The Complete Works of William Shakespeare In Plain and Simple English (Translated)
Page 24
He has piled exorbitant taxes on the common people;
he has completely lost their hearts; he has fined the
noblemen for ancient quarrels and lost them too.
WILLOUGHBY.
And daily new exactions are devis'd,
As blanks, benevolences, and I wot not what;
But what, a God's name, doth become of this?
And every day new taxes are invented,
blank cheques, forced loans, I don't know what else;
what in God's name will all this lead to?
NORTHUMBERLAND.
Wars hath not wasted it, for warr'd he hath
not,
But basely yielded upon compromise
That which his noble ancestors achiev'd with blows.
More hath he spent in peace than they in wars.
It hasn't gone on wars, for he hasn't been to war,
he has cravenly won through negotiation
what his ancestors achieved with force.
He has spent more on peace than they did on war.
ROSS.
The Earl of Wiltshire hath the realm in farm.
The Earl of Wiltshire is farming the country.
WILLOUGHBY.
The King's grown bankrupt like a broken man.
The King has gone bankrupt like a ruined man.
NORTHUMBERLAND.
Reproach and dissolution hangeth over him.
Criticism and disillusionment hang over him.
ROSS.
He hath not money for these Irish wars,
His burdenous taxations notwithstanding,
But by the robbing of the banish'd Duke.
He can't afford these Irish wars,
despite his excessive taxation,
except by robbing the exiled Duke.
NORTHUMBERLAND.
His noble kinsman-most degenerate king!
But, lords, we hear this fearful tempest sing,
Yet seek no shelter to avoid the storm;
We see the wind sit sore upon our sails,
And yet we strike not, but securely perish.
His noble relative–what a degenerate king!
But, lords, we hear this terrible storm blowing,
and yet we don't try to find shelter;
we see the wind about to tear down our sails,
and yet we don't take them down, we die through our arrogance.
ROSS.
We see the very wreck that we must suffer;
And unavoided is the danger now
For suffering so the causes of our wreck.
We can see exactly the calamity coming to us;
and the danger is now unavoidable,
the crash is inevitable.
NORTHUMBERLAND.
Not so; even through the hollow eyes of death
I spy life peering; but I dare not say
How near the tidings of our comfort is.
It is not, where there's life
there's still hope; but I can't say
how close our rescue is.
WILLOUGHBY.
Nay, let us share thy thoughts as thou dost ours.
No, let us share your thoughts as you share ours.
ROSS.
Be confident to speak, Northumberland.
We three are but thyself, and, speaking so,
Thy words are but as thoughts; therefore be bold.
Speak with confidence, Northumberland.
We three are just like you, and so speaking to us
is just like thinking; so speak out.
NORTHUMBERLAND.
Then thus: I have from Le Port Blanc, a bay
In Brittany, receiv'd intelligence
That Harry Duke of Hereford, Rainold Lord Cobham,
That late broke from the Duke of Exeter,
His brother, Archbishop late of Canterbury,
Sir Thomas Erpingham, Sir John Ramston,
Sir John Norbery, Sir Robert Waterton, and Francis Quoint-
All these, well furnish'd by the Duke of Britaine,
With eight tall ships, three thousand men of war,
Are making hither with all due expedience,
And shortly mean to touch our northern shore.
Perhaps they had ere this, but that they stay
The first departing of the King for Ireland.
If then we shall shake off our slavish yoke,
Imp out our drooping country's broken wing,
Redeem from broking pawn the blemish'd crown,
Wipe off the dust that hides our sceptre's gilt,
And make high majesty look like itself,
Away with me in post to Ravenspurgh;
But if you faint, as fearing to do so,
Stay and be secret, and myself will go.
Then this is it: I have received from Port le Blanc,
a bay in Brittany, news that
Harry Duke of Hereford, Rainold Lord Cobham,
who recently deserted the Duke of Exeter,
his brother, recently Archbishop of Canterbury,
Sir Thomas Erpingham, Sir John Ramston,
Sir John Norbery, Sir Robert Waterton, and Francis Quoint–
these men have been well equipped by the Duke of Brittany
with eight warships, three thousand soldiers,
who are coming here as quickly as they can,
and intend to land soon on our northern shores.
Maybe they would have come before, but they have been waiting
for the king to leave for Ireland.
