not at all," said he; "for I have never seen him." "What! he is the best of kings, and we must drink his health." "Oh! very willingly, gentlemen," and he drank. "That is enough," they tell him. "Now you are the help, the support, the defender, the hero of the Bulgarians. Your fortune is made, and your glory is assured." How is Candid's reference to Dr. Pangloss comment "all is for the best" used ironically in this context?

The men will trick Candide into military service

"You know England? Are they as foolish there as in France?" "It is another kind of folly," said Martin. "You know that these two nations are at war for a few acres of snow in Canada,and that they spend over this beautiful war much more than Canada is worth. To tell you exactly, whether there are more people fit to send to a madhouse in one country than the other, is what my imperfect intelligence will not permit. I only know in general that the people we are going to see are very atrabilious." Talking thus they arrived at Portsmouth. The shore was covered with a large crowd of people, whose eyes were fixed on a fine man kneeling, with his eyes bandaged, on board one of the men of war in the harbour. Four soldiers stood opposite to this man; They each calmly fired three bullets into his dead, and the crowd walked away with great satisfaction. "What is all this?" said Candide; "and what demon is it that exercises his empire in this country?" He then asked who was that fine man who had been killed with so much ceremony. They answered, he was an Admiral. "And why kill this Admiral?" "It is because he didn't kill enough men. He gave battle to a French Admiral; and it has been proved that he was not near enough to him." "But," replied Candide, "the French Admiral was as far from the English Admiral." "There is no doubt of it; but in this country it is found good, from time to time, to kill one Admiral to encourage the others." Candide was so shocked and bewildered by what he saw and heard, that he would not set foot on shore, and he made a bargain with the Dutch skipper (were he even to rob him like the Surinam captain) to conduct him without delay to Venice. The principle target of satire in this chapter is

The military

Like as the waves make towards the pebbl'd shore, So do our minutes hasten to their end; Each changing place with that which goes before, In sequent toil all forwards do contend. Nativity, once in the main of light, Crawls to maturity, wherewith being crown'd, Crooked eclipses 'gainst his glory fight, And Time that gave doth now his gift confound. Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth And delves the parallels in beauty's brow, Feeds on the rarities of nature's truth, And nothing stands but for his scythe to mow: And yet to times in hope my verse shall stand, Praising thy worth, despite his cruel hand. What is the best paraphrase for " delves the parallels in beauty's brow"

Time creates wrinkles

When you come, as you soon must, to the streets of our city, Mad-eyed from stating the obvious, Not proclaiming our fall but begging us In God's name to have self-pity, Spare us all word of the weapons, their force and range, The long numbers that rocket the mind; Our slow, unreckoning hearts will be left behind, Unable to fear what is too strange. Nor shall you scare us with talk of the death of the race. How should we dream of this place without us?— The sun mere fire, the leaves untroubled about us, A stone look on the stone's face? Speak of the world's own change. Though we cannot conceive Of an undreamt thing, we know to our cost How the dreamt cloud crumbles, the vines are blackened by frost, How the view alters. We could believe, If you told us so, that the white-tailed deer will slip Into perfect shade, grown perfectly shy, The lark avoid the reaches of our eye, The jack-pine lose its knuckled grip On the cold ledge, and every torrent burn As Xanthus once, its gliding trout Stunned in a twinkling. What should we be without The dolphin's arc, the dove's return, These things in which we have seen ourselves and spoken? Ask us, prophet, how we shall call Our natures forth when that live tongue is all Dispelled, that glass obscured or broken In which we have said the rose of our love and the clean Horse of our courage, in which beheld The singing locust of the soul unshelled, And all we mean or wish to mean. Ask us, ask us whether with the worldless rose Our hearts shall fail us; come demanding Whether there shall be lofty or long standing When the bronze annals of the oak-tree close. Which of the following best paraphrases the meaning of line 36?

