The Complete Works of William Shakespeare In Plain and Simple English (Translated)
Page 35
the changing French we do not understand.
Your eye begins to show pity, let your tongue copy it;
or put your pitying heart in your ear,
so that on hearing our pleas and prayers
pity can make you say ‘pardon’.
BOLINGBROKE.
Good aunt, stand up.
Good aunt, stand up.
DUCHESS.
I do not sue to stand;
Pardon is all the suit I have in hand.
I am not pleading to be allowed to stand;
pardon is the only thing I'm interested in.
BOLINGBROKE.
I pardon him, as God shall pardon me.
I pardon him, as God shall pardon me.
DUCHESS.
O happy vantage of a kneeling knee!
Yet am I sick for fear. Speak it again.
Twice saying 'pardon' doth not pardon twain,
But makes one pardon strong.
Oh the happy advantage gained from kneeling!
But I am sick with fear. Say it again.
Saying pardon twice does not divide it,
it makes it stronger.
BOLINGBROKE.
With all my heart
I pardon him.
With all my heart
I pardon him.
DUCHESS.
A god on earth thou art.
You are God on earth.
BOLINGBROKE.
But for our trusty brother-in-law and the Abbot,
With all the rest of that consorted crew,
Destruction straight shall dog them at the heels.
Good uncle, help to order several powers
To Oxford, or where'er these traitors are.
They shall not live within this world, I swear,
But I will have them, if I once know where.
Uncle, farewell; and, cousin, adieu;
Your mother well hath pray'd, and prove you true.
Apart from my trusty brother-in-law and the Abbot,
all the rest who are mixed up in this plot
shall find themselves destroyed at once.
Good uncle, help to send various forces
to Oxford, or wherever these traitors are.
They shall not live in this world, I swear,
without me catching them, once I know where they are.
Uncle, farewell; and, cousin, goodbye;
your mother has prayed well, show you deserve it.
DUCHESS.
Come, my old son; I pray God make thee new.
Come, my old son; I pray to God to make you new.
Exeunt
Windsor Castle
Enter SIR PIERCE OF EXTON and a servant
EXTON.
Didst thou not mark the King, what words he spake?
'Have I no friend will rid me of this living fear?'
Was it not so?
Didn't you notice the King, the words he spoke?
“Is there no friend who will rid me of this threat?"
Was that it?
SERVANT.
These were his very words.
Those were his very words.
EXTON.
'Have I no friend?' quoth he. He spake it twice
And urg'd it twice together, did he not?
“Have I no friend?" he said. He said it twice
and insisted on it twice, didn't he?
SERVANT.
He did.
He did.
EXTON.
And, speaking it, he wishtly look'd on me,
As who should say 'I would thou wert the man
That would divorce this terror from my heart';
Meaning the King at Pomfret. Come, let's go.
I am the King's friend, and will rid his foe.
And, when he said it, he looked at me hopefully,
as if he was saying, “I wish you were the man
who could remove the cloud hanging over me";
he meant the King at Pomfret. Come, let's go.
I am the King's friend, and will get rid of his enemy.
Exeunt
Pomfret Castle. The dungeon of the Castle
Enter KING RICHARD
KING RICHARD.
I have been studying how I may compare
This prison where I live unto the world
And, for because the world is populous
And here is not a creature but myself,
I cannot do it. Yet I'll hammer it out.
My brain I'll prove the female to my soul,
My soul the father; and these two beget
A generation of still-breeding thoughts,
And these same thoughts people this little world,
In humours like the people of this world,
For no thought is contented. The better sort,
As thoughts of things divine, are intermix'd
With scruples, and do set the word itself
Against the word,
As thus: 'Come, little ones'; and then again,
'It is as hard to come as for a camel
To thread the postern of a small needle's eye.'
Thoughts tending to ambition, they do plot
Unlikely wonders: how these vain weak nails
May tear a passage through the flinty ribs
Of this hard world, my ragged prison walls;
And, for they cannot, die in their own pride.
Thoughts tending to content flatter themselves
That they are not the first of fortune's slaves,
Nor shall not be the last; like silly beggars
Who, sitting in the stocks, refuge their shame,
That many have and others must sit there;
And in this thought they find a kind of ease,
Bearing their own misfortunes on the back
Of such as have before endur'd the like.
