Form, Structure, Grammar, and Syntax - AP English Literature and Composition
Card 0 of 475
From The Red Badge of Courage by Stephen Crane (1875)
After complicated journeyings with many pauses, there had come months of monotonous life in a camp. He had had the belief that real war was a series of death struggles with small time in between for sleep and meals; but since his regiment had come to the field the army had done little but sit still and try to keep warm.
He was brought then gradually back to his old ideas. Greek-like struggles would be no more. Men were better, or more timid. Secular and religious education had effaced the throat-grappling instinct, or else firm finance held in check the passions.
He had grown to regard himself merely as a part of a vast blue demonstration. His province was to look out, as far as he could, for his personal comfort. For recreation he could twiddle his thumbs and speculate on the thoughts which must agitate the minds of the generals. Also, he was drilled and drilled and reviewed, and drilled and drilled and reviewed.
The only foes he had seen were some pickets along the river bank. They were a sun-tanned, philosophical lot, who sometimes shot reflectively at the blue pickets. When reproached for this afterward, they usually expressed sorrow, and swore by their gods that the guns had exploded without their permission. The youth, on guard duty one night, conversed across the stream with one of them. He was a slightly ragged man, who spat skillfully between his shoes and possessed a great fund of bland and infantile assurance. The youth liked him personally.
"Yank," the other had informed him, "yer a right dum good feller." This sentiment, floating to him upon the still air, had made him temporarily regret war.
Various veterans had told him tales. Some talked of gray, bewhiskered hordes who were advancing with relentless curses and chewing tobacco with unspeakable valor; tremendous bodies of fierce soldiery who were sweeping along like the Huns. Others spoke of tattered and eternally hungry men who fired despondent powders. "They'll charge through hell's fire an' brimstone t' git a holt on a haversack, an' sech stomachs ain't a'lastin' long," he was told. From the stories, the youth imagined the red, live bones sticking out through slits in the faded uniforms.
Still, he could not put a whole faith in veteran's tales, for recruits were their prey. They talked much of smoke, fire, and blood, but he could not tell how much might be lies. They persistently yelled "Fresh fish!" at him, and were in no wise to be trusted.
However, he perceived now that it did not greatly matter what kind of soldiers he was going to fight, so long as they fought, which fact no one disputed. There was a more serious problem. He lay in his bunk pondering upon it. He tried to mathematically prove to himself that he would not run from a battle.
Previously he had never felt obliged to wrestle too seriously with this question. In his life he had taken certain things for granted, never challenging his belief in ultimate success, and bothering little about means and roads. But here he was confronted with a thing of moment. It had suddenly appeared to him that perhaps in a battle he might run. He was forced to admit that as far as war was concerned he knew nothing of himself.
A sufficient time before he would have allowed the problem to kick its heels at the outer portals of his mind, but now he felt compelled to give serious attention to it.
What two things are being contrasted in the underlined selection?
From The Red Badge of Courage by Stephen Crane (1875)
After complicated journeyings with many pauses, there had come months of monotonous life in a camp. He had had the belief that real war was a series of death struggles with small time in between for sleep and meals; but since his regiment had come to the field the army had done little but sit still and try to keep warm.
He was brought then gradually back to his old ideas. Greek-like struggles would be no more. Men were better, or more timid. Secular and religious education had effaced the throat-grappling instinct, or else firm finance held in check the passions.
He had grown to regard himself merely as a part of a vast blue demonstration. His province was to look out, as far as he could, for his personal comfort. For recreation he could twiddle his thumbs and speculate on the thoughts which must agitate the minds of the generals. Also, he was drilled and drilled and reviewed, and drilled and drilled and reviewed.
The only foes he had seen were some pickets along the river bank. They were a sun-tanned, philosophical lot, who sometimes shot reflectively at the blue pickets. When reproached for this afterward, they usually expressed sorrow, and swore by their gods that the guns had exploded without their permission. The youth, on guard duty one night, conversed across the stream with one of them. He was a slightly ragged man, who spat skillfully between his shoes and possessed a great fund of bland and infantile assurance. The youth liked him personally.
"Yank," the other had informed him, "yer a right dum good feller." This sentiment, floating to him upon the still air, had made him temporarily regret war.
Various veterans had told him tales. Some talked of gray, bewhiskered hordes who were advancing with relentless curses and chewing tobacco with unspeakable valor; tremendous bodies of fierce soldiery who were sweeping along like the Huns. Others spoke of tattered and eternally hungry men who fired despondent powders. "They'll charge through hell's fire an' brimstone t' git a holt on a haversack, an' sech stomachs ain't a'lastin' long," he was told. From the stories, the youth imagined the red, live bones sticking out through slits in the faded uniforms.
Still, he could not put a whole faith in veteran's tales, for recruits were their prey. They talked much of smoke, fire, and blood, but he could not tell how much might be lies. They persistently yelled "Fresh fish!" at him, and were in no wise to be trusted.
However, he perceived now that it did not greatly matter what kind of soldiers he was going to fight, so long as they fought, which fact no one disputed. There was a more serious problem. He lay in his bunk pondering upon it. He tried to mathematically prove to himself that he would not run from a battle.
Previously he had never felt obliged to wrestle too seriously with this question. In his life he had taken certain things for granted, never challenging his belief in ultimate success, and bothering little about means and roads. But here he was confronted with a thing of moment. It had suddenly appeared to him that perhaps in a battle he might run. He was forced to admit that as far as war was concerned he knew nothing of himself.
A sufficient time before he would have allowed the problem to kick its heels at the outer portals of his mind, but now he felt compelled to give serious attention to it.
What two things are being contrasted in the underlined selection?
Though the question of bravery and cowardice factor highly in the self-consideration expressed in this selection, they are not the primary contrast. Instead, the two things being contrasted are (1) the character's former certainty about himself and (2) his new-found awareness that—in war, at least—he knew little about himself.
Though the question of bravery and cowardice factor highly in the self-consideration expressed in this selection, they are not the primary contrast. Instead, the two things being contrasted are (1) the character's former certainty about himself and (2) his new-found awareness that—in war, at least—he knew little about himself.
Compare your answer with the correct one above
Passage adapted from Cape Cod by Henry David Thoreau (1865)
Boston, New York, Philadelphia, Charleston, New Orleans, and the rest, are the names of wharves projecting into the sea (surrounded by the shops and dwellings of the merchants), good places to take in and to discharge a cargo (to land the products of other climes and load the exports of our own). I see a great many barrels and fig-drums, piles of wood for umbrella-sticks, blocks of granite and ice, great heaps of goods, and the means of packing and conveying them, much wrapping-paper and twine, many crates and hogsheads and trucks, and that is Boston. The more barrels, the more Boston. The museums and scientific societies and libraries are accidental. They gather around the sands to save carting. The wharf-rats and customhouse officers, and broken-down poets, seeking a fortune amid the barrels. Their better or worse lyceums, and preachings, and doctorings, these, too, are accidental, and the malls of commons are always small potatoes....
When we reached Boston that October, I had a gill of Provincetown sand in my shoes, and at Concord there was still enough left to sand my pages for many a day; and I seemed to hear the sea roar, as if I lived in a shell, for a week afterward.
The places which I have described may seem strange and remote to my townsmen, indeed, from Boston to Provincetown is twice as far as from England to France; yet step into the cars, and in six hours you may stand on those four planks, and see the Cape which Gosnold is said to have discovered, and which I have so poorly described. If you had started when I first advised you, you might have seen our tracks in the sand, still fresh, and reaching all the way from the Nauset Lights to Race Point, some thirty miles, for at every step we made an impression on the Cape, though we were not aware of it, and though our account may have made no impression on your minds. But what is our account? In it there is no roar, no beach-birds, no tow-cloth.
Which of the following best describes the author's rhetorical strategy in the underlined section?
Passage adapted from Cape Cod by Henry David Thoreau (1865)
Boston, New York, Philadelphia, Charleston, New Orleans, and the rest, are the names of wharves projecting into the sea (surrounded by the shops and dwellings of the merchants), good places to take in and to discharge a cargo (to land the products of other climes and load the exports of our own). I see a great many barrels and fig-drums, piles of wood for umbrella-sticks, blocks of granite and ice, great heaps of goods, and the means of packing and conveying them, much wrapping-paper and twine, many crates and hogsheads and trucks, and that is Boston. The more barrels, the more Boston. The museums and scientific societies and libraries are accidental. They gather around the sands to save carting. The wharf-rats and customhouse officers, and broken-down poets, seeking a fortune amid the barrels. Their better or worse lyceums, and preachings, and doctorings, these, too, are accidental, and the malls of commons are always small potatoes....
When we reached Boston that October, I had a gill of Provincetown sand in my shoes, and at Concord there was still enough left to sand my pages for many a day; and I seemed to hear the sea roar, as if I lived in a shell, for a week afterward.
The places which I have described may seem strange and remote to my townsmen, indeed, from Boston to Provincetown is twice as far as from England to France; yet step into the cars, and in six hours you may stand on those four planks, and see the Cape which Gosnold is said to have discovered, and which I have so poorly described. If you had started when I first advised you, you might have seen our tracks in the sand, still fresh, and reaching all the way from the Nauset Lights to Race Point, some thirty miles, for at every step we made an impression on the Cape, though we were not aware of it, and though our account may have made no impression on your minds. But what is our account? In it there is no roar, no beach-birds, no tow-cloth.
