Chapter 01: An Overview of Strategic Marketing
Marketing 2018, 19th Edition William M. Pride O. C. Ferrell
Full chapter at: https://testbankbell.com/product/test-bank-for-marketing-2018-19th-edition-william-m-prideo-c-ferrell-2/
True / False
1. Marketing consists primarily of selling and advertising.
a. True
b. False
ANSWER: False
2. The broadest and simplest definition of marketing states that it is the development and efficient distribution of products for consumer segments.
a. True
b. False ANSWER: False
3. Customers are the focal point of all marketing activities.
a. True
b. False ANSWER: True
4. A target market is a specific group of customers on whom an organization focuses its marketing efforts.
a. True
b. False ANSWER: True
5. A target market is always defined by demographics.
a. True
b. False ANSWER: False
6. The marketing mix consists of three major variables: product, price, and distribution.
a. True
b. False ANSWER: False
7. In marketing, a product can be a good or a service but not an idea.
a. True
b. False ANSWER: False
8. Marketing efforts do not involve the design and development of products.
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Test Bank for Marketing 2018, 19th Edition William M. Pride O. C. Ferrell Visit TestBankBell.com to get complete for all chapters
Chapter 01: An Overview of Strategic Marketing
a. True
b. False ANSWER: False
9. Products can be goods, services, or ideas.
a. True
b. False ANSWER: True
10. Services are provided by applying human and mechanical efforts to people or objects to provide intangible benefits to the customer.
a. True
b. False ANSWER: True
11. The actual physical production of goods is a marketing activity.
a. True
b. False ANSWER: False
12. Promotion can help sustain interest in established products that have long been available.
a. True
b. False ANSWER: True
13. The distribution variable in a marketing mix is directed toward making products available in the quantities desired to as many target market customers as possible and keeping the total inventory, transportation, and storage costs as low as possible.
a. True
b. False ANSWER: True
14. Customers are interested in a product's price because they are concerned about the value obtained in an exchange.
a. True
b. False ANSWER: True
15. Price is seldom used as a competitive tool.
a. True
b. False ANSWER: False
16. For an exchange to occur, at least one of the parties must be willing to give up his or her "something of value."
a. True
b. False
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Name: Class:
Chapter 01: An Overview of Strategic Marketing
ANSWER: False
17. The outcomes of a marketer's decisions and actions may be affected by the variables in the marketing environment.
a. True
b. False ANSWER: True
18. Changes in the marketing environment always hurt marketing efforts.
a. True
b. False ANSWER: False
19. The marketing environment is a set of static, unchanging surroundings.
a. True
b. False ANSWER: False
20. The marketing concept stresses that a business organization can best achieve its goal by providing customer satisfaction through coordinated activities.
a. True
b. False ANSWER: True
21. Achievement of the firm's overall goals is part of the marketing concept.
a. True
b. False ANSWER: True
22. The marketing concept is a philosophy that a business organization should employ to satisfy customers' needs while achieving the overall goals of the organization.
a. True
b. False ANSWER: True
23. The marketing concept is a philanthropic philosophy aimed at helping customers at the expense of the business organization.
a. True
b. False ANSWER: False
24. The marketing concept is a management philosophy, not a second definition of marketing.
a. True
b. False ANSWER: True
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Another
Believe me, if all those most solemn-faced dons, Whom we’ve seen at St. Mary’s to-day, Were to get in a body, and tuck up their gowns, And down Market-place caper away; They would still be adored as this moment they are, Let their dignity fare as it will; And at them, with wondering awe from afar, The Freshmen gaze verdantly still.
But while they are clothed in glossy silk gown And cap best obtainable here, Their features are scanned by the Freshmen and known, So that time only makes them less dear, For when once he’s been gated he never forgets, But steadily swears to the close At the Tutor, who bounds to his out-goings sets, Or for Chapel disturbs his repose.
he Lays of the Mocking Sprite, by E. B. (Cambridge.)
Believe me, if all that roast pork which with zest I devoured at dinner to-night, Were to bring indigestion and lie on my chest Like a log, putting slumber to flight, It would still be my favourite dish, as of yore, Let my sufferings be what they will, And round the crisp crackling and stuffing galore My thoughts linger lovingly still!
It is not while playing a good knife and fork, When your frame’s undisturbed by a throe, That the thought of the horrors attendant on pork Will be likely to fill you with woe. No! ’tis only when several hours have flown, That pale Nemesis steals from her lair, And as on your pillow you fidget and groan, You feel that “roast pig” is a snare!
udy, March 9, 1881.
F. B. D .Believe me, that all these delusive alarms
That the Tories so recklessly float Are but meant, like the silly cry, “Ulster to arms!”
As a trap for the Liberal vote. Since you gave them the sack, they imagine (good lack!)