When nature has ceased to exist

When you come, as you soon must, to the streets of our city, Mad-eyed from stating the obvious, Not proclaiming our fall but begging us In God's name to have self-pity, Spare us all word of the weapons, their force and range, The long numbers that rocket the mind; Our slow, unreckoning hearts will be left behind, Unable to fear what is too strange. Nor shall you scare us with talk of the death of the race. How should we dream of this place without us?— The sun mere fire, the leaves untroubled about us, A stone look on the stone's face? Speak of the world's own change. Though we cannot conceive Of an undreamt thing, we know to our cost How the dreamt cloud crumbles, the vines are blackened by frost, How the view alters. We could believe, If you told us so, that the white-tailed deer will slip Into perfect shade, grown perfectly shy, The lark avoid the reaches of our eye, The jack-pine lose its knuckled grip On the cold ledge, and every torrent burn As Xanthus once, its gliding trout Stunned in a twinkling. What should we be without The dolphin's arc, the dove's return, These things in which we have seen ourselves and spoken? Ask us, prophet, how we shall call Our natures forth when that live tongue is all Dispelled, that glass obscured or broken In which we have said the rose of our love and the clean Horse of our courage, in which beheld The singing locust of the soul unshelled, And all we mean or wish to mean. Ask us, ask us whether with the worldless rose Our hearts shall fail us; come demanding Whether there shall be lofty or long standing When the bronze annals of the oak-tree close. The phrase "that live tongue" (line 27) is best understood as

a metaphor for nature

PHILINTE: Now what's got into you? ALCESTE: [seated] Kindly leave me alone. PHILINTE: Come, come, what is it? This lugubrious tone . . . ALCESTE: Leave me, I said; you spoil my solitude. PHILINTE: Oh, listen to me, now, and don't be rude. ALCESTE: I choose to be rude, Sir, and to be hard of hearing. PHILINTE: These ugly moods of yours are not endearing; Friends though we are, I really must insist . . . ALCESTE: [abruptly rising]. Friends? Friends, you say? Well, cross me off your list. I've been your friend till now, as you well know; But after what I saw a moment ago I tell you flatly that our ways must part. I wish no place in a dishonest heart. PHILINTE: Why, what have I done, Alceste? Is this quite just? ALCESTE: My God, you ought to die of self-disgust. I call your conduct inexcusable, Sir, And every man of honor will concur. I see you almost hug a man to death, Exclaim for joy until you're out of breath, And supplement these loving demonstrations With endless offers, vows, and protestations, Then when I ask you "Who was that?, I find That you can barely bring his name to mind! Once the man's back is turned, you cease to love him, And speak with absolute indifference of him! By God, I say it's base and scandalous To falsify the heart's affections thus; If I caught myself behaving in such a way, I'd hang myself for shame, without delay. Philinte can be seen as

balanced

KING RICHARD. I have been studying how I may compareThis prison where I live unto the worldAnd, for because the world is populousAnd here is not a creature but myself,I cannot do it. Yet I'll hammer it out. My brain I'll prove the female to my soul, My soul the father; and these two beget A generation of still-breeding thoughts,And these same thoughts people this little world,In humours like the people of this world,For no thought is contented. The better sort,As thoughts of things divine, are intermix'dWith scruples, and do set the word itselfAgainst the word,As thus: 'Come, little ones'; and then again,'It is as hard to come as for a camelTo thread the postern of a small needle's eye.'Thoughts tending to ambition, they do plotUnlikely wonders: how these vain weak nailsMay tear a passage through the flinty ribsOf this hard world, my ragged prison walls;And, for they cannot, die in their own pride.Thoughts tending to content flatter themselvesThat they are not the first of fortune's slaves,Nor shall not be the last; like silly beggarsWho, sitting in the stocks, refuge their shame,That many have and others must sit there;And in this thought they find a kind of ease,Bearing their own misfortunes on the backOf such as have before endur'd the like.Thus play I in one person many people,And none contented. Sometimes am I king;Then treasons make me wish myself a beggar,And so I am. Then crushing penuryPersuades me I was better when a king;Then am I king'd again; and by and byThink that I am unking'd by Bolingbroke,And straight am nothing. But whate'er I be,Nor I, nor any man that but man is,With nothing shall be pleas'd till he be eas'dWith being nothing. [The music plays] In the bold lines there is an implied comparison between thoughts and