Ifyou want to throw off our slavish burdens,
repair the broken wing of our limping country,
take the dishonoured crown back out of pawn,
wipe off the dust which is hiding the gold of the sceptre,
and restore the dignity of the throne,
then hurry away with me to Ravenspurgh;
but if you are fainthearted and don't dare to do so,
stay here, don't say anything, and I will go alone.
ROSS.
To horse, to horse! Urge doubts to them that fear.
Get the horses! Only the fainthearted will doubt.
WILLOUGHBY.
Hold out my horse, and I will first be there.
If my horse holds out, I'll be first there.
Exeunt
Windsor Castle
Enter QUEEN, BUSHY, and BAGOT
BUSHY.
Madam, your Majesty is too much sad.
You promis'd, when you parted with the King,
To lay aside life-harming heaviness
And entertain a cheerful disposition.
Madam, your Majesty is much too sad.
When you parted from the king you promised
that you would set aside harmful depression
and keep your spirits up.
QUEEN.
To please the King, I did; to please myself
I cannot do it; yet I know no cause
Why I should welcome such a guest as grief,
Save bidding farewell to so sweet a guest
As my sweet Richard. Yet again methinks
Some unborn sorrow, ripe in fortune's womb,
Is coming towards me, and my inward soul
With nothing trembles. At some thing it grieves
More than with parting from my lord the King.
I said that to please the King; I can't do it
to please myself; however I don't know why
I have become quite so depressed
apart from the fact that I've had to say farewell
to someone as sweet as my Richard. But I have a feeling
that's there is a bad time brewing,
coming towards me, and I am disturbed
for no reason. Something is upsetting me
more than just my parting from my lord the King.
BUSHY.
Each substance of a grief hath twenty shadows,
Which shows like grief itself, but is not so;
For sorr
ow's eye, glazed with blinding tears,
Divides one thing entire to many objects,
Like perspectives which, rightly gaz'd upon,
Show nothing but confusion-ey'd awry,
Distinguish form. So your sweet Majesty,
Looking awry upon your lord's departure,
Find shapes of grief more than himself to wail;
Which, look'd on as it is, is nought but shadows
Of what it is not. Then, thrice-gracious Queen,
More than your lord's departure weep not-more is not seen;
Or if it be, 'tis with false sorrow's eye,
Which for things true weeps things imaginary.
Every real sorrow has twenty shadows,
which look like sorrow but are not;
the sorrowing eye, covered with blinding tears,
splits one thing into many objects,
like a perspective picture which, observed face on,
shows nothing but confusion–looked at from an angle,
you can see the shape. So your sweet Majesty,
looking slantwise at your lord's departure,
finds more things than that to worry about;
if you look at it clearly those are nothing but
shadows that don't exist. So, most gracious Queen,
don't weep for more than your lord's departure–there is nothing more;
or if there is, it's just created by your sorrow,
which real sadness makes you weep for imaginary things.
QUEEN.
It may be so; but yet my inward soul
Persuades me it is otherwise. Howe'er it be,
I cannot but be sad; so heavy sad
As-though, on thinking, on no thought I think-
Makes me with heavy nothing faint and shrink.
You may be right, but deep down
I feel differently. Whatever the case,
I can't help being depressed; so deeply depressed
that even though I try not to think
I end up feeling crushed under the weight of nothingness.
BUSHY.
'Tis nothing but conceit, my gracious lady.
That's just your imagination, my gracious lady.
QUEEN.
'Tis nothing less: conceit is still deriv'd
From some forefather grief; mine is not so,
For nothing hath begot my something grief,
Or something hath the nothing that I grieve;
'Tis in reversion that I do possess-
But what it is that is not yet known what,
I cannot name; 'tis nameless woe, I wot.
It's anything but: imagination still springs
from some previous sorrow; this isn't the case,
for nothing created my current grief,
or someone else's suffering it at the moment;
I will get it when they have finished with it–
but what this unknown thing could be,
I can't say; I suppose you would call it a nameless dread.
Enter GREEN
GREEN.
God save your Majesty! and well met, gentlemen.
I hope the King is not yet shipp'd for Ireland.
God save your Majesty! Good to see you, gentlemen.
I hope the King has not set sail for Ireland yet.
QUEEN.
Why hopest thou so? 'Tis better hope he is;
For his designs crave haste, his haste good hope.
Then wherefore dost thou hope he is not shipp'd?
Why do you hope that? You should be hoping he has;
his plans demand speed, the quicker he is the better chance.
So why do you hope he's not sailed?
GREEN.
That he, our hope, might have retir'd his power
And driven into despair an enemy's hope
Who strongly hath set footing in this land.