Which of the following best describes the author's rhetorical strategy in the underlined section?
This question asks you to analyze the rhetorical devices the author uses to express his argument. When the author states "But what is our account? In it there is no roar, no beach-birds, no tow-cloth" he is questioning the effectiveness of any written description of Provincetown. Although he has described these factors in an attempt to give the reader an impression of the town, he suggests that simply reading about it is not the same as being there since the reader will not truly experience the sounds and sights.
This question asks you to analyze the rhetorical devices the author uses to express his argument. When the author states "But what is our account? In it there is no roar, no beach-birds, no tow-cloth" he is questioning the effectiveness of any written description of Provincetown. Although he has described these factors in an attempt to give the reader an impression of the town, he suggests that simply reading about it is not the same as being there since the reader will not truly experience the sounds and sights.
Compare your answer with the correct one above
All that day the heat was terrible. The wind blew close to the ground; it rooted among the tussock grass, slithered along the road, so that the white pumice dust swirled in our faces, settled and sifted over us and was like a dry-skin itching for growth on our bodies. The horses stumbled along, coughing and chuffing. The pack horse was sick -- with a big open sore rubbed under the belly. Now and again she stopped short, threw back her head, looked at us as though she were going to cry, and whinnied. Hundreds of larks shrilled; the sky was slate colour, and the sound of the larks reminded me of slate pencils scraping over its surface. There was nothing to be seen but wave after wave of tussock grass, patched with purple orchids and manuka bushes covered with thick spider webs.
Jo rode ahead. He wore a blue galatea shirt, corduroy trousers and riding boots. A white handkerchief, spotted with red -- it looked as though his nose had been bleeding on it -- was knotted round his throat. Wisps of white hair straggled from under his wideawake -- his moustache and eyebrows were called white -- he slouched in the saddle, grunting. Not once that day had he sung "I don't care, for don't you see, My wife' mother was in front of me!... ” It was the first day we had been without it for a month, and now there seemed something uncanny in his silence. Hin rode beside me, white as a clown; his black eyes glittered, and he kept shooting out his tongue and moistening his lips. He was dressed in a Jaeger vest, and a pair of blue duck trousers, fastened round the waist with a plaited leather belt. We had hardly spoken since dawn. At noon we had lunched off fly biscuits and apricots by the side of a swampy creek.
(1912)
There is a shift between the first and second paragraph from .
All that day the heat was terrible. The wind blew close to the ground; it rooted among the tussock grass, slithered along the road, so that the white pumice dust swirled in our faces, settled and sifted over us and was like a dry-skin itching for growth on our bodies. The horses stumbled along, coughing and chuffing. The pack horse was sick -- with a big open sore rubbed under the belly. Now and again she stopped short, threw back her head, looked at us as though she were going to cry, and whinnied. Hundreds of larks shrilled; the sky was slate colour, and the sound of the larks reminded me of slate pencils scraping over its surface. There was nothing to be seen but wave after wave of tussock grass, patched with purple orchids and manuka bushes covered with thick spider webs.
Jo rode ahead. He wore a blue galatea shirt, corduroy trousers and riding boots. A white handkerchief, spotted with red -- it looked as though his nose had been bleeding on it -- was knotted round his throat. Wisps of white hair straggled from under his wideawake -- his moustache and eyebrows were called white -- he slouched in the saddle, grunting. Not once that day had he sung "I don't care, for don't you see, My wife' mother was in front of me!... ” It was the first day we had been without it for a month, and now there seemed something uncanny in his silence. Hin rode beside me, white as a clown; his black eyes glittered, and he kept shooting out his tongue and moistening his lips. He was dressed in a Jaeger vest, and a pair of blue duck trousers, fastened round the waist with a plaited leather belt. We had hardly spoken since dawn. At noon we had lunched off fly biscuits and apricots by the side of a swampy creek.
(1912)
There is a shift between the first and second paragraph from .
The first paragraph deals primarily with setting. We don't learn any details about the characters until the second paragraph, in which the narrator switches focus from describing her surroundings to describing the people she is with. There is no indication that the narrator has changed between the two paragraphs and both paragraphs are narrated in first-person. Both paragraphs contain mostly literal, rather than metaphorical, descriptions and there is no significant shift in tone.
Passage adapted from Katherine Mansfield's "The Woman at the Store" (1912)
The first paragraph deals primarily with setting. We don't learn any details about the characters until the second paragraph, in which the narrator switches focus from describing her surroundings to describing the people she is with. There is no indication that the narrator has changed between the two paragraphs and both paragraphs are narrated in first-person. Both paragraphs contain mostly literal, rather than metaphorical, descriptions and there is no significant shift in tone.
Passage adapted from Katherine Mansfield's "The Woman at the Store" (1912)
Compare your answer with the correct one above
For I-be Zeus my witness, who sees all things always-would not be silent if I saw ruin, instead of safety, coming to the citizens; nor would I ever deem the country's foe a friend to myself; remembering this, that our country is the ship that bears us safe, and that only while she prospers in our voyage can we make true friends.
(Fifth century BCE)
In the last line of the passage, "she" refers to .
For I-be Zeus my witness, who sees all things always-would not be silent if I saw ruin, instead of safety, coming to the citizens; nor would I ever deem the country's foe a friend to myself; remembering this, that our country is the ship that bears us safe, and that only while she prospers in our voyage can we make true friends.
(Fifth century BCE)
In the last line of the passage, "she" refers to .
The author compares the country to a ship, and refers to both at the ship and the country (which have been tied together by a simile) at the same time when he writes "she prospers in our voyage"
(Adapted from the R. C. Jebb translation of Antigone by Sophocles 211-218, Fifth century BCE)
The author compares the country to a ship, and refers to both at the ship and the country (which have been tied together by a simile) at the same time when he writes "she prospers in our voyage"
(Adapted from the R. C. Jebb translation of Antigone by Sophocles 211-218, Fifth century BCE)
Compare your answer with the correct one above
Adapted from Richard III by William Shakespeare, I.i.1-42
Now is the winter of our discontent
Made glorious summer by this sun of York;
And all the clouds that lour'd upon our house
In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.
Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths;
Our bruised arms hung up for monuments;
Our stern alarums changed to merry meetings,
Our dreadful marches to delightful measures.
Grim-visaged war hath smooth'd his wrinkled front;
And now, instead of mounting barded steeds
To fright the souls of fearful adversaries,
He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber
To the lascivious pleasing of a lute.
But I, that am not shaped for sportive tricks,
Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass;
I, that am rudely stamp'd, and want love's majesty
To strut before a wanton ambling nymph;
I, that am curtail'd of this fair proportion,
Cheated of feature by dissembling nature,
Deformed, unfinish'd, sent before my time
Into this breathing world, scarce half made up,
And that so lamely and unfashionable
That dogs bark at me as I halt by them;
Why, I, in this weak piping time of peace,
Have no delight to pass away the time,
Unless to spy my shadow in the sun
And descant on mine own deformity:
And therefore, since I cannot prove a lover,
To entertain these fair well-spoken days,
I am determined to prove a villain
And hate the idle pleasures of these days.
Plots have I laid, inductions dangerous,
By drunken prophecies, libels and dreams,
To set my brother Clarence and the king
In deadly hate the one against the other:
And if King Edward be as true and just
As I am subtle, false and treacherous,
This day should Clarence closely be mew'd up,
About a prophecy, which says that 'G'
Of Edward's heirs the murderer shall be.
Dive, thoughts, down to my soul: here
Clarence comes.
The syntax of the first two lines .
Adapted from Richard III by William Shakespeare, I.i.1-42
Now is the winter of our discontent
Made glorious summer by this sun of York;
And all the clouds that lour'd upon our house
In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.
Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths;
Our bruised arms hung up for monuments;
Our stern alarums changed to merry meetings,
Our dreadful marches to delightful measures.
Grim-visaged war hath smooth'd his wrinkled front;
And now, instead of mounting barded steeds
To fright the souls of fearful adversaries,
He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber
To the lascivious pleasing of a lute.
But I, that am not shaped for sportive tricks,
Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass;
I, that am rudely stamp'd, and want love's majesty
To strut before a wanton ambling nymph;
I, that am curtail'd of this fair proportion,
Cheated of feature by dissembling nature,
Deformed, unfinish'd, sent before my time
Into this breathing world, scarce half made up,
And that so lamely and unfashionable
That dogs bark at me as I halt by them;
Why, I, in this weak piping time of peace,
Have no delight to pass away the time,
Unless to spy my shadow in the sun
And descant on mine own deformity:
And therefore, since I cannot prove a lover,
To entertain these fair well-spoken days,
I am determined to prove a villain
And hate the idle pleasures of these days.
Plots have I laid, inductions dangerous,
By drunken prophecies, libels and dreams,
To set my brother Clarence and the king
In deadly hate the one against the other:
And if King Edward be as true and just
As I am subtle, false and treacherous,
This day should Clarence closely be mew'd up,
About a prophecy, which says that 'G'
Of Edward's heirs the murderer shall be.
Dive, thoughts, down to my soul: here
Clarence comes.
The syntax of the first two lines .
The first two lines of the passage are “Now is the winter of our discontent / Made glorious summer by this sun of York.” What do you notice about the syntax, or the order in which words and phrases are presented? Whereas one might have phrased the line “The winter of our discontent is now made glorious summer by the sun of York” or “The sun of York has now made glorious summer of the winter of our discontent,” or in numerous other ways, Shakespeare has made the first word “Now.” This emphasizes the timing of the events described.