children

The following passage comes from Chapter 19 of Kate Chopin's The Awakening. Mr. Pontellier had been a rather courteous husband so long as he met a certain tacit submissiveness in his wife. But her new and unexpected line of conduct completely bewildered him. It shocked him. Then her absolute disregard for her duties as a wife angered him. When Mr. Pontellier became rude, Edna grew insolent. She had resolved never to take another step backward. Mr. Pontellier's progression in the second paragraph reflects

growing sense of frustration

When you come, as you soon must, to the streets of our city, Mad-eyed from stating the obvious, Not proclaiming our fall but begging us In God's name to have self-pity, Spare us all word of the weapons, their force and range, The long numbers that rocket the mind; Our slow, unreckoning hearts will be left behind, Unable to fear what is too strange. Nor shall you scare us with talk of the death of the race. How should we dream of this place without us?— The sun mere fire, the leaves untroubled about us, A stone look on the stone's face? Speak of the world's own change. Though we cannot conceive Of an undreamt thing, we know to our cost How the dreamt cloud crumbles, the vines are blackened by frost, How the view alters. We could believe, If you told us so, that the white-tailed deer will slip Into perfect shade, grown perfectly shy, The lark avoid the reaches of our eye, The jack-pine lose its knuckled grip On the cold ledge, and every torrent burn As Xanthus once, its gliding trout Stunned in a twinkling. What should we be without The dolphin's arc, the dove's return, These things in which we have seen ourselves and spoken? Ask us, prophet, how we shall call Our natures forth when that live tongue is all Dispelled, that glass obscured or broken In which we have said the rose of our love and the clean Horse of our courage, in which beheld The singing locust of the soul unshelled, And all we mean or wish to mean. Ask us, ask us whether with the worldless rose Our hearts shall fail us; come demanding Whether there shall be lofty or long standing When the bronze annals of the oak-tree close. The phrase "knuckled grip" (line 20) primarily implies that the jack-pine

has roots that grasp like a hand

When you come, as you soon must, to the streets of our city, Mad-eyed from stating the obvious, Not proclaiming our fall but begging us In God's name to have self-pity, Spare us all word of the weapons, their force and range, The long numbers that rocket the mind; Our slow, unreckoning hearts will be left behind, Unable to fear what is too strange. Nor shall you scare us with talk of the death of the race. How should we dream of this place without us?— The sun mere fire, the leaves untroubled about us, A stone look on the stone's face? Speak of the world's own change. Though we cannot conceive Of an undreamt thing, we know to our cost How the dreamt cloud crumbles, the vines are blackened by frost, How the view alters. We could believe, If you told us so, that the white-tailed deer will slip Into perfect shade, grown perfectly shy, The lark avoid the reaches of our eye, The jack-pine lose its knuckled grip On the cold ledge, and every torrent burn As Xanthus once, its gliding trout Stunned in a twinkling. What should we be without The dolphin's arc, the dove's return, These things in which we have seen ourselves and spoken? Ask us, prophet, how we shall call Our natures forth when that live tongue is all Dispelled, that glass obscured or broken In which we have said the rose of our love and the clean Horse of our courage, in which beheld The singing locust of the soul unshelled, And all we mean or wish to mean. Ask us, ask us whether with the worldless rose Our hearts shall fail us; come demanding Whether there shall be lofty or long standing When the bronze annals of the oak-tree close. In lines 13-16 ("Though . . . alters"), the speaker is asserting that we