They can wriggle, by foul means or fair, In spite of consistency, just to get back Into Downing-street, Parliament-square!
But you know very well, from my action of old, It’s on me you can always depend; If you lean on the Dissidents, then you’ll be sold— It’s not Joseph, but William’s your friend! All their high-sounding talk hides but envy and pride, Though their tone is so soft and so fair; ’Tis for you to decide whom you’ll have to preside At 10, Downing-street, Parliament-square.
A . he Weekly Dispatch. June 27, 1886.
“O , B B .”
Ah, blame not the Bard if his frantic endeavours
At compassing kudos should constantly fail, Nor blame Mr. Warden when circumstance severs
The ties of his home and consigns him to jail; The Bard would be willing, and yearns to be able, To thrill the whole world to its innermost soul, And Warden would cheerfully grace his own table, But “circumstance over which we’ve no control.”
Oh, blame not the British Museum for showing Its autotype Raphaels all of a row, For wert thou “originals” on them bestowing They’d hang them with pleasure I happen to know; And blame not the troops in the Soudan for straying
:o:
Unlinked with their base as they press to their goal— It is, though, undaunted the front they’re displaying, A “circumstance over which they’ve no control.”
Oh, blame not the walrus that’s come to Westminster If loneliness makes him to set up a howl, How often the same has occurred to the spinster Who sits by her parrot and cat, cheek by jowl; And blame not the Frenchman with China who quarrels, Though sad be his lot and unhappy his dole, But just count his strange international morals A “circumstance over which he’s no control.”
Oh, blame not the people in Salt Lake its city, Who’re sending out parties to proselytize; They’ve suffered from wives, and they think it’s a pity That others should not have to suffer likewise; And blame not the Bard if his verses are prosy, And move with a steadily slumberous roll, The fact that he makes all the universe dozy Is “a circumstance over which he’s no control.”
Fun, November, 1883.
(Air—“Love’s young dream.”)
Oh! the days are gone when beauty bright
Her own hair wore,
Oh, a girl was not an awful fright
In days of yore.
Now, eyes may leer—false teeth appear, And painted be each face; But there nothing half so beautiful As Grace—sweet Grace.
Oh! those lovely girls are ne’er forgot,
* * * * *
:o:
Mine eye once traced: No “Chignons” huge, or scanty skirts, Their forms disgraced. Now “Taste” has fled—from heel to head, All ugliness we trace, Ah! there’s nothing half so beautiful As Grace—sweet Grace.
rom The Girl of the Period Miscellany, May 1869.
Lesbia hath a beaming eye, But no one knows for whom it beameth; Right and left its arrows fly, But what they aim at no one dreameth.
Sweeter ’tis to gaze upon My Nora’s lid that seldom rises; Few its looks, but every one, Like unexpected light, surprises!
Oh, my Nora Creina, dear, My gentle, bashful Nora Creina, Beauty lies
In many eyes, But love in yours, my Nora Creina.
:o: L E S B I A H AT H A B E A M I N G E Y E .
* * * * *
T. M .
Peggy hath a squinting eye, But no one knows at what it squinteth; Right and left her glances fly, But what they glance at, no one hinteth; Sweeter ’tis to gaze upon
My Nancy’s roguish sloe-black peeper; Few its looks, but every one
Strikes sly Cupid’s arrows deeper!
Oh, my black-eyed Nancy, dear!
My pretty, roguish black-eyed Nancy!
I despise
Peg’s squinting eyes, But sloe black peepers please my fancy.
Peggy wears her dresses high, And then her stays so tight she’ll lace ’em; Not a charm can one espy,
Tho’ busy fancy tries to trace ’em.
Oh, my Nancy’s gown for me, That floats as wild as mountain breezes, Leaving every beauty free, To rise or fall as nature pleases! Yes, my black-eyed Nancy, dear!
My plump and playful black-eyed Nancy!
Nature’s dress
Is loveliness, And yours, like hers, just suits my fancy.
Peggy’s mouth to grin’s inclin’d, But ’mongst her teeth there’s ne’er a white one; And then they look as if design’d
To snap at, or perhaps, to bite one! But Nancy’s iv’ries, oh, how clean! And then her breath is sweet as roses; And lips were never redder seen, Nor aught more straight than Nancy’s nose is:
T S -B P .
Oh, my black-eyed Nancy dear!
My pretty, roguish black-eyed Nancy! How I prize Your sloe-black eyes, But squinting Peg’s I ne’er can fancy.
rom The Spirit of the Public Journals, 1825.
B C .Lesbia hath a fowl to cook
But, being anxious not to spoil it, Searches anxiously our book, For how to roast, and how to boil it. Sweet it is to dine upon—
Quite alone, when small its size is And, when cleverly ’tis done, Its delicacy quite surprises.
