The Complete Works of William Shakespeare In Plain and Simple English (Translated)
Page 37
If we will keep in favour with the King,
To be her men and wear her livery:
The jealous o'er-worn widow, and herself,
Since that our brother dubb'd them gentlewomen,
Are mighty gossips in our monarchy.
Humbly begging to her
got the Lord Chamberlain his freedom.
I tell you what, I think the best way for us
to keep the goodwill of the King
is to put ourselves at her service:
the jealous queen and her,
since our brother made them gentlewomen,
are great influences on the King.
BRAKENBURY.
I beseech your Graces both to pardon me:
His Majesty hath straitly given in charge
That no man shall have private conference,
Of what degree soever, with your brother.
I must ask your Graces to both excuse me:
his Majesty has given strict orders
that nobody is to speak privately with
your brother under any circumstances.
RICHARD.
Even so; an't please your worship, Brakenbury,
You may partake of any thing we say:
We speak no treason, man; we say the King
Is wise and virtuous, and his noble queen
Well struck in years, fair, and not jealous;
We say that Shore's wife hath a pretty foot,
A cherry lip, a bonny eye, a passing pleasing tongue;
And that the Queen's kindred are made gentlefolks.
How say you, sir? Can you deny all this?
Very well; if you want to, Brakenbury,
you can listen to anything we say:
we are not discussing treason, man; we say the King
is wise and virtuous, and his noble Queen
nicely mature, fair and not jealous;
we say that Shore's wife is graceful,
with red lips, merry eyes, and she speaks well;
and that the Queen's relatives are made into gentlefolk.
What do you say to that, sir? Can you deny all this?
BRAKENBURY.
With this, my lord, myself have naught to do.
This is nothing to do with me, my lord.
RICHARD.
Naught to do with Mistress Shore! I tell thee,
fellow,
He that doth naught with her, excepting one,
Were best to do it secretly alone.
Nothing to do with Mistress Shore! I tell you, fellow,
that anyone doing ‘nothing’ with her, apart from one,
would be well advised to do it in secret.
BRAKENBURY.
What one, my lord?
Who is the one, my lord?
RICHARD.
Her husband, knave! Wouldst thou betray me?
Her husband, scoundrel! Do you want to get me into trouble?
BRAKENBURY.
I do beseech your Grace to pardon me, and
withal
Forbear your conference with the noble Duke.
I beg your Grace to excuse me, and also
to stop talking with the noble duke.
CLARENCE.
We know thy charge, Brakenbury, and will
obey.
We know your orders, Brakenbury, and will obey.
RICHARD.
We are the Queen's abjects and must obey.
Brother, farewell; I will unto the King;
And whatsoe'er you will employ me in-
Were it to call King Edward's widow sister-
I will perform it to enfranchise you.
Meantime, this deep disgrace in brotherhood
Touches me deeper than you can imagine.
Everybody must submit to the Queen.
Brother, farewell; I will go to the king;
and whatever service you want from me–
if you asked me to call King Edward's widow my sister–
I will do it to win your freedom.
In the meanwhile, this insult to our family
affects me more than you can imagine.
CLARENCE.
I know it pleaseth neither of us well.
I know neither of us are happy about it.
RICHARD.
Well, your imprisonment shall not be long;
I will deliver or else lie for you.
Meantime, have patience.
Well, you won't be locked up for long;
I will free you or I'll take your place.
In the meantime, be patient.
CLARENCE.
I must perforce. Farewell.
Exeunt CLARENCE, BRAKENBURY, and guard
I have no choice. Farewell.
RICHARD.
Go tread the path that thou shalt ne'er return.
Simple, plain Clarence, I do love thee so
That I will shortly send thy soul to heaven,
If heaven will take the present at our hands.
But who comes here? The new-delivered Hastings?
Go and walk the path from which you will never return.
Plain, simple Clarence, I love you so
that I will shortly send your soul to heaven,
if heaven will take the gift from me.
But who is this? The newly freed Hastings?
Enter LORD HASTINGS
HASTINGS.
Good time of day unto my gracious lord!
A very good day to my gracious lord!
RICHARD.
As much unto my good Lord Chamberlain!
Well are you welcome to the open air.
How hath your lordship brook'd imprisonment?
And the same to my good Lord Chamberlain!
I'm pleased to welcome you to freedom.
How did your lordship cope with imprisonment?
HASTINGS.