have all experienced loss and disappointment

When you come, as you soon must, to the streets of our city, Mad-eyed from stating the obvious, Not proclaiming our fall but begging us In God's name to have self-pity, Spare us all word of the weapons, their force and range, The long numbers that rocket the mind; Our slow, unreckoning hearts will be left behind, Unable to fear what is too strange. Nor shall you scare us with talk of the death of the race. How should we dream of this place without us?— The sun mere fire, the leaves untroubled about us, A stone look on the stone's face? Speak of the world's own change. Though we cannot conceive Of an undreamt thing, we know to our cost How the dreamt cloud crumbles, the vines are blackened by frost, How the view alters. We could believe, If you told us so, that the white-tailed deer will slip Into perfect shade, grown perfectly shy, The lark avoid the reaches of our eye, The jack-pine lose its knuckled grip On the cold ledge, and every torrent burn As Xanthus once, its gliding trout Stunned in a twinkling. What should we be without The dolphin's arc, the dove's return, These things in which we have seen ourselves and spoken? Ask us, prophet, how we shall call Our natures forth when that live tongue is all Dispelled, that glass obscured or broken In which we have said the rose of our love and the clean Horse of our courage, in which beheld The singing locust of the soul unshelled, And all we mean or wish to mean. Ask us, ask us whether with the worldless rose Our hearts shall fail us; come demanding Whether there shall be lofty or long standing When the bronze annals of the oak-tree close. The speaker implies that without "The dolphin's arc, the dove's return" (line 24), we would

have less understanding of ourselves and our lives

When you come, as you soon must, to the streets of our city, Mad-eyed from stating the obvious, Not proclaiming our fall but begging us In God's name to have self-pity, Spare us all word of the weapons, their force and range, The long numbers that rocket the mind; Our slow, unreckoning hearts will be left behind, Unable to fear what is too strange. Nor shall you scare us with talk of the death of the race. How should we dream of this place without us?— The sun mere fire, the leaves untroubled about us, A stone look on the stone's face? Speak of the world's own change. Though we cannot conceive Of an undreamt thing, we know to our cost How the dreamt cloud crumbles, the vines are blackened by frost, How the view alters. We could believe, If you told us so, that the white-tailed deer will slip Into perfect shade, grown perfectly shy, The lark avoid the reaches of our eye, The jack-pine lose its knuckled grip On the cold ledge, and every torrent burn As Xanthus once, its gliding trout Stunned in a twinkling. What should we be without The dolphin's arc, the dove's return, These things in which we have seen ourselves and spoken? Ask us, prophet, how we shall call Our natures forth when that live tongue is all Dispelled, that glass obscured or broken In which we have said the rose of our love and the clean Horse of our courage, in which beheld The singing locust of the soul unshelled, And all we mean or wish to mean. Ask us, ask us whether with the worldless rose Our hearts shall fail us; come demanding Whether there shall be lofty or long standing When the bronze annals of the oak-tree close. In the phrase "A stone look on the stone's face" (line 12), the speaker is suggesting that

it is human beings who attribute meaning to nature

When you come, as you soon must, to the streets of our city, Mad-eyed from stating the obvious, Not proclaiming our fall but begging us In God's name to have self-pity, Spare us all word of the weapons, their force and range, The long numbers that rocket the mind; Our slow, unreckoning hearts will be left behind, Unable to fear what is too strange. Nor shall you scare us with talk of the death of the race. How should we dream of this place without us?— The sun mere fire, the leaves untroubled about us, A stone look on the stone's face? Speak of the world's own change. Though we cannot conceive Of an undreamt thing, we know to our cost How the dreamt cloud crumbles, the vines are blackened by frost, How the view alters. We could believe, If you told us so, that the white-tailed deer will slip Into perfect shade, grown perfectly shy, The lark avoid the reaches of our eye, The jack-pine lose its knuckled grip On the cold ledge, and every torrent burn As Xanthus once, its gliding trout Stunned in a twinkling. What should we be without The dolphin's arc, the dove's return, These things in which we have seen ourselves and spoken? Ask us, prophet, how we shall call Our natures forth when that live tongue is all Dispelled, that glass obscured or broken In which we have said the rose of our love and the clean Horse of our courage, in which beheld The singing locust of the soul unshelled, And all we mean or wish to mean. Ask us, ask us whether with the worldless rose Our hearts shall fail us; come demanding Whether there shall be lofty or long standing When the bronze annals of the oak-tree close. According to the speaker, the prophet's "word of the weapons" (line 5) will probably not be heeded because

