SECTION A: POETRY 
Prescribed Poetry: Answer ANY TWO questions.

QUESTION NO. 

QUESTION 

MARKS 

PAGE NO.

1. 'Autumn' 

Essay question 

10 

6

2. 'Rugby League Game' 

Contextual question 

10 

7

3. 'Old Folks Laugh' 

Contextual question 

10 

8

4. 'On the Move' 

Contextual question 

10 

9

AND 
Unseen Poetry: COMPULSORY question

5. 'Exodus' 

Contextual question 

10 

11

SECTION B: NOVEL 
Answer ONE question.*

6. Animal Farm 

Essay question 

25 

12

7. Animal Farm 

Contextual question 

25 

12

8. Pride and Prejudice 

Essay question 

25 

15

9. Pride and Prejudice 

Contextual question 

25 

15

10. The Great Gatsby 

Essay question 

25 

18

11. The Great Gatsby 

Contextual question 

25 

18

SECTION C: DRAMA 
Answer ONE question.*

12. Othello 

Essay question 

25 

21

13. Othello 

Contextual question 

25 

21

14. The Crucible 

Essay question 

25 

24

15. The Crucible 

Contextual question 

25 

24

SECTION 

QUESTION  

NUMBERS

NO. OF  

QUESTIONS  

ANSWERED

TICK 

(✔)

A: Poetry 
(Prescribed Poetry) 

1–4 

2

A: Poetry 
(Unseen Poem) 

5 

1

B: Novel  
(Essay or Contextual) 

6–11 

1

C: Drama  
 (Essay or Contextual) 

12–15 

1

AUTUMN – Roy Campbell 

I love to see, when leaves depart, 
The clear anatomy arrive, 
Winter, the paragon of art, 
That kills all forms of life and feeling 
Save what is pure and will survive. 

Already now the clanging chains 
Of geese are harnessed to the moon; 
And the dark pines, their own revealing, 
Let in the needles of the noon. 

Strained by the gale the olives whiten 
Like hoary wrestlers bent with toil 
And, with the vines, their branches lighten 
To brim our vats where summer lingers 
In the red froth and sun-gold oil. 

Soon on our hearth's reviving pyre 
Their rotted stems will crumble up: 
And like a ruby, panting fire, 
The grape will redden on your fingers 
Through the lit crystal of the cup. 

RUGBY LEAGUE GAME – James Kirkup 

Sport is absurd, and sad. 
Those grown men. Just look, 
In those dreary long blue shorts, 
Those ringed stockings, Edwardian, 
Balding pates, and huge  
Fat knees that ought to be heroes'. 

Grappling, hooking, gallantly tackling – 
Is all this courage really necessary? – 
Taking their good clean fun 
So solemnly, they run each other down 
With earnest keenness, for the honour of 
Virility, the cap, the county side. 

Like great boys they roll each other, 
In the mud of public Saturdays, 
Groping their blind way back  
To noble youth, away from the bank, 
The wife, the pram, the spin drier, 
Back to the Spartan freedom of the field. 

Back, back to the days when boys 
Were men, still hopeful, and untamed. 
That was then: a gay 
And golden age ago. 
Now in vain, domesticated, 
Men try to be boys again. 

OLD FOLKS LAUGH – Maya Angelou 

They have spent their  
content of simpering, 
holding their lips this 
and that way, winding 
the lines between                                              5 
their brows. Old folks 
allow their bellies to jiggle like slow 
tambourines. 
The hollers 
rise up and spill                                               10
over any way they want. 
When old folks laugh, they free the world. 
They turn slowly, slyly knowing 
the best and the worst  
of remembering.                                               15
Saliva glistens in 
the corners of their mouths, 
their heads wobble 
on brittle necks, but 
their laps                                                          20
are filled with memories. 
When old folks laugh, they consider the promise
of dear painless death, and generously 
forgive life for happening 
to them.                                                            25

ON THE MOVE – Thom Gunn 

'Man, you gotta Go.' 