The first two lines of the passage are “Now is the winter of our discontent / Made glorious summer by this sun of York.” What do you notice about the syntax, or the order in which words and phrases are presented? Whereas one might have phrased the line “The winter of our discontent is now made glorious summer by the sun of York” or “The sun of York has now made glorious summer of the winter of our discontent,” or in numerous other ways, Shakespeare has made the first word “Now.” This emphasizes the timing of the events described.
Compare your answer with the correct one above
Adapted from Richard III by William Shakespeare, I.i.1-42
Now is the winter of our discontent
Made glorious summer by this sun of York;
And all the clouds that lour'd upon our house
In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.
Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths;
Our bruised arms hung up for monuments;
Our stern alarums changed to merry meetings,
Our dreadful marches to delightful measures.
Grim-visaged war hath smooth'd his wrinkled front;
And now, instead of mounting barded steeds
To fright the souls of fearful adversaries,
He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber
To the lascivious pleasing of a lute.
But I, that am not shaped for sportive tricks,
Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass;
I, that am rudely stamp'd, and want love's majesty
To strut before a wanton ambling nymph;
I, that am curtail'd of this fair proportion,
Cheated of feature by dissembling nature,
Deformed, unfinish'd, sent before my time
Into this breathing world, scarce half made up,
And that so lamely and unfashionable
That dogs bark at me as I halt by them;
Why, I, in this weak piping time of peace,
Have no delight to pass away the time,
Unless to spy my shadow in the sun
And descant on mine own deformity:
And therefore, since I cannot prove a lover,
To entertain these fair well-spoken days,
I am determined to prove a villain
And hate the idle pleasures of these days.
Plots have I laid, inductions dangerous,
By drunken prophecies, libels and dreams,
To set my brother Clarence and the king
In deadly hate the one against the other:
And if King Edward be as true and just
As I am subtle, false and treacherous,
This day should Clarence closely be mew'd up,
About a prophecy, which says that 'G'
Of Edward's heirs the murderer shall be.
Dive, thoughts, down to my soul: here
Clarence comes.
Consider the underlined selection. Which of the following is NOT true?
Adapted from Richard III by William Shakespeare, I.i.1-42
Now is the winter of our discontent
Made glorious summer by this sun of York;
And all the clouds that lour'd upon our house
In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.
Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths;
Our bruised arms hung up for monuments;
Our stern alarums changed to merry meetings,
Our dreadful marches to delightful measures.
Grim-visaged war hath smooth'd his wrinkled front;
And now, instead of mounting barded steeds
To fright the souls of fearful adversaries,
He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber
To the lascivious pleasing of a lute.
But I, that am not shaped for sportive tricks,
Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass;
I, that am rudely stamp'd, and want love's majesty
To strut before a wanton ambling nymph;
I, that am curtail'd of this fair proportion,
Cheated of feature by dissembling nature,
Deformed, unfinish'd, sent before my time
Into this breathing world, scarce half made up,
And that so lamely and unfashionable
That dogs bark at me as I halt by them;
Why, I, in this weak piping time of peace,
Have no delight to pass away the time,
Unless to spy my shadow in the sun
And descant on mine own deformity:
And therefore, since I cannot prove a lover,
To entertain these fair well-spoken days,
I am determined to prove a villain
And hate the idle pleasures of these days.
Plots have I laid, inductions dangerous,
By drunken prophecies, libels and dreams,
To set my brother Clarence and the king
In deadly hate the one against the other:
And if King Edward be as true and just
As I am subtle, false and treacherous,
This day should Clarence closely be mew'd up,
About a prophecy, which says that 'G'
Of Edward's heirs the murderer shall be.
Dive, thoughts, down to my soul: here
Clarence comes.
Consider the underlined selection. Which of the following is NOT true?
The syntax of the first two lines does indeed mirror that of the last two lines; they are similarly constructed in that they both follow the form of “I (cannot) prove a (noun) / to (verb) (descriptors) days.” The lover’s action in this sequence is to “entertain,” and the villain’s is to “hate.” The repetition of the words “prove” and “days” do contrast the two roles being discussed, as it places them in parallel to one another; similarly, the location of “lover” and “villain” at the ends of their respective lines place them in parallel with one another and contrast them. This leaves us with the correct answer, “‘Fair’ and ‘well-spoken’ are associated with the villain’s perspective, whereas ‘idle’ is associated with the lover’s perspective.” This is not true, as “fair” and “well-spoken” appear in the second line, which describes the action of the “lover,” whereas “idle” appears in the fourth line, which describes the action of the “villain.”
The syntax of the first two lines does indeed mirror that of the last two lines; they are similarly constructed in that they both follow the form of “I (cannot) prove a (noun) / to (verb) (descriptors) days.” The lover’s action in this sequence is to “entertain,” and the villain’s is to “hate.” The repetition of the words “prove” and “days” do contrast the two roles being discussed, as it places them in parallel to one another; similarly, the location of “lover” and “villain” at the ends of their respective lines place them in parallel with one another and contrast them. This leaves us with the correct answer, “‘Fair’ and ‘well-spoken’ are associated with the villain’s perspective, whereas ‘idle’ is associated with the lover’s perspective.” This is not true, as “fair” and “well-spoken” appear in the second line, which describes the action of the “lover,” whereas “idle” appears in the fourth line, which describes the action of the “villain.”
Compare your answer with the correct one above
1 Two households, both alike in dignity,
In fair Verona, where we lay our scene,
From ancient grudge break to new mutiny,
Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean.
5 From forth the fatal loins of these two foes
A pair of star-cross'd lovers take their life;
Whose misadventured piteous overthrows
Do with their death bury their parents' strife.
9 The fearful passage of their death-mark'd love,
And the continuance of their parents' rage,
Which, but their children's end, nought could remove,
Is now the two hours' traffic of our stage;
13 The which if you with patient ears attend,
What here shall miss, our toil shall strive to mend.
(1595)
What is the subject of the verb "bury" in line 8?
1 Two households, both alike in dignity,
In fair Verona, where we lay our scene,
From ancient grudge break to new mutiny,
Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean.
5 From forth the fatal loins of these two foes
A pair of star-cross'd lovers take their life;
Whose misadventured piteous overthrows
Do with their death bury their parents' strife.
9 The fearful passage of their death-mark'd love,
And the continuance of their parents' rage,
Which, but their children's end, nought could remove,
Is now the two hours' traffic of our stage;
13 The which if you with patient ears attend,
What here shall miss, our toil shall strive to mend.
(1595)
What is the subject of the verb "bury" in line 8?
The subject of a verb is the thing that performs the action of the verb. For instance, in the sentence, "The dog barks," the verb is "barks" and the subject is "the dog." The thing performing the action of the verb "bury" (line 8) is the "misadventured piteous overthrows" (line 7). The "overthrows" are what "bury" the parents' strife.
Passage adapted from William Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet (1595).
The subject of a verb is the thing that performs the action of the verb. For instance, in the sentence, "The dog barks," the verb is "barks" and the subject is "the dog." The thing performing the action of the verb "bury" (line 8) is the "misadventured piteous overthrows" (line 7). The "overthrows" are what "bury" the parents' strife.
Passage adapted from William Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet (1595).
Compare your answer with the correct one above
PROSPERO:
- Ye elves of hills, brooks, standing lakes and groves,
- And ye that on the sands with printless foot
- Do chase the ebbing Neptune and do fly him
- When he comes back; you demi-puppets that
- By moonshine do the green sour ringlets make,
- Whereof the ewe not bites, and you whose pastime
- Is to make midnight mushrooms, that rejoice
- To hear the solemn curfew; by whose aid,
- Weak masters though ye be, I have bedimm'd
- The noontide sun, call'd forth the mutinous winds,
- And 'twixt the green sea and the azured vault
- Set roaring war: to the dread rattling thunder
- Have I given fire and rifted Jove's stout oak
- With his own bolt; the strong-based promontory
- Have I made shake and by the spurs pluck'd up
- The pine and cedar: graves at my command
- Have waked their sleepers, oped, and let 'em forth
- By my so potent art. But this rough magic
- I here abjure, and, when I have required
- Some heavenly music, which even now I do,
- To work mine end upon their senses that
- This airy charm is for, I'll break my staff,
- Bury it certain fathoms in the earth,
- And deeper than did ever plummet sound
- I'll drown my book.
The syntax of the passage is characterized by .
PROSPERO:
- Ye elves of hills, brooks, standing lakes and groves,
- And ye that on the sands with printless foot
- Do chase the ebbing Neptune and do fly him
- When he comes back; you demi-puppets that
- By moonshine do the green sour ringlets make,
- Whereof the ewe not bites, and you whose pastime
- Is to make midnight mushrooms, that rejoice
- To hear the solemn curfew; by whose aid,
- Weak masters though ye be, I have bedimm'd
- The noontide sun, call'd forth the mutinous winds,
- And 'twixt the green sea and the azured vault
- Set roaring war: to the dread rattling thunder
- Have I given fire and rifted Jove's stout oak
- With his own bolt; the strong-based promontory
- Have I made shake and by the spurs pluck'd up
- The pine and cedar: graves at my command
- Have waked their sleepers, oped, and let 'em forth
- By my so potent art. But this rough magic
- I here abjure, and, when I have required
- Some heavenly music, which even now I do,
- To work mine end upon their senses that
- This airy charm is for, I'll break my staff,
- Bury it certain fathoms in the earth,
- And deeper than did ever plummet sound
- I'll drown my book.