people cannot comprehend abstract descriptions of power

When you come, as you soon must, to the streets of our city, Mad-eyed from stating the obvious, Not proclaiming our fall but begging us In God's name to have self-pity, Spare us all word of the weapons, their force and range, The long numbers that rocket the mind; Our slow, unreckoning hearts will be left behind, Unable to fear what is too strange. Nor shall you scare us with talk of the death of the race. How should we dream of this place without us?— The sun mere fire, the leaves untroubled about us, A stone look on the stone's face? Speak of the world's own change. Though we cannot conceive Of an undreamt thing, we know to our cost How the dreamt cloud crumbles, the vines are blackened by frost, How the view alters. We could believe, If you told us so, that the white-tailed deer will slip Into perfect shade, grown perfectly shy, The lark avoid the reaches of our eye, The jack-pine lose its knuckled grip On the cold ledge, and every torrent burn As Xanthus once, its gliding trout Stunned in a twinkling. What should we be without The dolphin's arc, the dove's return, These things in which we have seen ourselves and spoken? Ask us, prophet, how we shall call Our natures forth when that live tongue is all Dispelled, that glass obscured or broken In which we have said the rose of our love and the clean Horse of our courage, in which beheld The singing locust of the soul unshelled, And all we mean or wish to mean. Ask us, ask us whether with the worldless rose Our hearts shall fail us; come demanding Whether there shall be lofty or long standing When the bronze annals of the oak-tree close. In lines 1-12, the speaker assumes that the prophet will come proclaiming

the horror of self-destruction

"It seems to me the utmost folly for a woman at the head of a household, and the mother of children, to spend in an atelier days which would be better employed contriving for the comfort of her family." "I feel like painting," answered Edna. "Perhaps I shan't always feel like it." "Then in God's name paint! but don't let the family go to the devil. There's Madame Ratignolle; because she keeps up her music, she doesn't let everything else go to chaos. And she's more of a musician than you are a painter." "She isn't a musician, and I'm not a painter. It isn't on account of painting that I let things go." "On account of what, then?" "Oh! I don't know. Let me alone; you bother me." Which comment by Mr. Pontellier suggests that he feels Edna's painting is second-rate?

wrong: "she doesn't let everything else go to chaos." I think it is: "And she's more of a musician" ??

"By St. James of Compostella," said Cacambo, "you were going to fight against the Jesuits; let us go to fight for them; I know the road well, I'll conduct you to their kingdom, where they will be charmed to have a captain that understands the Bulgarian exercise. You'll make a prodigious fortune; if we cannot find our account in one world we shall in another. It is a great pleasure to see and do new things." "You have before been in Paraguay, then?" said Candide. "Ay, sure," answered Cacambo, "I was servant in the College of the Assumption, and am acquainted with the government of the good Fathers as well as I am with the streets of Cadiz. It is an admirable government. The kingdom is upwards of three hundred leagues in diameter, and divided into thirty provinces; there the Fathers possess all, and the people nothing; it is a masterpiece of reason and justice. For my part I see nothing so divine as the Fathers who here make war upon the kings of Spain and Portugal, and in Europe confess those kings; who here kill Spaniards, and in Madrid send them to heaven; this delights me, let us push forward. You are going to be the happiest of mortals. What pleasure will it be to those Fathers to hear that a captain who knows the Bulgarian exercise has come to them!" All of the following are mocked in this excerpt EXCEPT

wrong: Alliances I think it is: Jesuits

Gertrude. One woe doth tread upon another's heel, So fast they follow. Your sister's drown'd, Laertes. Laertes. Drown'd! O, where? Gertrude. There is a willow grows aslant a brook, That shows his hoar leaves in the glassy stream. There with fantastic garlands did she come Of crowflowers, nettles, daisies, and long purples, That liberal shepherds give a grosser name, But our cold maids do dead men's fingers call them. There on the pendant boughs her coronet weeds Clamb'ring to hang, an envious sliver broke, When down her weedy trophies and herself Fell in the weeping brook. Her clothes spread wide And, mermaid-like, awhile they bore her up; Which time she chaunted snatches of old tunes, As one incapable of her own distress, Or like a creature native and indued Unto that element; but long it could not be Till that her garments, heavy with their drink, Pull'd the poor wretch from her melodious lay To muddy death. Laertes. Alas, then she is drown'd? Gertrude. Drown'd, drown'd. Laertes. Too much of water hast thou, poor Ophelia, And therefore I forbid my tears; but yet It is our trick; nature her custom holds, Let shame say what it will. When these are gone, The woman will be out. Adieu, my lord. I have a speech of fire, that fain would blaze But that this folly douts it. Exit. Claudius. Let's follow, Gertrude. How much I had to do to calm his rage I Now fear I this will give it start again; Therefore let's follow. At the end of the passage what does the line "How much I had to do to calm his rage!" suggest?