The banish'd Bolingbroke repeals himself,
And with uplifted arms is safe arriv'd
At Ravenspurgh.
So that he, our hope, might have recalled his forces
and destroyed the hopes of our enemies
who have got a strong foothold in this country.
The exiled Bolingbroke has forgiven himself,
and has arrived safely, looking for battle,
at Ravenspurgh.
QUEEN.
Now God in heaven forbid!
God forbid that this is true!
GREEN.
Ah, madam, 'tis too true; and that is worse,
The Lord Northumberland, his son young Henry Percy,
The Lords of Ross, Beaumond, and Willoughby,
With all their powerful friends, are fled to him.
Ah, madam, it's too true; and what's worse,
Lord Northumberland, his son young Henry Percy,
the Lords of Ross, Beaumon, and Willoughby,
with all their powerful friends, have joined him.
BUSHY.
Why have you not proclaim'd Northumberland
And all the rest revolted faction traitors?
Why have you not declared Northumberland
and all the rest of the rebels as traitors?
GREEN.
We have; whereupon the Earl of Worcester
Hath broken his staff, resign'd his stewardship,
And all the household servants fled with him
To Bolingbroke.
We have; which made the Earl of Worcester
break his staff, resign his stewardship,
and he has fled with all the household servants
to Bolingbroke.
QUEEN.
So, Green, thou art the midwife to my woe,
And Bolingbroke my sorrow's dismal heir.
Now hath my soul brought forth her prodigy;
And I, a gasping new-deliver'd mother,
Have woe to woe, sorrow to sorrow join'd.
So, Green, you are the midwife of my sorrow,
and Bolingbroke is the miserable birth of it.
Now my suspicions have been confirmed,
and, gasping like a mother who's just given birth,
I suffer woe on woe, sorrow on sorrow.
BUSHY.
Despair not, madam.
Do not despair, madam.
QUEEN.
Who shall hinder me?
I will despair, and be at enmity
With cozening hope-he is a flatterer,
A parasite, a keeper-back of death,
Who gently would dissolve the bands of life,
Which false hope lingers in extremity.
Who's going to stop me?
I will despair, and fight against
cheating hope–he is a flatterer,
a parasite, he postpones death,
which can gently remove the burden of life,
while false hope makes us suffer it to the end.
Enter YORK
GREEN.
Here comes the Duke of York.
Here comes the Duke of York.
QUEEN.
With signs of war about his aged neck.
O, full of careful business are his looks!
Uncle, for God's sake, speak comfortable words.
With his arm around his old neck.
He looks anxious and preoccupied!
Uncle, for God's sake, say something hopeful.
YORK.
Should I do so, I should belie my thoughts.
Comfort's in heaven; and we are on the earth,
Where nothing lives but crosses, cares, and grief.
Your husband, he is gone to save far off,
Whilst others come to make him lose at home.
Here am I left to underprop his land,
Who, weak with age, cannot support myself.
Now comes the sick hour that his surfeit made;
Now shall he try his friends that flatter'd him.
If I did, I would be being dishonest.
Hope is in heaven; and we are on earth,<
br />
where there is nothing but treachery, care and sorrow.
Your husband has gone to save his far-off lands
while others come to take his lands at home.
Here am I, left to prop up his country,
who, weak with age, cannot even support myself.
This is the sickness brought on by his excesses;
now he'll see what those friends who flattered him are like.
Enter a SERVINGMAN
SERVINGMAN.
My lord, your son was gone before I came.
My lord, your son had gone before I came.
YORK.
He was-why so go all which way it will!
The nobles they are fled, the commons they are cold
And will, I fear, revolt on Hereford's side.
Sirrah, get thee to Plashy, to my sister Gloucester;
Bid her send me presently a thousand pound.
Hold, take my ring.
Had he–well then whatever happens, happens!
The nobles have fled, the common people are unsympathetic
and will, I fear, fight for Hereford.
Sir, go to Plashy, to my sister Gloucester;
tell her to send me a thousand pounds at once.
Wait, take my ring.
SERVINGMAN.
My lord, I had forgot to tell your lordship,
To-day, as I came by, I called there-
But I shall grieve you to report the rest.
My Lord, I had forgotten to tell your lordship,
today, as I passed by, I called in there–
but the rest will upset you.
YORK.
What is't, knave?
What is it, scoundrel?
SERVINGMAN.
An hour before I came, the Duchess died.