Term Paper

Topics: George Eliot, Thou, Silas Marner Pages: 12 (2864 words) Published: January 29, 2013
2 hours 40 minutes
Additional Materials: Answer Booklet/Paper

Write your Index number and name on all the work you hand in. Write in dark blue or black pen.
Do not use staples, paper clips, highlighters, glue or correction fluid.

Answer four questions.
Your questions must be from either three or four different set books.
This question paper is divided into three sections: Drama, Poetry, Prose. Your questions must be taken from at least two of these sections.

At the end of the examination, fasten all your work securely together. All questions in this paper carry equal marks.

This document consists of 10 printed pages


Section A: Drama

text question numbers page [s]

William Shakespeare: The Tempest 1, 2, 3 pages 3-4

Section B: Poetry

text question numbers page [s]

Songs of Ourselves: from Part 4 4, 5, 6 pages 5-6

Section C: Prose

text question numbers page [s]

George Eliot: Silas Marner 7, 8, 9 pages 7-8 from Stories of Ourselves 10, 11, 12 pages 9-10


1. Read the following extract, and then answer the question that follows it:

MIRANDA: If by your art, my dearest father, you have
Put the wild waters in this roar, allay them. The sky, it seems, would pour down stinking pitch, But that the sea, mounting to the welkin's cheek, Dashes the fire out. O, I have suffered With those that I saw suffer: a brave vessel, Who had, no doubt, some noble creature in her, Dash'd all to pieces. O, the cry did knock Against my very heart. Poor souls, they perish'd. Had I been any god of power, I would

Have sunk the sea within the earth or ere It should the good ship so have swallow'd and The fraughting souls within her.
PROSPERO : Be collected:
No more amazement: tell your piteous heart There's no harm done.
MIRANDA: O, woe the day!
PROSPERO: No harm.
I have done nothing but in care of thee, Of thee, my dear one, thee, my daughter, who Art ignorant of what thou art, nought knowing Of whence I am, nor that I am more better Than Prospero, master of a full poor cell, And thy no greater father.

MIRANDA : More to know
Did never meddle with my thoughts.
PROSPERO :'Tis time
I should inform thee farther. Lend thy hand, And pluck my magic garment from me. So: 30
Lays down his mantle
Lie there, my art. Wipe thou thine eyes; have comfort. The direful spectacle of the wreck, which touch'd The very virtue of compassion in thee, I have with such provision in mine art So safely ordered that there is no soul-- No, not so much perdition as an hair Betid to any creature in the vessel

Which thou heard'st...
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