wrong: Claudius is hoping that Gertrude will further calm Laertes. I think it is: Claudius is lying to Gertrude.

ALCESTE: [aside] Good God! Could anything be more inhuman? Was ever a heart so mangled by a woman? When I complain of how she has betrayed me, She bridles, and commences to upbraid me! She tries my tortured patience to the limit; She won't deny her guilt; she glories in it! And yet my heart's too faint and cowardly To break these chains of passion, and be free, To scorn her as it should, and rise above This unrewarded, mad, and bitter love. [To Celimene]: Ah, traitress, in how confident a fashion You take advantage of my helpless passion And use my weakness for you faithless charms To make me once again thrown down my arms! But do at least deny this black transgression; Take back that mocking and perverse confession; Defend this letter and your innocence, And I, poor fool, will aid in your defense. Pretend, pretend, that you are just and true, And I shall make myself believe in you. In this passage, Alceste's tone can best be described as

wrong: Didactic I think it is: Victimized

Hamlet. Now, mother, what's the matter? Gertrude. Hamlet, thou hast thy father much offended. Hamlet. Mother, you have my father much offended. Gertrude. Come, come, you answer with an idle tongue. Hamlet. Go, go, you question with a wicked tongue. Gertrude. Why, how now, Hamlet? Hamlet. What's the matter now? Gertrude. Have you forgot me? Hamlet. No, by the rood, not so! You are the Queen, your husband's brother's wife, And (would it were not so!) you are my mother. Gertrude. Nay, then I'll set those to you that can speak. Hamlet. Come, come, and sit you down. You shall not budge; You go not till I set you up a glass Where you may see the inmost part of you. Gertrude. What wilt thou do? Thou wilt not murther me? Help, help, ho! Polonius. [behind] What, ho! help, help, help! Hamlet. [draws] How now? a rat? Dead for a ducat, dead! [Makes a pass through the arras and] kills Polonius. Polonius. [behind] O, I am slain! Gertrude. O me, what hast thou done? Hamlet. Nay, I know not. Is it the King? Gertrude. O, what a rash and bloody deed is this! Hamlet. A bloody deed- almost as bad, good mother, As kill a king, and marry with his brother. Gertrude. As kill a king? Hamlet. Ay, lady, it was my word. [Lifts up the arras and sees Polonius.] Thou wretched, rash, intruding fool, farewell! I took thee for thy better. Take thy fortune. Thou find'st to be too busy is some danger. Leave wringing of your hands. Peace! sit you down And let me wring your heart; for so I shall If it be made of penetrable stuff; If damned custom have not braz'd it so That it is proof and bulwark against sense. What syntaxical feature does Shakespeare employ to show Hamlet's initial mockery of his mother?

wrong: Frequent questions I think it is: Repeating her lines with subtle changes.

Bernardo. Who's there? Francisco. Nay, answer me. Stand and unfold yourself. Bernardo. Long live the King! Francisco. Bernardo? Bernardo. He. Francisco. You come most carefully upon your hour. Bernardo. 'Tis now struck twelve. Get thee to bed, Francisco. Francisco. For this relief much thanks. 'Tis bitter cold, And I am sick at heart. Bernardo. Have you had quiet guard? Francisco. Not a mouse stirring. Bernardo. Well, good night. If you do meet Horatio and Marcellus, The rivals of my watch, bid them make haste. Which character introduced in this scene will become a central character for the rest of the play?