The syntax of the passage is characterized by .
This entire speech consists of two complex sentences. It does not contain incomplete thoughts or omissions (ellipses.) It doesn’t move from simple to elaborate: the first lines are already grand and imposing, while the last half-line (“I’ll drown my book”) is most striking because of its simplicity. There are repeated themes and ideas — the list of supernatural spirits, the catalogue of natural cataclysms — but the effect is not sententious (that is, it’s not banal or pompous.)
Passage adapted from William Shakespeare's The Tempest (1611)
This entire speech consists of two complex sentences. It does not contain incomplete thoughts or omissions (ellipses.) It doesn’t move from simple to elaborate: the first lines are already grand and imposing, while the last half-line (“I’ll drown my book”) is most striking because of its simplicity. There are repeated themes and ideas — the list of supernatural spirits, the catalogue of natural cataclysms — but the effect is not sententious (that is, it’s not banal or pompous.)
Passage adapted from William Shakespeare's The Tempest (1611)
Compare your answer with the correct one above
PROSPERO:
- Ye elves of hills, brooks, standing lakes and groves,
- And ye that on the sands with printless foot
- Do chase the ebbing Neptune and do fly him
- When he comes back; you demi-puppets that
- By moonshine do the green sour ringlets make,
- Whereof the ewe not bites, and you whose pastime
- Is to make midnight mushrooms, that rejoice
- To hear the solemn curfew; by whose aid,
- Weak masters though ye be, I have bedimm'd
- The noontide sun, call'd forth the mutinous winds,
- And 'twixt the green sea and the azured vault
- Set roaring war: to the dread rattling thunder
- Have I given fire and rifted Jove's stout oak
- With his own bolt; the strong-based promontory
- Have I made shake and by the spurs pluck'd up
- The pine and cedar: graves at my command
- Have waked their sleepers, oped, and let 'em forth
- By my so potent art. But this rough magic
- I here abjure, and, when I have required
- Some heavenly music, which even now I do,
- To work mine end upon their senses that
- This airy charm is for, I'll break my staff,
- Bury it certain fathoms in the earth,
- And deeper than did ever plummet sound
- I'll drown my book.
The passage’s point of view can be characterized as .
PROSPERO:
- Ye elves of hills, brooks, standing lakes and groves,
- And ye that on the sands with printless foot
- Do chase the ebbing Neptune and do fly him
- When he comes back; you demi-puppets that
- By moonshine do the green sour ringlets make,
- Whereof the ewe not bites, and you whose pastime
- Is to make midnight mushrooms, that rejoice
- To hear the solemn curfew; by whose aid,
- Weak masters though ye be, I have bedimm'd
- The noontide sun, call'd forth the mutinous winds,
- And 'twixt the green sea and the azured vault
- Set roaring war: to the dread rattling thunder
- Have I given fire and rifted Jove's stout oak
- With his own bolt; the strong-based promontory
- Have I made shake and by the spurs pluck'd up
- The pine and cedar: graves at my command
- Have waked their sleepers, oped, and let 'em forth
- By my so potent art. But this rough magic
- I here abjure, and, when I have required
- Some heavenly music, which even now I do,
- To work mine end upon their senses that
- This airy charm is for, I'll break my staff,
- Bury it certain fathoms in the earth,
- And deeper than did ever plummet sound
- I'll drown my book.
The passage’s point of view can be characterized as .
Prospero uses first and second person quite a lot. (“I have bedimm’d…” and “Ye elves…”) That means we can immediately eliminate three answer choices: “first person only”, “second person only”, and “third person only”. If we’re clear on how important first person is in this speech, we can eliminate “second and third person only” as well. The tricky part here is that Prospero does use the third person to a very limited extent. (“graves at my command/ Have waked their sleepers…”) But “first, second, and third person” is not one of the answer choices. First and second person appear far more than third person, so that’s the best answer.
Passage adapted from William Shakespeare's The Tempest (1611)
Prospero uses first and second person quite a lot. (“I have bedimm’d…” and “Ye elves…”) That means we can immediately eliminate three answer choices: “first person only”, “second person only”, and “third person only”. If we’re clear on how important first person is in this speech, we can eliminate “second and third person only” as well. The tricky part here is that Prospero does use the third person to a very limited extent. (“graves at my command/ Have waked their sleepers…”) But “first, second, and third person” is not one of the answer choices. First and second person appear far more than third person, so that’s the best answer.
Passage adapted from William Shakespeare's The Tempest (1611)
Compare your answer with the correct one above
Passage adapted from Cyrano de Bergerac by Edmond Rostand (1897)
Translated by Gladys Thomas and Mary F. Guillemard (in public domain)
\[Cyrano speaks to Roxane.\]
CYRANO:
- Ay, true, the feeling
- Which fills me, terrible and jealous, truly
- Love,--which is ever sad amid its transports!
- Love,--and yet, strangely, not a selfish passion!
- I for your joy would gladly lay mine own down,
- --E'en though you never were to know it,--never!
- --If but at times I might--far off and lonely,--
- Hear some gay echo of the joy I bought you!
- Each glance of thine awakes in me a virtue,--
- A novel, unknown valor. Dost begin, sweet,
- To understand? So late, dost understand me?
- Feel'st thou my soul, here, through the darkness mounting?
- Too fair the night! Too fair, too fair the moment!
- That I should speak thus, and that you should hearken!
- Too fair! In moments when my hopes rose proudest,
- I never hoped such guerdon. Naught is left me
- But to die now! Have words of mine the power
- To make you tremble,--throned there in the branches?
- Ay, like a leaf among the leaves, you tremble!
- You tremble! For I feel,--an if you will it,
- Or will it not,--your hand's beloved trembling
- Thrill through the branches, down your sprays of jasmine!
In this context, the word “sweet” (line 10) is .
Passage adapted from Cyrano de Bergerac by Edmond Rostand (1897)
Translated by Gladys Thomas and Mary F. Guillemard (in public domain)
\[Cyrano speaks to Roxane.\]
CYRANO:
- Ay, true, the feeling
- Which fills me, terrible and jealous, truly
- Love,--which is ever sad amid its transports!
- Love,--and yet, strangely, not a selfish passion!
- I for your joy would gladly lay mine own down,
- --E'en though you never were to know it,--never!
- --If but at times I might--far off and lonely,--
- Hear some gay echo of the joy I bought you!
- Each glance of thine awakes in me a virtue,--
- A novel, unknown valor. Dost begin, sweet,
- To understand? So late, dost understand me?
- Feel'st thou my soul, here, through the darkness mounting?
- Too fair the night! Too fair, too fair the moment!
- That I should speak thus, and that you should hearken!
- Too fair! In moments when my hopes rose proudest,
- I never hoped such guerdon. Naught is left me
- But to die now! Have words of mine the power
- To make you tremble,--throned there in the branches?
- Ay, like a leaf among the leaves, you tremble!
- You tremble! For I feel,--an if you will it,
- Or will it not,--your hand's beloved trembling
- Thrill through the branches, down your sprays of jasmine!
In this context, the word “sweet” (line 10) is .
Here, “sweet” is a noun. It is the name that Cyrano is calling Roxane. “Dost begin, sweet,/ To understand?” means, “Are you beginning to understand, sweetheart?” (The pronoun “thou” is implied.)
Cyrano starts out addressing Roxane as "you": the more formal form of the pronoun in those days, in the same way that modern French "vous" is more formal than "tu". In line 9, he switches to "thou":
"Each glance of thine awakes in me a virtue . . ."
This suggests that he's getting more emotional and feeling closer to Roxane.
In the next line, he's still using the familiar form, which is a big clue that "sweet" is an endearment.
Here, “sweet” is a noun. It is the name that Cyrano is calling Roxane. “Dost begin, sweet,/ To understand?” means, “Are you beginning to understand, sweetheart?” (The pronoun “thou” is implied.)
Cyrano starts out addressing Roxane as "you": the more formal form of the pronoun in those days, in the same way that modern French "vous" is more formal than "tu". In line 9, he switches to "thou":
"Each glance of thine awakes in me a virtue . . ."
This suggests that he's getting more emotional and feeling closer to Roxane.
In the next line, he's still using the familiar form, which is a big clue that "sweet" is an endearment.
Compare your answer with the correct one above
Passage adapted from Cyrano de Bergerac by Edmond Rostand (1897)
Translated by Gladys Thomas and Mary F. Guillemard (in public domain)
\[Cyrano speaks to Roxane.\]
CYRANO:
- Ay, true, the feeling
- Which fills me, terrible and jealous, truly
- Love,--which is ever sad amid its transports!
- Love,--and yet, strangely, not a selfish passion!
- I for your joy would gladly lay mine own down,
- --E'en though you never were to know it,--never!
- --If but at times I might--far off and lonely,--
- Hear some gay echo of the joy I bought you!
- Each glance of thine awakes in me a virtue,--
- A novel, unknown valor. Dost begin, sweet,
- To understand? So late, dost understand me?
- Feel'st thou my soul, here, through the darkness mounting?
- Too fair the night! Too fair, too fair the moment!
- That I should speak thus, and that you should hearken!