Oh! my tender pullet dear!
My boiled—not roasted—tender chicken, I can wish No other dish, With thee supplied, my tender chicken!
Lesbia, take some water cold, And having on the fire placed it, And some butter, and be bold— When ’tis hot enough—taste it.
Oh! the chicken meant for me Boil before the fire grows dimmer, Twenty minutes let it be, In the saucepan left to simmer, Oh! my tender chicken dear!
My boil’d delicious, tender chicken! Rub the breast
(To give a zest) With lemon-juice, my tender chicken,
Lesbia hath with sauce combined Broccoli white, without a tarnish; ’Tis hard to tell if ’tis designed For vegetable or for garnish.
Pillow’d on a butter’d dish, My chicken temptingly reposes, Making gourmands for it wish, Should the savor reach their noses.
Oh, my tender pullet dear! My boiled—not roasted—tender chicken!
Day or night, Thy meal is light, For supper, e’en, my tender chicken. unch.
C .
Lesbia’s skirt doth streaming fly, But none observes how full it streameth; Right and left the men go by, But of remarking no one dreameth. Bolder ’tis to dare put on My Lina’s skirts of extra sizes; Light she seems, but every one By unexampled bulk surprises. Oh, my Crinolina dear, My pavement-filling Crinolina, Beauty lies
In mod’rate size, But Ton in your’s, my Crinolina!
Lesbia’s dress keeps out the cold, Good taste, good sense, all feel, have graced it; But Ton approval must withhold, There’s not a breadth of stuff in’t wasted!
Oh, my Lina’s skirt for me, That swells balloon-like on the breezes, Letting everybody see How far stuff can go, if it pleases! Yes, my Crinolina dear, My rustling bell-shaped Crinolina, Taste in dress
Can’t well be less Than you display, my Crinolina!
Lesbia hath a waist refined, But with such mod’rate drapery round it, Who can tell her heart’s confined, From breaking bounds, when Love hath found it. Pillowed safe, my Lina’s heart Within her miles of skirt reposes, Beyond the flight of Cupid’s dart,— Poor Love quite lost among the rows is.
Oh, my Crinolina dear, Expansive and expensive Lina, Waist less tight, Skirts less a sight, Indulge in, do, my Crinolina!
unch, November 8, 1856.
T M L , Esq. S .
(Air: Lesbia hath a Beaming Eye.)
Lemon is a little hipped, And this is Lemon’s true position; He is not pale, he’s not white-lipped, Yet wants a little fresh condition.
Sweeter it is to gaze upon Old Ocean’s rising, falling billers, Than on the houses every one That form the street called Saint Anne’s Villers.
Lemon hath a coat of frieze, But all so seldom Lemon wears it, That it is a prey to fleas, And every moth that’s hungry tears it.
Oh! that coat’s the coat for me, That braves the railway sparks and breezes, Leaving every engine free To wear it till the owner sneezes.
Then, my Lemon, sound and fat, Oh, my bright, my right, my tight ’un, Think a little what you’re at— On Tuesday next come down to Brighton.
C D , 1855. ublished in London Society, October, 1875.
(A —“This Life is all Chequer’d with Pleasures and Woes.”)
This suit is all chequer’d with crosses and stripes, Which I wear as I walk by the wide winkley deep. I am one of the tourist world’s toppingest types, And I purchased these togs in Cheapside on the cheap. So closely they fit to my elegant shape, That the fall in my back every optic may see; And, if you should take an Apollo and drape Him in chocolate tweed, he would look much like me. Just tottle me up! I’m all in it, dear boy, With tile ever shiny and boots ever tight; Like all Things of Beauty, for ever a joy, The envy of toffs, and the ladies’ delight.
When I stroll on the sands all the girls try to count The number of pockets my garments display: There are twenty, all told,—’tis a tidy amount, Though there is’nt much in them, I’m sorry to say. There are many like me who in youth would have tasted The fountain of Pleasure that flows by the brine, But their precious small “screws” they on tipsters have wasted, And left all their pockets as empty as mine. But let’s have a liquor! ’tis jolly good fun
To do the cheap toff in the Hall by the Sea! Though I may’nt sport a mag when my holiday’s done, Go it stiff while you can, is the motto for me!
Through Erin’s Isle, To sport awhile, As Love and Valour wander’d, With Wit, the sprite,
T C C S .
:o: O H ! T H E S H A M R O C K .
Whose quiver bright
A thousand arrows squander’d.
Where’er they pass A triple grass
Shoots up, with dew-drops streaming, As softly green
As Emerald’s seen
Through purest crystal gleaming.
Oh the Shamrock, the green immortal Shamrock!
Chosen leaf
Of Bard and Chief, Old Erin’s native Shamrock!