The blue jay scuffling in the bushes follows  
Some hidden purpose, and the gust of birds  
That spurts across the field, the wheeling swallows, 
Have nested in the trees and undergrowth.  
Seeking their instinct, or their poise, or both,  5 

One moves with an uncertain violence  
Under the dust thrown by a baffled sense  
Or the dull thunder of approximate words.  
On motorcycles, up the road, they come:  
Small, black, as flies hanging in heat, the Boys,  10 

Until the distance throws them forth, their hum  
Bulges to thunder held by calf and thigh.  
In goggles, donned impersonality,  
In gleaming jackets trophied with the dust,  
They strap in doubt – by hiding it, robust –  15 

And almost hear a meaning in their noise.  
Exact conclusion of their hardiness  
Has no shape yet, but from known whereabouts  
They ride, direction where the tires press.  
They scare a flight of birds across the field: 20 

Much that is natural, to the will must yield. 
Men manufacture both machine and soul,  
And use what they imperfectly control  
To dare a future from the taken routes.  
It is part solution, after all.  25 

One is not necessarily discord  
On earth; or damned because, half animal,  
One lacks direct instinct, because one wakes  
Afloat on movement that divides and breaks.  
One joins the movement in a valueless world,  30 

Choosing it, till, both hurler and the hurled,  
One moves as well, always toward, toward. 
A minute holds them, who have come to go:  
The self-defined, astride the created will  
They burst away; the towns they travel through  35 

Are home for neither bird nor holiness,  
For birds and saints complete their purposes.  
At worst, one is in motion; and at best,  
Reaching no absolute, in which to rest,  
One is always nearer by not keeping still.  40

'EXODUS' – Don Maclennan 

The sun has wrecked another day 
pawing ash and dust into the sky: 
now evening convalesces¹ timidly. 
By secret signal from a star 
a wild, erratic exodus of bats 5 

fountains into the silky air 
with delicate chewing sounds and squeaks. 
Dangling in the air above are fixed 
square prognathous² faces 
alert to sonic boom. 10 

They mount the draining dark,  
with jointed leather wings 
flapping like manganese³ fish. 
They've hung like foetuses all day 
in iron darkness 15 

suspended above their awful dung. 
Skinny little birds of death 
thrown onto the huge savanna 
are eating out tonight 
in twilight crammed with manna⁴. 20

It was a bitter winter. The stormy weather was followed by sleet and snow, and then by  a hard frost which did not break till well into February. The animals carried on as best  they could with the rebuilding of the windmill, well knowing that the outside world was  watching them and that the envious human beings would rejoice and triumph if the mill  were not finished on time. 5 
Out of spite, the human beings pretended not to believe that it was Snowball who had  destroyed the windmill: they said that it had fallen down because the walls were too  thin. The animals knew that this was not the case. Still, it had been decided to build the  walls three feet thick this time instead of eighteen inches as before, which meant  collecting much larger quantities of stone. For a long time the quarry was full of  10 snowdrifts and nothing could be done. Some progress was made in the dry frosty  weather that followed, but it was cruel work, and the animals could not feel so hopeful  about it as they had felt before. They were always cold, and usually hungry as well.  Only Boxer and Clover never lost heart. Squealer made excellent speeches on the joy  of service and the dignity of labour, but the other animals found more inspiration in  15
Boxer's strength and his never-failing cry of 'I will work harder!'

[Chapter 7] 

On Sunday mornings Squealer, holding down a long strip of paper with his trotter,  would read out to them lists of figures proving that the production of every class of  foodstuff had increased by two hundred per cent, three hundred per cent, or five  hundred per cent, as the case might be. The animals saw no reason to disbelieve him,  especially as they could no longer remember very clearly what conditions had been  5 like before the Rebellion. All the same, there were days when they felt that they would  sooner have had less figures and more food. 
All orders were now issued through Squealer or one of the other pigs. Napoleon  himself was not seen in public as often as once in a fortnight. When he did appear he  was attended not only by his retinue of dogs but by a black cockerel who marched in  10 
front of him and acted as a kind of trumpeter, letting out a loud 'cock-a-doodle-doo' before Napoleon spoke. Even in the farmhouse, it was said, Napoleon inhabited  separate apartments from the others. He took his meals alone, with two dogs to wait  upon him, and always ate from the Crown Derby dinner service which had been in the  glass cupboard in the drawing-room. It was also announced that the gun would be fired  15 every year on Napoleon's birthday, as well as on the other two anniversaries. Napoleon was now never spoken of simply as 'Napoleon'. He was always referred to in  formal style as 'our Leader, Comrade Napoleon'. 
…....
It had become usual to give Napoleon the credit for every successful achievement and  every stroke of good fortune. You would often hear one hen remark to another, 'Under  20 the guidance of our Leader, Comrade Napoleon, I have laid five eggs in six days'.