- Too fair! In moments when my hopes rose proudest,
- I never hoped such guerdon. Naught is left me
- But to die now! Have words of mine the power
- To make you tremble,--throned there in the branches?
- Ay, like a leaf among the leaves, you tremble!
- You tremble! For I feel,--an if you will it,
- Or will it not,--your hand's beloved trembling
- Thrill through the branches, down your sprays of jasmine!
The adjective “throned” (line 18) describes which noun/pronoun?
Passage adapted from Cyrano de Bergerac by Edmond Rostand (1897)
Translated by Gladys Thomas and Mary F. Guillemard (in public domain)
\[Cyrano speaks to Roxane.\]
CYRANO:
- Ay, true, the feeling
- Which fills me, terrible and jealous, truly
- Love,--which is ever sad amid its transports!
- Love,--and yet, strangely, not a selfish passion!
- I for your joy would gladly lay mine own down,
- --E'en though you never were to know it,--never!
- --If but at times I might--far off and lonely,--
- Hear some gay echo of the joy I bought you!
- Each glance of thine awakes in me a virtue,--
- A novel, unknown valor. Dost begin, sweet,
- To understand? So late, dost understand me?
- Feel'st thou my soul, here, through the darkness mounting?
- Too fair the night! Too fair, too fair the moment!
- That I should speak thus, and that you should hearken!
- Too fair! In moments when my hopes rose proudest,
- I never hoped such guerdon. Naught is left me
- But to die now! Have words of mine the power
- To make you tremble,--throned there in the branches?
- Ay, like a leaf among the leaves, you tremble!
- You tremble! For I feel,--an if you will it,
- Or will it not,--your hand's beloved trembling
- Thrill through the branches, down your sprays of jasmine!
The adjective “throned” (line 18) describes which noun/pronoun?
“You” is the pronoun described by “throned”. “Have words of mine the power/To make you tremble,--throned there in the branches?” In other words, “Do my words have the power to make you tremble, you who are sitting on a throne above me?”
This image emphasized Cyrano's worshipful attitude toward Roxane. It's as if he's asking, "Could any humble words of MINE have the power to rise up and affect YOU, who are so far above me?"
“You” is the pronoun described by “throned”. “Have words of mine the power/To make you tremble,--throned there in the branches?” In other words, “Do my words have the power to make you tremble, you who are sitting on a throne above me?”
This image emphasized Cyrano's worshipful attitude toward Roxane. It's as if he's asking, "Could any humble words of MINE have the power to rise up and affect YOU, who are so far above me?"
Compare your answer with the correct one above
From The Red Badge of Courage by Stephen Crane (1875)
After complicated journeyings with many pauses, there had come months of monotonous life in a camp. He had had the belief that real war was a series of death struggles with small time in between for sleep and meals; but since his regiment had come to the field the army had done little but sit still and try to keep warm.
He was brought then gradually back to his old ideas. Greek-like struggles would be no more. Men were better, or more timid. Secular and religious education had effaced the throat-grappling instinct, or else firm finance held in check the passions.
He had grown to regard himself merely as a part of a vast blue demonstration. His province was to look out, as far as he could, for his personal comfort. For recreation he could twiddle his thumbs and speculate on the thoughts which must agitate the minds of the generals. Also, he was drilled and drilled and reviewed, and drilled and drilled and reviewed.
The only foes he had seen were some pickets along the river bank. They were a sun-tanned, philosophical lot, who sometimes shot reflectively at the blue pickets. When reproached for this afterward, they usually expressed sorrow, and swore by their gods that the guns had exploded without their permission. The youth, on guard duty one night, conversed across the stream with one of them. He was a slightly ragged man, who spat skillfully between his shoes and possessed a great fund of bland and infantile assurance. The youth liked him personally.
"Yank," the other had informed him, "yer a right dum good feller." This sentiment, floating to him upon the still air, had made him temporarily regret war.
Various veterans had told him tales. Some talked of gray, bewhiskered hordes who were advancing with relentless curses and chewing tobacco with unspeakable valor; tremendous bodies of fierce soldiery who were sweeping along like the Huns. Others spoke of tattered and eternally hungry men who fired despondent powders. "They'll charge through hell's fire an' brimstone t' git a holt on a haversack, an' sech stomachs ain't a'lastin' long," he was told. From the stories, the youth imagined the red, live bones sticking out through slits in the faded uniforms.
Still, he could not put a whole faith in veteran's tales, for recruits were their prey. They talked much of smoke, fire, and blood, but he could not tell how much might be lies. They persistently yelled "Fresh fish!" at him, and were in no wise to be trusted.
However, he perceived now that it did not greatly matter what kind of soldiers he was going to fight, so long as they fought, which fact no one disputed. There was a more serious problem. He lay in his bunk pondering upon it. He tried to mathematically prove to himself that he would not run from a battle.
Previously he had never felt obliged to wrestle too seriously with this question. In his life he had taken certain things for granted, never challenging his belief in ultimate success, and bothering little about means and roads. But here he was confronted with a thing of moment. It had suddenly appeared to him that perhaps in a battle he might run. He was forced to admit that as far as war was concerned he knew nothing of himself.
A sufficient time before he would have allowed the problem to kick its heels at the outer portals of his mind, but now he felt compelled to give serious attention to it.
What two things are being contrasted in the underlined selection?
From The Red Badge of Courage by Stephen Crane (1875)
After complicated journeyings with many pauses, there had come months of monotonous life in a camp. He had had the belief that real war was a series of death struggles with small time in between for sleep and meals; but since his regiment had come to the field the army had done little but sit still and try to keep warm.
He was brought then gradually back to his old ideas. Greek-like struggles would be no more. Men were better, or more timid. Secular and religious education had effaced the throat-grappling instinct, or else firm finance held in check the passions.
He had grown to regard himself merely as a part of a vast blue demonstration. His province was to look out, as far as he could, for his personal comfort. For recreation he could twiddle his thumbs and speculate on the thoughts which must agitate the minds of the generals. Also, he was drilled and drilled and reviewed, and drilled and drilled and reviewed.
The only foes he had seen were some pickets along the river bank. They were a sun-tanned, philosophical lot, who sometimes shot reflectively at the blue pickets. When reproached for this afterward, they usually expressed sorrow, and swore by their gods that the guns had exploded without their permission. The youth, on guard duty one night, conversed across the stream with one of them. He was a slightly ragged man, who spat skillfully between his shoes and possessed a great fund of bland and infantile assurance. The youth liked him personally.
"Yank," the other had informed him, "yer a right dum good feller." This sentiment, floating to him upon the still air, had made him temporarily regret war.
Various veterans had told him tales. Some talked of gray, bewhiskered hordes who were advancing with relentless curses and chewing tobacco with unspeakable valor; tremendous bodies of fierce soldiery who were sweeping along like the Huns. Others spoke of tattered and eternally hungry men who fired despondent powders. "They'll charge through hell's fire an' brimstone t' git a holt on a haversack, an' sech stomachs ain't a'lastin' long," he was told. From the stories, the youth imagined the red, live bones sticking out through slits in the faded uniforms.
Still, he could not put a whole faith in veteran's tales, for recruits were their prey. They talked much of smoke, fire, and blood, but he could not tell how much might be lies. They persistently yelled "Fresh fish!" at him, and were in no wise to be trusted.
However, he perceived now that it did not greatly matter what kind of soldiers he was going to fight, so long as they fought, which fact no one disputed. There was a more serious problem. He lay in his bunk pondering upon it. He tried to mathematically prove to himself that he would not run from a battle.
Previously he had never felt obliged to wrestle too seriously with this question. In his life he had taken certain things for granted, never challenging his belief in ultimate success, and bothering little about means and roads. But here he was confronted with a thing of moment. It had suddenly appeared to him that perhaps in a battle he might run. He was forced to admit that as far as war was concerned he knew nothing of himself.
A sufficient time before he would have allowed the problem to kick its heels at the outer portals of his mind, but now he felt compelled to give serious attention to it.
What two things are being contrasted in the underlined selection?
Though the question of bravery and cowardice factor highly in the self-consideration expressed in this selection, they are not the primary contrast. Instead, the two things being contrasted are (1) the character's former certainty about himself and (2) his new-found awareness that—in war, at least—he knew little about himself.
Though the question of bravery and cowardice factor highly in the self-consideration expressed in this selection, they are not the primary contrast. Instead, the two things being contrasted are (1) the character's former certainty about himself and (2) his new-found awareness that—in war, at least—he knew little about himself.
Compare your answer with the correct one above
Passage adapted from Cape Cod by Henry David Thoreau (1865)
Boston, New York, Philadelphia, Charleston, New Orleans, and the rest, are the names of wharves projecting into the sea (surrounded by the shops and dwellings of the merchants), good places to take in and to discharge a cargo (to land the products of other climes and load the exports of our own). I see a great many barrels and fig-drums, piles of wood for umbrella-sticks, blocks of granite and ice, great heaps of goods, and the means of packing and conveying them, much wrapping-paper and twine, many crates and hogsheads and trucks, and that is Boston. The more barrels, the more Boston. The museums and scientific societies and libraries are accidental. They gather around the sands to save carting. The wharf-rats and customhouse officers, and broken-down poets, seeking a fortune amid the barrels. Their better or worse lyceums, and preachings, and doctorings, these, too, are accidental, and the malls of commons are always small potatoes....