Thus play I in one person many people,
And none contented. Sometimes am I king;
Then treasons make me wish myself a beggar,
And so I am. Then crushing penury
Persuades me I was better when a king;
Then am I king'd again; and by and by
Think that I am unking'd by Bolingbroke,
And straight am nothing. But whate'er I be,
Nor I, nor any man that but man is,
With nothing shall be pleas'd till he be eas'd
With being nothing.[The music plays]
Music do I hear?
Ha, ha! keep time. How sour sweet music is
When time is broke and no proportion kept!
So is it in the music of men's lives.
And here have I the daintiness of ear
To check time broke in a disorder'd string;
But, for the concord of my state and time,
Had not an ear to hear my true time broke.
I wasted time, and now doth time waste me;
For now hath time made me his numb'ring clock:
My thoughts are minutes; and with sighs they jar
Their watches on unto mine eyes, the outward watch,
Whereto my finger, like a dial's point,
Is pointing still, in cleansing them from tears.
Now sir, the sound that tells what hour it is
Are clamorous groans which strike upon my heart,
Which is the bell. So sighs, and tears, and groans,
Show minutes, times, and hours; but my time
Runs posting on in Bolingbroke's proud joy,
While I stand fooling here, his Jack of the clock.
This music mads me. Let it sound no more;
For though it have holp madmen to their wits,
In me it seems it will make wise men mad.
Yet blessing on his heart that gives it me!
For 'tis a sign of love; and love to Richard
Is a strange brooch in this all-hating world.
I have been thinking how I might compare
this prison where I live to the world;
&nbs
p; and, because the world is full of people
and there is nobody here but myself,
I cannot do it. But I will puzzle it out.
My brain will be the female to my soul,
which will be the father, and these two will create
a generation of multiplying thoughts,
and the same thoughts will fill up this little world,
with temperaments like the people of this world;
for no thought is happy. The better sort,
like thoughts of heavenly things, are mixed up
with scruples, and set one thing
against another, such as
“Come, little ones"; and then again,
“It is as hard to come to me as for a camel
to go through the eye of a needle".
Ambitious thoughts, they yearn for
unlikely things: as if these plain weak nails
could tear a hole through the hard stone
of this hard world, these rough prison walls;
and as they cannot, they die in their prime.
Thoughts which lean towards happiness deceive themselves,
thinking that they are not the first ones to feel like this,
nor shall be the last–like foolish beggars
who, sitting in the stocks, consoled themselves
that many have and many will also sit there;
and this thought gives them a kind of comfort,
placing their own misfortunes on the back
of those who have suffered before them.
So in my one person I play many people,
and none of them are happy. Sometimes I am King,
then treason makes me wish that I was a beggar,
and so I am. Then crushing poverty
makes me think I was better when I was a king;
then I am the king again, and in a while
I remember that Bolingbroke has taken my kingship,
and straightaway I am nothing. But whatever I am,
not I, nor any man alive,
can be pleased with anything, until he is relieved
by being nothing.
Is that music I hear?
Hah, hah! Keep time–how sour sweet music is
when it doesn't keep to the beat!
That is what happens with the music of men's lives.
My situation gives me the sensitivity
to hear tunelessness and lack of rhythm;
if it wasn't for my current situation,
I wouldn't be able to hear the discord:
I wasted time, and now time is wasting me;
for time is now telling the time by me;
my thoughts are minutes, and with sighs they mark
their passing in my eyes, the outward sign,
to which my finger, like the hand of the dial,
is still pointing, wiping tears from them.
Now Sir, the sound which indicates the hour
is the clamorous groans that come from my heart,
which is the bell–so sighs, and tears, and groans,
indicate the minutes, the times, and the hours. But my time
is going on without me, Bolingbroke has it,
while I stand here fooling, a figure on his clock.
This music angers me. Don't let it play any more;
for though it has helped madmen recover their wits,
with me it seems it will make wise men mad.
Yet I bless the heart of the one who gives it to me,
for it is a sign of love; and love for Richard
is a rare jewel in this all hating world.
Enter a GROOM of the stable
GROOM.
Hail, royal Prince!
Greetings, royal Prince!
KING RICHARD.
Thanks, noble peer!
The cheapest of us is ten groats too dear.
What art thou? and how comest thou hither,
Where no man never comes but that sad dog
That brings me food to make misfortune live?
Thank you, noble peer!
The cheapest Prince is ten groats too dear.