[Chapter 8] 

To Catherine and Lydia, neither the letter nor its writer were in any degree interesting.  It was next to impossible that their cousin should come in a scarlet coat, and it was  now some weeks since they had received pleasure from the society of a man in any  other colour. As for their mother, Mr Collins's letter had done away much of her ill-will,  and she was preparing to see him with a degree of composure which astonished her  5 husband and daughters. 
Mr Collins was punctual to his time, and was received with great politeness by the  whole family. Mr Bennet indeed said little; but the ladies were ready enough to talk,  and Mr Collins seemed neither in need of encouragement, nor inclined to be silent  himself. He was a tall, heavy-looking young man of five-and-twenty. His air was grave  10 
and stately, and his manners were very formal. He had not been long seated before he  complimented Mrs Bennet on having so fine a family of daughters; said he had heard  much of their beauty, but that in this instance fame had fallen short of the truth; and  added, that he did not doubt her seeing them all in due time well disposed of in  marriage. This gallantry was not much to the taste of some of his hearers; but  15 Mrs Bennet, who quarrelled with no compliments, answered most readily. 
'You are very kind, I am sure; and I wish with all my heart it may prove so, for else they  will be destitute enough. Things are settled so oddly.' 
'You allude, perhaps, to the entail of this estate?' 
'Ah! sir, I do indeed. It is a grievous affair to my poor girls, you must confess. Not that I  20 mean to find fault with you, for such things I know are all chance in this world. There is  no knowing how estates will go when once they come to be entailed.' 

 [Chapter 13] 

Poor Charlotte! It was melancholy to leave her to such society! But she had chosen it  with her eyes open; and though evidently regretting that her visitors were to go, she did  not seem to ask for compassion. Her home and her housekeeping, her parish and her  poultry, and all their dependent concerns, had not yet lost their charms. 
At length the chaise arrived, the trunks were fastened on, the parcels placed within,  5  and it was pronounced to be ready. After an affectionate parting between the friends,  Elizabeth was attended to the carriage by Mr Collins, and as they walked down the  garden, he was commissioning her with his best respects to all her family, not  forgetting his thanks for the kindness he had received at Longbourn in the winter, and  his compliments to Mr and Mrs Gardiner, though unknown. He then handed her in,  10 
Maria followed, and the door was on the point of being closed, when he suddenly  reminded them, with some consternation, that they had hitherto forgotten to leave any  message for the ladies of Rosings. 
'But,' he added, 'you will of course wish to have your humble respects delivered to  them, with your grateful thanks for their kindness to you while you have been here.'  15 
Elizabeth made no objection; the door was then allowed to be shut, and the carriage  drove off. 
'Good gracious!' cried Maria, after a few minutes' silence, 'it seems but a day or two  since we first came! – and yet how many things have happened!' 
'A great many indeed,' said her companion with a sigh. 20
'We have dined nine times at Rosings, besides drinking tea there twice! How much I  shall have to tell!' 
Elizabeth privately added, 'And how much I shall have to conceal.' 

[Chapter 38] 

A pause; it endured horribly. I had nothing to do in the hall, so I went into the room. 
Gatsby, his hands still in his pockets, was reclining against the mantelpiece in a  strained counterfeit of perfect ease, even of boredom. His head leaned back so far that  it rested against the face of a defunct mantelpiece clock, and from this position his distraught eyes stared down at Daisy, who was sitting, frightened but graceful, on the  5 
edge of a stiff chair. 
'We've met before,' muttered Gatsby. His eyes glanced momentarily at me, and his lips  parted with an abortive attempt at a laugh. Luckily the clock took this moment to tilt  dangerously at the pressure of his head, whereupon he turned and caught it with  trembling fingers, and set it back in place. Then he sat down, rigidly, his elbow on the  10 
arm of the sofa and his chin in his hand. 
'I'm sorry about the clock,' he said. 
My own face had now assumed a deep tropical burn. I couldn't muster up a single  commonplace out of the thousand in my head. 
'It's an old clock,' I told them idiotically. 15 
I think we all believed for a moment that it had smashed in pieces on the floor. 
'We haven't met for many years,' said Daisy, her voice as matter-of-fact as it could ever  be. 
'Five years next November.' 
The automatic quality of Gatsby's answer set us all back at least another minute. 20