When we reached Boston that October, I had a gill of Provincetown sand in my shoes, and at Concord there was still enough left to sand my pages for many a day; and I seemed to hear the sea roar, as if I lived in a shell, for a week afterward.
The places which I have described may seem strange and remote to my townsmen, indeed, from Boston to Provincetown is twice as far as from England to France; yet step into the cars, and in six hours you may stand on those four planks, and see the Cape which Gosnold is said to have discovered, and which I have so poorly described. If you had started when I first advised you, you might have seen our tracks in the sand, still fresh, and reaching all the way from the Nauset Lights to Race Point, some thirty miles, for at every step we made an impression on the Cape, though we were not aware of it, and though our account may have made no impression on your minds. But what is our account? In it there is no roar, no beach-birds, no tow-cloth.
Which of the following best describes the author's rhetorical strategy in the underlined section?
Passage adapted from Cape Cod by Henry David Thoreau (1865)
Boston, New York, Philadelphia, Charleston, New Orleans, and the rest, are the names of wharves projecting into the sea (surrounded by the shops and dwellings of the merchants), good places to take in and to discharge a cargo (to land the products of other climes and load the exports of our own). I see a great many barrels and fig-drums, piles of wood for umbrella-sticks, blocks of granite and ice, great heaps of goods, and the means of packing and conveying them, much wrapping-paper and twine, many crates and hogsheads and trucks, and that is Boston. The more barrels, the more Boston. The museums and scientific societies and libraries are accidental. They gather around the sands to save carting. The wharf-rats and customhouse officers, and broken-down poets, seeking a fortune amid the barrels. Their better or worse lyceums, and preachings, and doctorings, these, too, are accidental, and the malls of commons are always small potatoes....
When we reached Boston that October, I had a gill of Provincetown sand in my shoes, and at Concord there was still enough left to sand my pages for many a day; and I seemed to hear the sea roar, as if I lived in a shell, for a week afterward.
The places which I have described may seem strange and remote to my townsmen, indeed, from Boston to Provincetown is twice as far as from England to France; yet step into the cars, and in six hours you may stand on those four planks, and see the Cape which Gosnold is said to have discovered, and which I have so poorly described. If you had started when I first advised you, you might have seen our tracks in the sand, still fresh, and reaching all the way from the Nauset Lights to Race Point, some thirty miles, for at every step we made an impression on the Cape, though we were not aware of it, and though our account may have made no impression on your minds. But what is our account? In it there is no roar, no beach-birds, no tow-cloth.
Which of the following best describes the author's rhetorical strategy in the underlined section?
This question asks you to analyze the rhetorical devices the author uses to express his argument. When the author states "But what is our account? In it there is no roar, no beach-birds, no tow-cloth" he is questioning the effectiveness of any written description of Provincetown. Although he has described these factors in an attempt to give the reader an impression of the town, he suggests that simply reading about it is not the same as being there since the reader will not truly experience the sounds and sights.
This question asks you to analyze the rhetorical devices the author uses to express his argument. When the author states "But what is our account? In it there is no roar, no beach-birds, no tow-cloth" he is questioning the effectiveness of any written description of Provincetown. Although he has described these factors in an attempt to give the reader an impression of the town, he suggests that simply reading about it is not the same as being there since the reader will not truly experience the sounds and sights.
Compare your answer with the correct one above
All that day the heat was terrible. The wind blew close to the ground; it rooted among the tussock grass, slithered along the road, so that the white pumice dust swirled in our faces, settled and sifted over us and was like a dry-skin itching for growth on our bodies. The horses stumbled along, coughing and chuffing. The pack horse was sick -- with a big open sore rubbed under the belly. Now and again she stopped short, threw back her head, looked at us as though she were going to cry, and whinnied. Hundreds of larks shrilled; the sky was slate colour, and the sound of the larks reminded me of slate pencils scraping over its surface. There was nothing to be seen but wave after wave of tussock grass, patched with purple orchids and manuka bushes covered with thick spider webs.
Jo rode ahead. He wore a blue galatea shirt, corduroy trousers and riding boots. A white handkerchief, spotted with red -- it looked as though his nose had been bleeding on it -- was knotted round his throat. Wisps of white hair straggled from under his wideawake -- his moustache and eyebrows were called white -- he slouched in the saddle, grunting. Not once that day had he sung "I don't care, for don't you see, My wife' mother was in front of me!... ” It was the first day we had been without it for a month, and now there seemed something uncanny in his silence. Hin rode beside me, white as a clown; his black eyes glittered, and he kept shooting out his tongue and moistening his lips. He was dressed in a Jaeger vest, and a pair of blue duck trousers, fastened round the waist with a plaited leather belt. We had hardly spoken since dawn. At noon we had lunched off fly biscuits and apricots by the side of a swampy creek.
(1912)
There is a shift between the first and second paragraph from .
All that day the heat was terrible. The wind blew close to the ground; it rooted among the tussock grass, slithered along the road, so that the white pumice dust swirled in our faces, settled and sifted over us and was like a dry-skin itching for growth on our bodies. The horses stumbled along, coughing and chuffing. The pack horse was sick -- with a big open sore rubbed under the belly. Now and again she stopped short, threw back her head, looked at us as though she were going to cry, and whinnied. Hundreds of larks shrilled; the sky was slate colour, and the sound of the larks reminded me of slate pencils scraping over its surface. There was nothing to be seen but wave after wave of tussock grass, patched with purple orchids and manuka bushes covered with thick spider webs.
Jo rode ahead. He wore a blue galatea shirt, corduroy trousers and riding boots. A white handkerchief, spotted with red -- it looked as though his nose had been bleeding on it -- was knotted round his throat. Wisps of white hair straggled from under his wideawake -- his moustache and eyebrows were called white -- he slouched in the saddle, grunting. Not once that day had he sung "I don't care, for don't you see, My wife' mother was in front of me!... ” It was the first day we had been without it for a month, and now there seemed something uncanny in his silence. Hin rode beside me, white as a clown; his black eyes glittered, and he kept shooting out his tongue and moistening his lips. He was dressed in a Jaeger vest, and a pair of blue duck trousers, fastened round the waist with a plaited leather belt. We had hardly spoken since dawn. At noon we had lunched off fly biscuits and apricots by the side of a swampy creek.
(1912)
There is a shift between the first and second paragraph from .
The first paragraph deals primarily with setting. We don't learn any details about the characters until the second paragraph, in which the narrator switches focus from describing her surroundings to describing the people she is with. There is no indication that the narrator has changed between the two paragraphs and both paragraphs are narrated in first-person. Both paragraphs contain mostly literal, rather than metaphorical, descriptions and there is no significant shift in tone.
Passage adapted from Katherine Mansfield's "The Woman at the Store" (1912)
The first paragraph deals primarily with setting. We don't learn any details about the characters until the second paragraph, in which the narrator switches focus from describing her surroundings to describing the people she is with. There is no indication that the narrator has changed between the two paragraphs and both paragraphs are narrated in first-person. Both paragraphs contain mostly literal, rather than metaphorical, descriptions and there is no significant shift in tone.
Passage adapted from Katherine Mansfield's "The Woman at the Store" (1912)
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Midway upon the journey of our life
I found myself within a forest dark,
For the straightforward pathway had been lost.
Ah me! how hard a thing it is to say
What was this forest savage, rough, and stern, (5)
Which in the very thought renews the fear.
So bitter is it, death is little more;
But of the good to treat, which there I found,
Speak will I of the other things I saw there.
How is this poem organized?
Midway upon the journey of our life
I found myself within a forest dark,
For the straightforward pathway had been lost.
Ah me! how hard a thing it is to say
What was this forest savage, rough, and stern, (5)
Which in the very thought renews the fear.
So bitter is it, death is little more;
But of the good to treat, which there I found,
Speak will I of the other things I saw there.
How is this poem organized?
This poem is separated into units of three lines each: tercets. Quatrains are units of four lines, and couplets are units of two lines. An anapest is a poetic foot consisting of two unstressed and one stressed syllables. A spondee is a poetic foot consisting of two stressed syllables.
Passage adapted from Dante Alighieri’s The Divine Comedy, trans. Charles Eliot Norton (1920)
This poem is separated into units of three lines each: tercets. Quatrains are units of four lines, and couplets are units of two lines. An anapest is a poetic foot consisting of two unstressed and one stressed syllables. A spondee is a poetic foot consisting of two stressed syllables.
Passage adapted from Dante Alighieri’s The Divine Comedy, trans. Charles Eliot Norton (1920)
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Thou ill-form’d offspring of my feeble brain,
Who after birth didst by my side remain,
Till snatched from thence by friends, less wise than true,
Who thee abroad, expos’d to public view,
Made thee in rags, halting to th’ press to trudge,
Where errors were not lessened (all may judge).
At thy return my blushing was not small,
My rambling brat (in print) should mother call,
I cast thee by as one unfit for light,
Thy visage was so irksome in my sight;
Yet being mine own, at length affection would
Thy blemishes amend, if so I could:
I wash’d thy face, but more defects I saw,
And rubbing off a spot, still made a flaw.
I stretched thy joints to make thee even feet,
Yet still thou run’st more hobling then is meet;
In better dress to trim thee was my mind,
But nought save home-spun cloth, i’ th’ house I find.
In this array ’mongst vulgars mayst thou roam.