Who are you? And why have you come here,
where no man ever comes but for that sad dog
who brings me food to keep misfortune alive?
GROOM.
I was a poor groom of thy stable, King,
When thou wert king; who, travelling towards York,
With much ado at length have gotten leave
To look upon my sometimes royal master's face.
O, how it ern'd my heart, when I beheld,
In London streets, that coronation-day,
When Bolingbroke rode on roan Barbary-
That horse that thou so often hast bestrid,
That horse that I so carefully have dress'd!
I was a poor groom in your stable, King,
when you were King; I was travelling to York
and, with much fuss, got permission
to look on the face of my one-time royal master.
Oh, how it grieved my heart, when I saw,
in the streets of London, that coronation day,
when Bolingbrokerode on Barbary, the roan horse–
the horse that you rode so often,
the horse that I so carefully groomed!
KING RICHARD.
Rode he on Barbary? Tell me, gentle friend,
How went he under him?
Did he ride on Barbary? Tell me, sweet friend,
how did he perform?
GROOM.
So proudly as if he disdain'd the ground.
As proudly as if he didn't want to touch the ground.
KING RICHARD.
So proud that Bolingbroke was on his back!
That jade hath eat bread from my royal hand;
This hand hath made him proud with clapping him.
Would he not stumble? would he not fall down,
Since pride must have a fall, and break the neck
Of that proud man that did usurp his back?
Forgiveness, horse! Why do I rail on thee,
Since thou, created to be aw'd by man,
Wast born to bear? I was not made a horse;
And yet I bear a burden like an ass,
Spurr'd, gall'd, and tir'd, by jauncing Bolingbroke.
So proud that Bolingbroke was on his back!
That nag ate bread from my royal hand;
that hand made him proud by stroking him.
Couldn't he stumble? Couldn't he fall down,
since pride must have a fall, and break the neck
of the proud man who stole his position on his back?
I forgive you, horse! Why do I criticise you,
since you, created to be subservient to man,
were born to carry? I was not born a horse;
and yet I carry a burden like an ass,
spurred, whipped and exhausted by bouncing Bolingbroke.
Enter KEEPER with meat
KEEPER.
Fellow, give place; here is no longer stay.
Fellow, on your way; you can't stay here any longer.
KING RICHARD.
If thou love me, 'tis time thou wert away.
If you love me, it's time you went away.
GROOM.
My tongue dares not, that my heart shall say.
My tongue does not dare to say what my heart feels.
Exit
KEEPER.
My lord, will't please you to fall to?
My lord, will you please tuck in?
KING RICHARD.
Taste of it first as thou art wont to do.
Taste it first as you usually do.
KEEPER.
My lord, I dare not. Sir Pierce of Exton,
Who lately came from the King, commands the contrary.
My Lord, I don't dare. Sir Pierce of Exton,
who arrived recently from the King, orders me not to.
KING RICHARD.
The de
vil take Henry of Lancaster and thee!
Patience is stale, and I am weary of it.
Made the devil take Henry of Lancaster and you!
I am sick of being patient.
[Beats the KEEPER]
KEEPER.
Help, help, help!
Help, help, help!
The murderers, EXTON and servants, rush in, armed
KING RICHARD.
How now! What means death in this rude assault?
Villain, thy own hand yields thy death's instrument.
[Snatching a weapon and killing one]
Go thou and fill another room in hell.
[He kills another, then EXTON strikes him down]
That hand shall burn in never-quenching fire
That staggers thus my person. Exton, thy fierce hand
Hath with the King's blood stain'd the King's own land.
Mount, mount, my soul! thy seat is up on high;
Whilst my gross flesh sinks downward, here to die.
[Dies]
What's this! Why is death attacking me in this rough manner?
Villain, you are carrying the means of your own death.
Go and fill another room in hell.
The hand that strikes me down like that shall burn
in eternal fire. Exton, your fierce hand
has stained the King's own land with the King's blood.
Climb, climb, my soul! Your seat is in heaven;
while my heavy body falls down, to die here.
EXTON.
As full of valour as of royal blood.
Both have I spill'd. O, would the deed were good!
For now the devil, that told me I did well,
Says that this deed is chronicled in hell.
This dead King to the living King I'll bear.
Take hence the rest, and give them burial here.
As full of bravery as of royal blood.
I have spilled both. Oh, I hope this is a good deed!