wrong: None of them assume a central role I think it is: Horatio

Horatio. Not from his mouth, Had it th' ability of life to thank you. He never gave commandment for their death. But since, so jump upon this bloody question, You from the Polack wars, and you from England, Are here arriv'd, give order that these bodies High on a stage be placed to the view; And let me speak to the yet unknowing world How these things came about. So shall you hear Of carnal, bloody and unnatural acts; Of accidental judgments, casual slaughters; Of deaths put on by cunning and forc'd cause; And, in this upshot, purposes mistook Fall'n on th' inventors' heads. All this can I Truly deliver. Fortinbras. Let us haste to hear it, And call the noblest to the audience. For me, with sorrow I embrace my fortune. I have some rights of memory in this kingdom Which now, to claim my vantage doth invite me. Horatio. Of that I shall have also cause to speak, And from his mouth whose voice will draw on more. But let this same be presently perform'd, Even while men's minds are wild, lest more mischance On plots and errors happen. Fortinbras. Let four captains Bear Hamlet like a soldier to the stage; For he was likely, had he been put on, To have prov'd most royally; and for his passage The soldiers' music and the rites of war Speak loudly for him. Take up the bodies. Such a sight as this Becomes the field but here shows much amiss. Go, bid the soldiers shoot. Fortinbras syntax reveals frequent

wrong: Periodic sentences I think it is: Imperative sentences

Like as the waves make towards the pebbl'd shore, So do our minutes hasten to their end; Each changing place with that which goes before, In sequent toil all forwards do contend. Nativity, once in the main of light, Crawls to maturity, wherewith being crown'd, Crooked eclipses 'gainst his glory fight, And Time that gave doth now his gift confound. Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth And delves the parallels in beauty's brow, Feeds on the rarities of nature's truth, And nothing stands but for his scythe to mow: And yet to times in hope my verse shall stand, Praising thy worth, despite his cruel hand. The diction choices "toil" (line 4), "fight" (line 7), and "cruel" (line 14) suggest the speaker's ____________________ with time.

wrong: Surrender I think it is: Conflict ??

ALCESTE: [to Eliante] Madam, your virtuous beauty has no peer; Of all this world, you only are sincere; I've long esteemed you highly, as you know; Permit me ever to esteem you so, And if I do not now request your hand, Forgive me, Madam, and try to understand. I feel unworthy of it; I sense that fate Does not intend me for the married state, That I should do you wrong by offering you My shattered hart's unhappy residue, And that in short . . . ELIANTE: Your argument's well taken: Nor need you fear that I shall feel forsaken. Were I to offer him this hand of mine, Your friend Philinte, I think, would not decline. PHILINTE: Ah, Madam, that's my heart's most cherished goal, For which I'd gladly give my life and soul. ALCESTE: [to Eliante and Philinte]. May you be true to all you now profess, And so deserve unending happiness. Meanwhile, betrayed and wronged in everything, I'll flee this bitter word where vice is king, And seek some spot unpeopled and apart Where I'll be free to have an honest heart. PHILINTE: Come, Madam, let's do everything we can To change the mind of this unhappy man. Order is restored at the end of the play through:

wrong: Through Alceste's departure I think it is: Through Philinte's marriage

He was such a sharp landlord, that he could hardly find any but bankrupt tenants; and such a close farmer, as to grudge almost the seed to the ground, whereupon revengeful Nature grudged him the crops which she granted to more liberal husbandmen. He speculated in every possible way; he worked mines; bought canal-shares; horsed coaches; took government contracts, and was the busiest man and magistrate of his county. As he would not pay honest agents at his granite quarry, he had the satisfaction of finding that four overseers ran away, and took fortunes with them to America. For want of proper precautions, his coal-mines filled with water: the government flung his contract of damaged beef upon his hands: and for his coach-horses, every mail proprietor in the kingdom knew that he lost more horses than any man in the country, from underfeeding and buying cheap. In disposition he was sociable, and far from being proud; nay, he rather preferred the society of a farmer or a horse-dealer to that of a gentleman, like my lord, his son: he was fond of drink, of swearing, of joking with the farmers' daughters: he was never known to give away a shilling or to do a good action, but was of a pleasant, sly, laughing mood, and would cut his joke and drink his glass with a tenant and sell him up the next day; or have his laugh with the poacher he was transporting with equal good humour. The bold word has which meaning within the context of the passage