In critics' hands, beware thou dost not come;
And take thy way where yet thou art not known,
If for thy father askt, say, thou hadst none:
And for thy mother, she alas is poor,
Which caus’d her thus to send thee out of door.
The poetic form that Bradstreet uses in this poem is .
Thou ill-form’d offspring of my feeble brain,
Who after birth didst by my side remain,
Till snatched from thence by friends, less wise than true,
Who thee abroad, expos’d to public view,
Made thee in rags, halting to th’ press to trudge,
Where errors were not lessened (all may judge).
At thy return my blushing was not small,
My rambling brat (in print) should mother call,
I cast thee by as one unfit for light,
Thy visage was so irksome in my sight;
Yet being mine own, at length affection would
Thy blemishes amend, if so I could:
I wash’d thy face, but more defects I saw,
And rubbing off a spot, still made a flaw.
I stretched thy joints to make thee even feet,
Yet still thou run’st more hobling then is meet;
In better dress to trim thee was my mind,
But nought save home-spun cloth, i’ th’ house I find.
In this array ’mongst vulgars mayst thou roam.
In critics' hands, beware thou dost not come;
And take thy way where yet thou art not known,
If for thy father askt, say, thou hadst none:
And for thy mother, she alas is poor,
Which caus’d her thus to send thee out of door.
The poetic form that Bradstreet uses in this poem is .
The poem is written in heroic couplets, which are rhymed pairs of lines in iambic pentameter. The poem would only be in blank verse if the iambic pentameter lines did not rhyme. The poem is also too long and in the wrong form to be a sonnet and is too short to be a sestina.
Passage adapted from "The Author to Her Book" by Anne Bradstreet (1678)
The poem is written in heroic couplets, which are rhymed pairs of lines in iambic pentameter. The poem would only be in blank verse if the iambic pentameter lines did not rhyme. The poem is also too long and in the wrong form to be a sonnet and is too short to be a sestina.
Passage adapted from "The Author to Her Book" by Anne Bradstreet (1678)
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Adapted from “Solitary Death, make me thine own” in Underneath the Bough: A Book of Verses by Michael Field (pseudonym of Katherine Bradley and Edith Cooper) (1893)
Solitary Death, make me thine own,
And let us wander the bare fields together;
Yea, thou and I alone
Roving in unembittered unison forever.
I will not harry thy treasure-graves,
I do not ask thy still hands a lover;
My heart within me craves
To travel till we twain Time’s wilderness discover.
To sojourn with thee my soul was bred,
And I, the courtly sights of life refusing,
To the wide shadows fled,
And mused upon thee often as I fell a-musing.
Escaped from chaos, thy mother Night,
In her maiden breast a burthen that awed her,
By cavern waters white
Drew thee her first-born, her unfathered off-spring toward her.
On dewey plats, near twilight dingle,
She oft, to still thee from men’s sobs and curses
In thine ears a-tingle,
Pours her cool charms, her weird, reviving chaunt rehearses.
Though mortals menace thee or elude,
And from thy confines break in swift transgression.
Thou for thyself art sued
Of me, I claim thy cloudy purlieus my possession.
To a long freshwater, where the sea
Stirs the silver flux of the reeds and willows,
Come thou, and beckon me
To lie in the lull of the sand-sequestered billows:
Then take the life I have called my own
And to the liquid universe deliver;
Loosening my spirit’s zone,
Wrap round me as thy limbs the wind, the light, the river.
The MOST conventional aspect of this poem is which of the following?
Adapted from “Solitary Death, make me thine own” in Underneath the Bough: A Book of Verses by Michael Field (pseudonym of Katherine Bradley and Edith Cooper) (1893)
Solitary Death, make me thine own,
And let us wander the bare fields together;
Yea, thou and I alone
Roving in unembittered unison forever.
I will not harry thy treasure-graves,
I do not ask thy still hands a lover;
My heart within me craves
To travel till we twain Time’s wilderness discover.
To sojourn with thee my soul was bred,
And I, the courtly sights of life refusing,
To the wide shadows fled,
And mused upon thee often as I fell a-musing.
Escaped from chaos, thy mother Night,
In her maiden breast a burthen that awed her,
By cavern waters white
Drew thee her first-born, her unfathered off-spring toward her.
On dewey plats, near twilight dingle,
She oft, to still thee from men’s sobs and curses
In thine ears a-tingle,
Pours her cool charms, her weird, reviving chaunt rehearses.
Though mortals menace thee or elude,
And from thy confines break in swift transgression.
Thou for thyself art sued
Of me, I claim thy cloudy purlieus my possession.
To a long freshwater, where the sea
Stirs the silver flux of the reeds and willows,
Come thou, and beckon me
To lie in the lull of the sand-sequestered billows:
Then take the life I have called my own
And to the liquid universe deliver;
Loosening my spirit’s zone,
Wrap round me as thy limbs the wind, the light, the river.
The MOST conventional aspect of this poem is which of the following?
This poem features a straightforward alternating ABAB rhyme structure in each of its stanzas. Meanwhile, its treatment of Death as a welcome companion is certainly unconventional, as is its extensive and idiosyncratic personification and characterization and its use of imagery in relation to death (Death’s embrace as the welcoming, encompassing hug of a friend, rather than, for example, a bony hand grasping someone’s ankle).
This poem features a straightforward alternating ABAB rhyme structure in each of its stanzas. Meanwhile, its treatment of Death as a welcome companion is certainly unconventional, as is its extensive and idiosyncratic personification and characterization and its use of imagery in relation to death (Death’s embrace as the welcoming, encompassing hug of a friend, rather than, for example, a bony hand grasping someone’s ankle).
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Adapted from "The Mouse’s Petition" in Poems by Anna Letitia Barbauld (1773)
Found in the trap where he had been confined all night by Dr. Priestley, for the sake of making experiments with different kinds of air
“To spare the humbled, and to tame in war the proud.” - Virgil
OH! hear a pensive captive's prayer,
For liberty that sighs;
And never let thine heart be shut
Against the prisoner's cries.
For here forlorn and sad I sit,
Within the wiry grate;
And tremble at th' approaching morn,
Which brings impending fate.
If e'er thy breast with freedom glow'd,
And spurn'd a tyrant's chain,
Let not thy strong oppressive force
A free-born mouse detain.
Oh! do not stain with guiltless blood
Thy hospitable hearth;
Nor triumph that thy wiles betray'd
A prize so little worth.
The scatter'd gleanings of a feast
My scanty meals supply;
But if thine unrelenting heart
That slender boon deny,
The cheerful light, the vital air,
Are blessings widely given;
Let nature's commoners enjoy
The common gifts of heaven.
The well-taught philosophic mind
To all compassion gives;
Casts round the world an equal eye,
And feels for all that lives.
If mind, as ancient sages taught,
A never dying flame,
Still shifts thro' matter's varying forms,
In every form the same,
Beware, lest in the worm you crush
A brother's soul you find;
And tremble lest thy luckless hand
Dislodge a kindred mind.
Or, if this transient gleam of day
Be all of life we share,
Let pity plead within thy breast,
That little all to spare.
So may thy hospitable board
With health and peace be crown'd;
And every charm of heartfelt ease
Beneath thy roof be found.
So when unseen destruction lurks,
Which men like mice may share,
May some kind angel clear thy path,
And break the hidden snare.
The use of the underlined word "pensive" in the first line is most likely intended to do what?
Adapted from "The Mouse’s Petition" in Poems by Anna Letitia Barbauld (1773)
Found in the trap where he had been confined all night by Dr. Priestley, for the sake of making experiments with different kinds of air
“To spare the humbled, and to tame in war the proud.” - Virgil
OH! hear a pensive captive's prayer,
For liberty that sighs;
And never let thine heart be shut
Against the prisoner's cries.
For here forlorn and sad I sit,
Within the wiry grate;
And tremble at th' approaching morn,
Which brings impending fate.
If e'er thy breast with freedom glow'd,
And spurn'd a tyrant's chain,
Let not thy strong oppressive force
A free-born mouse detain.
Oh! do not stain with guiltless blood
Thy hospitable hearth;
Nor triumph that thy wiles betray'd
A prize so little worth.
The scatter'd gleanings of a feast
My scanty meals supply;
But if thine unrelenting heart
That slender boon deny,
The cheerful light, the vital air,
Are blessings widely given;
Let nature's commoners enjoy
The common gifts of heaven.
The well-taught philosophic mind
To all compassion gives;
Casts round the world an equal eye,
And feels for all that lives.
If mind, as ancient sages taught,
A never dying flame,
Still shifts thro' matter's varying forms,
In every form the same,
Beware, lest in the worm you crush
A brother's soul you find;
And tremble lest thy luckless hand
Dislodge a kindred mind.
Or, if this transient gleam of day
Be all of life we share,
Let pity plead within thy breast,
That little all to spare.
So may thy hospitable board
With health and peace be crown'd;
And every charm of heartfelt ease
Beneath thy roof be found.
So when unseen destruction lurks,
Which men like mice may share,
May some kind angel clear thy path,
And break the hidden snare.
The use of the underlined word "pensive" in the first line is most likely intended to do what?
The use of "pensive" in this context is intended to draw attention to the speaker's (a mouse being experimented on) individual subjectivity. By framing himself as a "pensive" individual (a conscious being able to think and perceive), the speaker sets up his later pleas for equal ethical consideration. Because he is "pensive," it is wrong to deny him the opportunity to experience "nature" and the "never dying flame" of intellectual engagement as he sees fit.
