The Complete Works of William Shakespeare In Plain and Simple English (Translated)
Page 27
Guard it, I pray thee, with a lurking adder,
Whose double tongue may with a mortal touch
Throw death upon thy sovereign's enemies.
Mock not my senseless conjuration, lords.
This earth shall have a feeling, and these stones
Prove armed soldiers, ere her native king
Shall falter under foul rebellion's arms.
Naturally I like it: I weep for joy
to stand again in my kingdom.
Dear earth, I salute you with my hand,
although rebels are insulting you with the hooves of their horses.
Like a mother who has been separated from her child for a long time
plays fondly with it with smiles and tears when she meets,
so weeping, smiling, I greet you, my earth,
and lay my royal hands upon you;
do not feed the enemy of your king, my gentle earth,
nor give them any of your bounty to feed them,
but let your spiders that suck up your poison
and heavy footed toads lie in their way,
damaging their treacherous feet,
which trample over you with rebellious steps;
give my enemies stinging nettles;
and when they pick a flower from your earth,
please let it be guarded with a hidden adder,
whose forked tongue could with its fateful touch
gift death to your king's enemies.
Don't laugh at my talking to senseless things, lords:
this earth will be capable of feeling, and the stones
will turn into armed soldiers before her native king
will fall under the assault of foul rebellion.
CARLISLE.
Fear not, my lord; that Power that made you king
Hath power to keep you king in spite of all.
The means that heaven yields must be embrac'd
And not neglected; else, if heaven would,
And we will not, heaven's offer we refuse,
The proffered means of succour and redress.
Don't worry, my lord; the power that made you King
has the power to keep you king in spite of everything.
We must embrace the opportunities heaven gives us,
not neglect them; otherwise, if heaven desires
something we don't do, we are refusing the offer of heaven,
refusing the means of help and revenge.
AUMERLE.
He means, my lord, that we are too remiss;
Whilst Bolingbroke, through our security,
Grows strong and great in substance and in power.
He means, my lord, that we are not doing enough;
meanwhile Bolingbroke, through our overconfidence,
is growing great and strong in wealth and power.
KING RICHARD.
Discomfortable cousin! know'st thou not
That when the searching eye of heaven is hid,
Behind the globe, that lights the lower world,
Then thieves and robbers range abroad unseen
In murders and in outrage boldly here;
But when from under this terrestrial ball
He fires the proud tops of the eastern pines
And darts his light through every guilty hole,
Then murders, treasons, and detested sins,
The cloak of night being pluck'd from off their backs,
Stand bare and naked, trembling at themselves?
So when this thief, this traitor, Bolingbroke,
Who all this while hath revell'd in the night,
Whilst we were wand'ring with the Antipodes,
Shall see us rising in our throne, the east,
His treasons will sit blushing in his face,
Not able to endure the sight of day,
But self-affrighted tremble at his sin.
Not all the water in the rough rude sea
Can wash the balm off from an anointed king;
The breath of worldly men cannot depose
The deputy elected by the Lord.
For every man that Bolingbroke hath press'd
To lift shrewd steel against our golden crown,
God for his Richard hath in heavenly pay
A glorious angel. Then, if angels fight,
Weak men must fall; for heaven still guards the right.
Enter SALISBURY
Welcome, my lord. How far off lies your power?
Discouraging cousin! Don't you know
that when the sun dips below the
horizon and lights the bottom of the world,
then the thieves and robbers roam about unseen
here, boldly committing murders and outrages;
but when the sun comes out from under the earth
he lights up the proud tops of the eastern pines,
and shines his light into every guilty hiding place,
then murder, treason and revolting sins,
having had the cloak of night plucked off their backs,
stand there naked, trembling at themselves?
So when this thief, this traitor, Bolingbroke,
who has enjoyed himself all through the night,
while we were wandering down below,
will see us rising on our throne in the East,
his treason will light up his face,
he won't be able to tolerate the sight of day,
but frightened by himself he will tremble at his sin.
All the water in the rough rude sea
cannot wash off the anointing oil of a king;
the words of mortal men cannot overthrow
the deputy chosen by the Lord;
for every man that Bolingbroke has conscripted
to raise a harmful sword against my golden crown,
God has a glorious angel as a heavenly servant
for his Richard: so, if angels fight,
weak men must fall, for heaven still defends the just.
Welcome, my lord: how far away are your forces?
SALISBURY.
Nor near nor farther off, my gracious lord,
Than this weak arm. Discomfort guides my tongue,
And bids me speak of nothing but despair.