wrong: accurate and precise I think it is: overly cautious in spending

Bernardo. Who's there? Francisco. Nay, answer me. Stand and unfold yourself. Bernardo. Long live the King! Francisco. Bernardo? Bernardo. He. Francisco. You come most carefully upon your hour. Bernardo. 'Tis now struck twelve. Get thee to bed, Francisco. Francisco. For this relief much thanks. 'Tis bitter cold, And I am sick at heart. Bernardo. Have you had quiet guard? Francisco. Not a mouse stirring. Bernardo. Well, good night. If you do meet Horatio and Marcellus, The rivals of my watch, bid them make haste. Enter Horatio and Marcellus. Francisco. I think I hear them. Stand, ho! Who is there? Horatio. Friends to this ground. Marcellus. And liegemen to the Dane. Francisco. Give you good night. Marcellus. O, farewell, honest soldier. Who hath reliev'd you? Francisco. Bernardo hath my place. Give you good night. Exit. Marcellus. Holla, Bernardo! Bernardo. Say- What, is Horatio there ? Horatio. A piece of him. Bernardo. Welcome, Horatio. Welcome, good Marcellus. Marcellus. What, has this thing appear'd again to-night? Bernardo. I have seen nothing. Marcellus. Horatio says 'tis but our fantasy, And will not let belief take hold of him Touching this dreaded sight, twice seen of us. Therefore I have entreated him along, With us to watch the minutes of this night, That, if again this apparition come, He may approve our eyes and speak to it. Horatio. Tush, tush, 'twill not appear. In this scene, which of the following are reasons that these characters are nervous? I. A ghost has been scene on pervious nights. II. They fear an invasion from King Fortinbras of Norway. III. With the new king on the throne there are questions of loyalty.

|, |||

"Ah, Pangloss! Pangloss! Ah, Martin! Martin! Ah, my dear Cunegonde, what sort of a world is this?" said Candide on board the Dutch ship. "Something very foolish and abominable," said Martin. "You know England? Are they as foolish there as in France?" "It is another kind of folly," said Martin. "You know that these two nations are at war for a few acres of snow in Canada,and that they spend over this beautiful war much more than Canada is worth. To tell you exactly, whether there are more people fit to send to a madhouse in one country than the other, is what my imperfect intelligence will not permit. I only know in general that the people we are going to see are very atrabilious." Talking thus they arrived at Portsmouth. The shore was covered with a large crowd of people, whose eyes were fixed on a fine man kneeling, with his eyes bandaged, on board one of the men of war in the harbour. Four soldiers stood opposite to this man; They each calmly fired three bullets into his dead, and the crowd walked away with great satisfaction. "What is all this?" said Candide; "and what demon is it that exercises his empire in this country?" He then asked who was that fine man who had been killed with so much ceremony. They answered, he was an Admiral. "And why kill this Admiral?" "It is because he didn't kill enough men. He gave battle to a French Admiral; and it has been proved that he was not near enough to him." "But," replied Candide, "the French Admiral was as far from the English Admiral." "There is no doubt of it; but in this country it is found good, from time to time, to kill one Admiral to encourage the others." Candide was so shocked and bewildered by what he saw and heard, that he would not set foot on shore, and he made a bargain with the Dutch skipper (were he even to rob him like the Surinam captain) to conduct him without delay to Venice. The skipper was ready in two days. They coasted France; they passed in sight of Lisbon, and Candide trembled. They passed through the Straits, and entered the Mediterranean. At last they landed at Venice. "God be praised!" said Candide, embracing Martin. "It is here that I shall see again my beautiful Cunegonde. I trust Cacambo as myself. All is well, all will be well, all goes as well as possible." Which of the following lines are used sarcastically in this chapter? I. "The shore was covered with a large crowd of people." II. "They each calmly fired three bullets into his dead, and the crowd walked away with great satisfaction." III. "Because he didn't kill enough men."

||, |||