O’er Erin’s Isle, in rule awhile, What British knaves have blundered! Their state misused, and power abused— And prisoned, packed, and plundered. But soon or late, they met the fate, That evil in despair knows; We tore in rags, their tinsel tags, And set them up as scarecrows. Oh, the scarecrows, No wind that foul or fair blows, But shakes awhile The tatters vile Of Ireland’s sorry scarecrows.
First Forster came, and linked his name With certain ammunition, His burly nod sent folks to quod, Of high and low condition; Yet came the day when far away, We saw the Yorkshire bear go
T. M . * * * * * T S .And take his place in dire disgrace
A grim and gruffy scarecrow!
Oh, the scarecrow
No village bantam dare crow, Till Buckshot fell In Failure’s Hell
From which ne’er rose a scarecrow!
Came Cowper next with tidy text
(To gospel-writ a stranger), Deep under ground to drive where found All discontent and danger; But if he did, the seeds he hid
The morrow saw in air grow, While prospects marred he mounted guard, A most disgusted scarecrow.
Oh, the scarecrow
Can annals anywhere show A weaker fool
Sent, men to rule Than this poor ragged scarecrow.
Trevelyan tried, sneered, whined and lied, To please his precious master, But “Indian meal” nor “even keel”
Could save him from disaster.
Alas, poor Pinch! we inch by inch, Brought you to wreck and care low, It seems to me, of all the three, You made the meanest scarecrow.
Oh, the scarecrow,
We’d honour give to fair foe, But scorn and hate Must ever wait The memory of this scarecrow.
Not last nor least, the great Arch Priest,
Of red and raw repression, Whom Fame shall yoke with deeds unspoke, And devil-wrought transgression; Ah, Foxy Jack, your British pack, Shall shortly in the rear go, Of him who fled in gloom and dread, A failed and beaten scarecrow.
Oh, the scarecrow
Our boys from Howth to Clare know, To hear the joints Of Johnny Poyntz Groan dry like any scarecrow.
So friends shall fall the strangers all, Who seek to crush our nation; Nor rope nor “soap” can hope to cope With grim determination; And while our tree of liberty, More branching green and fair grows, Our museum shall filled become With sick and sorry scarecrows. Oh, the scarecrows! No wind that foul or fair blows, But shakes awhile The tatters vile Of Ireland’s sorry scarecrows.
rom United Ireland October 10, 1885.
One more try at parting! Not many Locks circle my head, I regret; But a few, the most hardy of any,
D .:o:
S T -T D . (Air—“One Bumper at Parting.”)
Are left on the crown of it yet. ’Tis a ticklish task to divide them, In well-balanced head-central fringe; These patches cost labour to hide them, Give vanity many a twinge.
But come—every sproutling I treasure—
Thine aid O Macassar! I beg; Though I own—who can face it with pleasure?— I’m getting as bald as an egg!
As older we grow, how unpleasant To pause and reflect with distaste
That the few scattered spikes seen at present, Must merge in wide calvity’s (?) waste!
But Time, a most pitiless master, Cries “Onward!” and mows off one’s crop, Ah! never does Time travel faster Than when one desires him to stop.
No, Age cannot trip to Youth’s measure, With paunch and a spindle shanked leg, And I own—though it is not with pleasure— I’m getting as bald as an egg!
unch’s Almanac, 1883.
The young May moon is beaming, love, The glow worm’s lamp is gleaming, love, How sweet to rove
Through Morna’s grove, When the drowsy world is dreaming, love.
:o: T H E Y O U N G M AY M O O N .
* * * * * T. M .
T I ’ S .
The full new moon is old, my love, You’ve got plenty of money, I’m told, my love, So your knocker I’ll ring, And my love I will sing, Though I’ve get a most shocking bad cold, my love, Then awake, for my love is so hot, my dear, That without you I’ll soon go to pot, my dear; For my shirt, at your clack, Would stick close to my back,— But the devil a shirt have I got, my dear.
Like a cat my watch I’m keeping, love, For no bed have I got to sleep in, love; So honey look down, And smile me a frown, From your eye so beautiful peeping, love.
Old Time, like the gutter does run, my dear, So pry thee mock modesty shun, my dear; Have me, I’ll have you, And though still we’ll be two, All Kilkenny will take us for one, my dear.
A .T B W .
The Cats on the tiles are squalling, love And the watchmen past twelve are bawling, love, So step down this ladder, For I’ve, in a bladder, Some whisky, that “drink me” is calling, love.
I’ve had nothing to-day but porter love, With some glasses of gin and water, love, So if you come down, I’ll lay you a crown That this bladder we quickly will slaughter, love.
I’ve some onions, and bread, and cheese, my love, And some Scotch snuff to make you sneeze, my love, So since I’m so pressing, Pray don’t wait for dressing, But come down as quick as you please, my love.
A .