One day too late, I fear me, noble lord,
Hath clouded all thy happy days on earth.
O, call back yesterday, bid time return,
And thou shalt have twelve thousand fighting men!
To-day, to-day, unhappy day, too late,
O'erthrows thy joys, friends, fortune, and thy state;
For all the Welshmen, hearing thou wert dead,
Are gone to Bolingbroke, dispers'd, and fled.
As close to you, my gracious lord,
as this weak arm is. Unhappiness guides my speech,
and makes me speak of nothing but despair.
I'm afraid, noble lord, you have come one day too late,
and that has lost you your chance of happiness on earth.
Oh, if it was only yesterday, if we could turn back time,
you would have twelve thousand fighting men!
Today, today, unhappy day, it's too late,
your happiness, friends, fortune and your country are all lost;
all the Welshmen, hearing you were dead,
have gone over to Bolingbroke, dispersed and fled.
AUMERLE.
Comfort, my liege, why looks your Grace so pale?
Be easy, my lord, why does your Grace look so pale?
KING RICHARD.
But now the blood of twenty thousand men
Did triumph in my face, and they are fled;
And, till so much blood thither come again,
Have I not reason to look pale and dead?
All souls that will be safe, fly from my side;
For time hath set a blot upon my pride.
Previously I had the blood of twenty thousand men
lighting up my face, and they have fled;
> and, until I get that much blood back again,
why shouldn't I look pale and dead?
Anyone who wants to be safe, run away;
Time has ruined my position.
AUMERLE.
Comfort, my liege; remember who you are.
Be easy, my lord; remember who you are.
KING RICHARD.
I had forgot myself; am I not King?
Awake, thou coward majesty! thou sleepest.
Is not the King's name twenty thousand names?
Arm, arm, my name! a puny subject strikes
At thy great glory. Look not to the ground,
Ye favourites of a king; are we not high?
High be our thoughts. I know my uncle York
Hath power enough to serve our turn. But who comes here?
I was forgetting myself; aren't I the King?
Wake up, you cowardly royal! You're asleep.
Isn't the King's name worth twenty thousand men?
Take up your arms, my name! A puny subject is striking
at your great glory. Don't be downcast,
you King's favourites; aren't we noble?
Let our thoughts be noble. I know my uncle York
has enough forces for us. But who is this coming?
Enter SCROOP
SCROOP.
More health and happiness betide my liege
Than can my care-tun'd tongue deliver him.
May my lord have more health and happiness
than my worried tongue can offer him.
KING RICHARD.
Mine ear is open and my heart prepar'd.
The worst is worldly loss thou canst unfold.
Say, is my kingdom lost? Why, 'twas my care,
And what loss is it to be rid of care?
Strives Bolingbroke to be as great as we?
Greater he shall not be; if he serve God,
We'll serve him too, and be his fellow so.
Revolt our subjects? That we cannot mend;
They break their faith to God as well as us.
Cry woe, destruction, ruin, and decay-
The worst is death, and death will have his day.
My ears are open and my heart is ready.
The worst you can tell me is that I have lost worldly things.
Tell me, is my kingdom lost? Why, it was my burden,
what loss is it to lose a burden?
Is Bolingbroke trying to be as great as me?
He shall not be greater; if he serves God,
I'll serve him too, and be his equal.
Are our subjects rebelling? We can't change that;
they are breaking their promise to God as well as to me.
Tell me of sorrow, destruction, ruin and decay–
the worst you can say is death, and he will always come.
SCROOP.
Glad am I that your Highness is so arm'd
To bear the tidings of calamity.
Like an unseasonable stormy day
Which makes the silver rivers drown their shores,
As if the world were all dissolv'd to tears,
So high above his limits swells the rage
Of Bolingbroke, covering your fearful land
With hard bright steel and hearts harder than steel.
White-beards have arm'd their thin and hairless scalps
Against thy majesty; boys, with women's voices,
Strive to speak big, and clap their female joints
In stiff unwieldy arms against thy crown;
Thy very beadsmen learn to bend their bows
Of double-fatal yew against thy state;
Yea, distaff-women manage rusty bills
Against thy seat: both young and old rebel,
And all goes worse than I have power to tell.
I'm glad that your Highness is so prepared
to receive bad news.
Like a stormy day in summer
which makes the silver rivers burst their banks,
as if the whole world had dissolved into tears,
that's as high as the rage of Bolingbroke
has risen, flooding your fearful country
with hard bright steel and hearts harder than steel.