 [Chapter 5] 

'I've got something to tell you, old sport –' began Gatsby. But Daisy guessed at his  intention. 
'Please don't!' she interrupted helplessly. 'Please let's all go home. Why don't we all go  home?' 
'That's a good idea.' I got up. 'Come on, Tom. Nobody wants a drink.' 5 
'I want to know what Mr Gatsby has to tell me.' 
'Your wife doesn't love you,' said Gatsby. 'She's never loved you. She loves me.' … 
'Sit down, Daisy,' Tom's voice groped unsuccessfully for the paternal note. 'What's  been going on? I want to hear all about it.' 
'I told you what's been going on,' said Gatsby. 'Going on for five years – and you didn't  10 
know.' 
Tom turned to Daisy sharply. 
'You've been seeing this fellow for five years?' 
'Not seeing,' said Gatsby. 'No, we couldn't meet. But both of us loved each other all  that time, old sport, and you didn't know. I used to laugh sometimes' – but there was no  15 
laughter in his eyes – 'to think that you didn't know.'  
'Oh – that's all.' Tom tapped his thick fingers together like a clergyman and leaned  back in his chair. 
… 
Gatsby walked over and stood beside her. 
'Daisy, that's all over now,' he said earnestly. 'It doesn't matter any more. Just tell him  20
the truth – that you never loved him – and it's all wiped out forever.'  
She looked at him blindly. 'Why – how could I love him – possibly?'  
'You never loved him.' 
She hesitated. Her eyes fell on Jordan and me, with a sort of appeal, as though she  realised at last what she was doing – and as though she had never, all along, intended  25
doing anything at all. 

[Chapter 7] 

Re-enter second Gentleman 
CASSIO 

How now? Who has put in? 

2 GENTLEMAN 
'Tis one Iago, ancient to the General. 

CASSIO 
He's had most favourable and happy speed. 
Tempests themselves, high seas and howling winds, 5
The guttered rocks and congregated sands, 
Traitors ensteeped to clog the guiltless keel, 
As having sense of beauty, do omit 
Their mortal natures, letting go safely by 
The divine Desdemona. 10 

MONTANO 
 What is she? 

CASSIO 
She that I spake of, our great Captain's captain,
Left in the conduct of the bold Iago, 
Whose footing here anticipates our thoughts 
A se'nnight's speed. Great Jove, Othello guard, 15 
And swell his sail with thine own powerful breath, 
That he may bless this bay with his tall ship, 
Make love's quick pants in Desdemona's arms, 
Give renewed fire to our extincted spirits, 
And bring all Cyprus comfort. 20

Enter Desdemona, Emilia, Iago, Roderigo and Attendants 

 O, behold, 

The riches of the ship is come ashore! 
Ye men of Cyprus, let her have your knees. 
Hail to thee, lady! And the grace of heaven, 25 
Before, behind thee, and on every hand, 
Enwheel thee round. 

DESDEMONA 
 I thank you, valiant Cassio. 
What tidings can you tell me of my lord? 

CASSIO 
He is not yet arrived; nor know I aught 30 
But that he's well and will be shortly here. 

DESDEMONA 
O, but I fear! How lost you company? 

CASSIO 
The great contention of the sea and skies 
Parted our fellowship. 
A cry within: 'A sail, a sail, a sail!' Another salvo. 35
But hark, a sail!

[Act 2, Scene 1] 

IAGO 

 Good my lord, pardon me. 

Though I am bound to every act of duty, 
I am not bound to that all slaves are free to. 
Utter my thoughts! Why, say they are vile and false? 
As where's that palace whereinto foul things   5
Sometimes intrude not? Who has a breast so pure 
But some uncleanly apprehensions 
Keep leets and law-days and in session sit 
With meditations lawful? 

OTHELLO 
Thou dost conspire against thy friend, Iago, 10 
If thou but think'st him wronged, and mak'st his ear 
A stranger to thy thoughts. 