While the petition is framed as a "prisoner's prayer," and some unconventional religious beliefs are discussed in some later stanzas, the implication is that the mouse is only being detained for the purpose of being experimented on, not persecuted for his beliefs. The line is intended to be read sincerely, not with irony. The rest of the poem asserts the mouse's ability to perceive the world in an individual fashion, and the mouse is a research subject, not a beloved pet. The speaker is the mouse being experimented on, not the researcher conducting the experiment.
The use of "pensive" in this context is intended to draw attention to the speaker's (a mouse being experimented on) individual subjectivity. By framing himself as a "pensive" individual (a conscious being able to think and perceive), the speaker sets up his later pleas for equal ethical consideration. Because he is "pensive," it is wrong to deny him the opportunity to experience "nature" and the "never dying flame" of intellectual engagement as he sees fit.
While the petition is framed as a "prisoner's prayer," and some unconventional religious beliefs are discussed in some later stanzas, the implication is that the mouse is only being detained for the purpose of being experimented on, not persecuted for his beliefs. The line is intended to be read sincerely, not with irony. The rest of the poem asserts the mouse's ability to perceive the world in an individual fashion, and the mouse is a research subject, not a beloved pet. The speaker is the mouse being experimented on, not the researcher conducting the experiment.
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Adapted from "The Mouse’s Petition" in Poems by Anna Letitia Barbauld (1773)
Found in the trap where he had been confined all night by Dr. Priestley, for the sake of making experiments with different kinds of air
“To spare the humbled, and to tame in war the proud.” - Virgil
OH! hear a pensive captive's prayer,
For liberty that sighs;
And never let thine heart be shut
Against the prisoner's cries.
For here forlorn and sad I sit,
Within the wiry grate;
And tremble at th' approaching morn,
Which brings impending fate.
If e'er thy breast with freedom glow'd,
And spurn'd a tyrant's chain,
Let not thy strong oppressive force
A free-born mouse detain.
Oh! do not stain with guiltless blood
Thy hospitable hearth;
Nor triumph that thy wiles betray'd
A prize so little worth.
The scatter'd gleanings of a feast
My scanty meals supply;
But if thine unrelenting heart
That slender boon deny,
The cheerful light, the vital air,
Are blessings widely given;
Let nature's commoners enjoy
The common gifts of heaven.
The well-taught philosophic mind
To all compassion gives;
Casts round the world an equal eye,
And feels for all that lives.
If mind, as ancient sages taught,
A never dying flame,
Still shifts thro' matter's varying forms,
In every form the same,
Beware, lest in the worm you crush
A brother's soul you find;
And tremble lest thy luckless hand
Dislodge a kindred mind.
Or, if this transient gleam of day
Be all of life we share,
Let pity plead within thy breast,
That little all to spare.
So may thy hospitable board
With health and peace be crown'd;
And every charm of heartfelt ease
Beneath thy roof be found.
So when unseen destruction lurks,
Which men like mice may share,
May some kind angel clear thy path,
And break the hidden snare.
In the bolded and underlined excerpt, the pairing of "little" with "all" is used to do what? (Note that the italics are included in the original text.)
Adapted from "The Mouse’s Petition" in Poems by Anna Letitia Barbauld (1773)
Found in the trap where he had been confined all night by Dr. Priestley, for the sake of making experiments with different kinds of air
“To spare the humbled, and to tame in war the proud.” - Virgil
OH! hear a pensive captive's prayer,
For liberty that sighs;
And never let thine heart be shut
Against the prisoner's cries.
For here forlorn and sad I sit,
Within the wiry grate;
And tremble at th' approaching morn,
Which brings impending fate.
If e'er thy breast with freedom glow'd,
And spurn'd a tyrant's chain,
Let not thy strong oppressive force
A free-born mouse detain.
Oh! do not stain with guiltless blood
Thy hospitable hearth;
Nor triumph that thy wiles betray'd
A prize so little worth.
The scatter'd gleanings of a feast
My scanty meals supply;
But if thine unrelenting heart
That slender boon deny,
The cheerful light, the vital air,
Are blessings widely given;
Let nature's commoners enjoy
The common gifts of heaven.
The well-taught philosophic mind
To all compassion gives;
Casts round the world an equal eye,
And feels for all that lives.
If mind, as ancient sages taught,
A never dying flame,
Still shifts thro' matter's varying forms,
In every form the same,
Beware, lest in the worm you crush
A brother's soul you find;
And tremble lest thy luckless hand
Dislodge a kindred mind.
Or, if this transient gleam of day
Be all of life we share,
Let pity plead within thy breast,
That little all to spare.
So may thy hospitable board
With health and peace be crown'd;
And every charm of heartfelt ease
Beneath thy roof be found.
So when unseen destruction lurks,
Which men like mice may share,
May some kind angel clear thy path,
And break the hidden snare.
In the bolded and underlined excerpt, the pairing of "little" with "all" is used to do what? (Note that the italics are included in the original text.)
The pairing of "little" with "all" in this context is used to create irony, and to illustrate the foolishness of dismissing any aspect of mortal existence. The "little all" that is being referred to here is personal freedom, in addition to literal access to open space and sunlight, which is hardly a "little" thing. The pairing of "little" and "allL here ironizes and shows the failings of ethical systems which apply varying levels of ethical consideration to conscious beings for arbitrary reasons.
Global environmental concerns are not at issue in this poem. The poem is actually arguing for the importance of all individual perceiving consciousness in a complex, constantly varying universe. While it stands to reason that the speaker would advocate for the release of all animals from captivity, in this context that issue is not specifically at play, and the larger issue of ethical reasoning is more specifically being treated.
The pairing of "little" with "all" in this context is used to create irony, and to illustrate the foolishness of dismissing any aspect of mortal existence. The "little all" that is being referred to here is personal freedom, in addition to literal access to open space and sunlight, which is hardly a "little" thing. The pairing of "little" and "allL here ironizes and shows the failings of ethical systems which apply varying levels of ethical consideration to conscious beings for arbitrary reasons.
Global environmental concerns are not at issue in this poem. The poem is actually arguing for the importance of all individual perceiving consciousness in a complex, constantly varying universe. While it stands to reason that the speaker would advocate for the release of all animals from captivity, in this context that issue is not specifically at play, and the larger issue of ethical reasoning is more specifically being treated.
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Adapted from "Old Man Traveling" by William Wordsworth in Lyrical Ballads by William Wordsworth and Samuel Taylor Coleridge (1798 ed.)
The little hedge-row birds,
That peck along the road, regard him not.
He travels on, and in his face, his step,
His gait, is one expression; every limb,
His look and bending figure, all bespeak
A man who does not move with pain, but moves
With thought—He is insensibly subdued
To settled quiet: he is one by whom
All effort seems forgotten, one to whom
Long patience has such mild composure given,
That patience now doth seem a thing, of which
He hath no need. He is by nature led
To peace so perfect, that the young behold
With envy, what the old man hardly feels.
—I asked him whither he was bound, and what
The object of his journey; he replied
"Sir! I am going many miles to take
"A last leave of my son, a mariner,
"Who from a sea-fight has been brought to Falmouth,
And there is dying in an hospital."
The juxtaposition of the man's calmness and the information he gives the speaker in the last four underlined lines shows .
Adapted from "Old Man Traveling" by William Wordsworth in Lyrical Ballads by William Wordsworth and Samuel Taylor Coleridge (1798 ed.)
The little hedge-row birds,
That peck along the road, regard him not.
He travels on, and in his face, his step,
His gait, is one expression; every limb,
His look and bending figure, all bespeak
A man who does not move with pain, but moves
With thought—He is insensibly subdued
To settled quiet: he is one by whom
All effort seems forgotten, one to whom
Long patience has such mild composure given,
That patience now doth seem a thing, of which
He hath no need. He is by nature led
To peace so perfect, that the young behold
With envy, what the old man hardly feels.
—I asked him whither he was bound, and what
The object of his journey; he replied
"Sir! I am going many miles to take
"A last leave of my son, a mariner,
"Who from a sea-fight has been brought to Falmouth,
And there is dying in an hospital."
The juxtaposition of the man's calmness and the information he gives the speaker in the last four underlined lines shows .
We must infer from the information given to us by the speaker what the juxtaposition shows us. There is nothing to suggest, from the small amount of information, that the man cannot experience strong emotions, and the fact that the narrator punctuates the poem with the man's son's death shows he wants to emphasize that strong emotions probably should accompany the death of a son. We know the narrator does not want us to consider futility as he or she is full of praise for the old man. We also know the old man is most certainly not unresponsive as he is willing to engage with the speaker. So, we can conclude that the man has reached a level of peace where he can be stoic in the face of death or where his oneness with the world prevents him from falling into hysterics.
We must infer from the information given to us by the speaker what the juxtaposition shows us. There is nothing to suggest, from the small amount of information, that the man cannot experience strong emotions, and the fact that the narrator punctuates the poem with the man's son's death shows he wants to emphasize that strong emotions probably should accompany the death of a son. We know the narrator does not want us to consider futility as he or she is full of praise for the old man. We also know the old man is most certainly not unresponsive as he is willing to engage with the speaker. So, we can conclude that the man has reached a level of peace where he can be stoic in the face of death or where his oneness with the world prevents him from falling into hysterics.
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