Old men have covered their bald heads with helmets
to fight your Majesty; boys, with unbroken voices,
try to speak like men, and slap their girlish hands
in awkward assaults on your crown;
your own archers are bending their bows
of deathdealing yew against your majesty;
even servant women are wielding rusty pikes
against your throne: both the young and the old rebel,
and everything is going worse than I have power to describe.
KING RICHARD.
Too well, too well thou tell'st a tale so in.
Where is the Earl of Wiltshire? Where is Bagot?
What is become of Bushy? Where is Green?
That they have let the dangerous enemy
Measure our confines with such peaceful steps?
If we prevail, their heads shall pay for it.
I warrant they have made peace with Bolingbroke.
You have told your tale too well.
Where is the Earl of Wiltshire? Where is Bagot?
What has happened to Bushy? Where is Green?
Why have they allowed the dangerous enemy
to walk into our kingdom unopposed?
If I win I shall have them executed for it.
I'll bet they have made peace with Bolingbroke.
SCROOP.
Peace have they made with him indeed, my lord.
They have certainly made peace with him, my lord.
KING RICHARD.
O villains, vipers, damn'd without redemption!
Dogs, easily won to fawn on any man!
Snakes, in my heart-blood warm'd, that sting my heart!
Three Judases, each one thrice worse than Judas!
Would they make peace? Terrible hell make war
Upon their spotted souls for this offence!
Oh villains, vipers, damn them eternally!
Dogs, who can be won over by any man!
Snakes, warmed by my own blood, that sting my heart!
Three Judases, each one three times worse than Judas!
Make peace, would they? May terrible hell make war
on their stained souls for this crime!
SCROOP.
Sweet love, I see, changing his property,
Turns to the sourest and most deadly hate.
Again uncurse their souls; their peace is made
With heads, and not with hands; those whom you curse
Have felt the worst of death's destroying wound
And lie full low, grav'd in the hollow ground.
I see that sweet love when changing his point of view
can turn to the sourest and most deadly hate.
Take your curse off their souls; they have made their peace
with their heads, and not with their hands; those whom you curse
have felt the heaviest wound of death
and are lying low in their graves.
AUMERLE.
Is Bushy, Green, and the Earl of Wiltshire dead?
Are Bushy, Green, and the Earl of Wiltshire all dead?
SCROOP.
Ay, all of them at Bristow lost their heads.
Yes, they were all executed at Bristol.
AUMERLE.
Where is the Duke my father with his power?
Where is my father the Duke with his forces?
KING RICHARD.
No matter where-of comfort no man speak.
Let's talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs;
Make dust our paper, and with rainy eyes
Write sorrow on the bosom of the earth.
Let's choose executors and talk of wills;
And yet not so-for what can we bequeath
Save our deposed bodies to the ground?
And nothing can we can our own but death
And that small model of the barren earth
Which serves as paste and cover to our bones.
For God's sake let us sit upon the ground
And tell sad stories of the death of kings:
How some have been depos'd, some slain in war,
Some haunted by the ghosts they have depos'd,
Some poison'd by their wives, some sleeping kill'd,
All murder'd-for within the hollow crown
That rounds the mortal temples of a king
Keeps Death his court; and there the antic sits,
Scoffing his state and grinning at his pomp;
Allowing him a breath, a little scene,
To monarchize, be fear'd, and kill with looks;
Infusing him with self and vain conceit,
As if this flesh which walls about our life
Were brass impregnable; and, humour'd thus,
Comes at the last, and with a little pin
Bores through his castle wall, and farewell, king!
Cover your heads, and mock not flesh and blood
With solemn reverence; throw away respect,
Tradition, form, and ceremonious duty;
For you have but mistook me all this while.
I live with bread like you, feel want,
Taste grief, need friends: subjected thus,
How can you say to me I am a king?
It doesn't matter where, let nobody talk about hope.
Let's talk about graves, worms and epitaphs,
let's make the dust our paper, and without tears
write of our sorrow on the face of the earth.
Let's choose executors and talk of our wills.
But let's not–for what can we leave
apart from our overthrown bodies to the grave?
Our lands, our lives and everything belong to Bolingbroke,
and there is nothing we can call our own except for death;
and that small mound of dead earth
which seals in and covers our bones.
For Godss sake let us sit upon the ground
and tell sad stories of the death of Kings:
how some have been deposed, some killed in war,