IAGO 

 I do beseech you 

Though I perchance am vicious in my guess, 
(As I confess it is my nature's plague 15 
To spy into abuses, and oft my jealousy 
Shapes faults that are not) I entreat you then, 
From one that so imperfectly conjects, 
Would take no notice, nor build yourself a trouble 
Out of my scattering and unsure observance. 20 
It were not for your quiet nor your good, 
Nor for my manhood, honesty or wisdom, 
To let you know my thoughts. 

OTHELLO 

 Zounds! 

IAGO 
Good name in man and woman, dear my lord, 25 
Is the immediate jewel of their souls. 
Who steals my purse, steals trash: 'tis something, nothing;
'Twas mine, 'tis his, and has been slave to thousands. 
But he that filches from me my good name 
Robs me of that which not enriches him 30
And makes me poor indeed. 

OTHELLO 
By heaven, I'll know thy thoughts. 

IAGO 
You cannot, if my heart were in your hand, 
Nor shall not, whilst 'tis in my custody.

[Act 3, Scene 3] 

PARRIS: Now, look you, Goody Putnam, she never – (Enter THOMAS PUTNAM , a well-to-do, hard-handed landowner, near fifty.) Oh, good morning, Mr Putnam. 
PUTNAM: It is a providence the thing is out now! It is a providence. 
(He goes directly to the bed.) 5 
PARRIS: What's out, sir, what's –?  
MRS PUTNAM goes to the bed.  
PUTNAM : (looking down at Betty): Why, her eyes is closed! Look you, Ann. 
MRS PUTNAM: Why, that's strange. (To Parris.) Ours is open. 
PARRIS: (shocked): Your Ruth is sick?  10 
MRS PUTNAM: (with vicious certainty): I'd not call it sick; the Devil's touch is heavier  than sick. It's death, y'know, it's death drivin' into them, forked and  hoofed.  
PARRIS: Oh, pray not! Why, how does Ruth ail?   
MRS PUTNAM She ails as she must – she never waked this morning, but her eyes  15 open and she walks, and hears naught, sees naught, and cannot  eat. Her soul is taken, surely. 
PARRIS is struck. 
PUTNAM (as though for further details): They say you've sent for Reverend Hale of Beverly?  20
PARRIS (with dwindling conviction now): A precaution only. He has much  experience in all demonic arts, and I – 
MRS PUTNAM: He has indeed; and found a witch in Beverly last year, and let you  remember that. 

[Act 1] 

DANFORTH 
A little while ago you were afflicted. Now it seems you afflict others;  
where did you find this power? 

MARY 
(staring at Abigail): I – have no power. 

GIRLS 
I have no power. 

PROCTOR 
They're gulling you, Mister! 5 

DANFORTH 
Why did you turn about this past two weeks? You have seen the Devil,  
have you not? 

HALE 
(indicating Abigail and the girls): You cannot believe them! 

MARY
I – 

PROCTOR 
(sensing her weakening): Mary, God damns all liars! 10 

DANFORTH 
(pounding it into her): You have seen the Devil, you have made  
compact with Lucifer, have you not? 

PROCTOR 
God damns liars, Mary! 
MARY utters something unintelligible, staring at Abigail, who keeps  

watching the 'bird' above. 15 

DANFORTH 
I cannot hear you. What do you say? (MARY utters again unintelligibly.)
You will confess yourself or you will hang! (He turns her roughly to face  
him.) Do you know who I am? I say you will hang if you do not open with me! 

PROCTOR 
Mary, remember the angel Raphael – do that which is good and – 20 

ABIGAIL 
(pointing upward): The wings! Her wings are spreading! Mary, please,  
don't, don't – ! 

HALE 
I see nothing, Your Honour! 

DANFORTH 
Do you confess this power! (He is an inch from her face.) Speak! 

ABIGAIL 
She's going to come down! She's walking the beam!   25

DANFORTH 
Will you speak! 

MARY 
(staring in horror): I cannot! 

GIRLS 
I cannot! 

PARRIS 
Cast the Devil out! Look him in the face! Trample him! We'll save you,  
Mary, only stand fast against him and – 30

ABIGAIL 
(looking up): Look out! She's coming down! 

[Act 3]