With patience, noble lord, as prisoners must;
But I shall live, my lord, to give them thanks
That were the cause of my imprisonment.
Patiently, noble lord, as prisoners have to;
but I shall make sure I repay those, my lord,
who caused my imprisonment.
RICHARD.
No doubt, no doubt; and so shall Clarence too;
For they that were your enemies are his,
And have prevail'd as much on him as you.
No doubt, no doubt; and Clarence will as well;
for those who were your enemies are his,
and have treated him just as badly as you.
HASTINGS.
More pity that the eagles should be mew'd
Whiles kites and buzzards prey at liberty.
It's a great shame that eagles get locked up
while kites and buzzards are free to prey.
RICHARD.
What news abroad?
What news is there abroad?
HASTINGS.
No news so bad abroad as this at home:
The King is sickly, weak, and melancholy,
And his physicians fear him mightily.
There's no news as bad as the news at home:
the King is sickly, weak and depressed,
and his doctors are very worried for him.
RICHARD.
Now, by Saint John, that news is bad indeed.
O, he hath kept an evil diet long
And overmuch consum'd his royal person!
'Tis very grievous to be thought upon.
Where is he? In his bed?
Now, by St John, that news is certainly bad.
His lifestyle has been poor for too long,
he's worn out his royal body with excess!
It's very sad to think of.
Where is he? In his bed?
HASTINGS.
He is.
He is.
RICHARD.
Go you before, and I will follow you.
Exit HASTINGS
He cannot live, I hope, and must not die
Till George be
pack'd with posthorse up to heaven.
I'll in to urge his hatred more to Clarence
With lies well steel'd with weighty arguments;
And, if I fail not in my deep intent,
Clarence hath not another day to live;
Which done, God take King Edward to his mercy,
And leave the world for me to bustle in!
For then I'll marry Warwick's youngest daughter.
What though I kill'd her husband and her father?
The readiest way to make the wench amends
Is to become her husband and her father;
The which will I-not all so much for love
As for another secret close intent
By marrying her which I must reach unto.
But yet I run before my horse to market.
Clarence still breathes; Edward still lives and reigns;
When they are gone, then must I count my gains.
You go on ahead, and I will follow you.
I hope he will not live, but he must not die
before George has been hastened up to heaven.
I'll encourage Clarence's hatred of him
with lies backed up with stern arguments;
and, if my cunning plans succeed,
Clarence does not have another day to live;
once that's done, may God take King Edward also
and leave the world free for me.
Then I will marry Warwick's youngest daughter–
who cares if I killed her husband and her father?
The best way to make it up to the girl
would be to become her husband, and her father:
which I will, not so much for love
as for another secret plan,
which I need to marry her to fulfil.
But I'm getting ahead of myself:
Clarence is still alive, so is Edward and he is still king;
I must count my gains when they are gone.
Exit
London. Another street
Enter corpse of KING HENRY THE SIXTH, with halberds to guard it;
LADY ANNE being the mourner, attended by TRESSEL and BERKELEY
ANNE.
Set down, set down your honourable load-
If honour may be shrouded in a hearse;
Whilst I awhile obsequiously lament
Th' untimely fall of virtuous Lancaster.
Poor key-cold figure of a holy king!
Pale ashes of the house of Lancaster!
Thou bloodless remnant of that royal blood!
Be it lawful that I invocate thy ghost
To hear the lamentations of poor Anne,
Wife to thy Edward, to thy slaughtered son,
Stabb'd by the self-same hand that made these wounds.
Lo, in these windows that let forth thy life
I pour the helpless balm of my poor eyes.
O, cursed be the hand that made these holes!
Cursed the heart that had the heart to do it!
Cursed the blood that let this blood from hence!
More direful hap betide that hated wretch
That makes us wretched by the death of thee
Than I can wish to adders, spiders, toads,
Or any creeping venom'd thing that lives!
If ever he have child, abortive be it,
Prodigious, and untimely brought to light,
Whose ugly and unnatural aspect
May fright the hopeful mother at the view,
And that be heir to his unhappiness!
If ever he have wife, let her be made
More miserable by the death of him
Than I am made by my young lord and thee!
Come, now towards Chertsey with your holy load,
Taken from Paul's to be interred there;
And still as you are weary of this weight
Rest you, whiles I lament King Henry's corse.
[The bearers take up the coffin]
Put down your honourable burden
(if one can be found on a hearse)
while I set the example of mourning
for the untimely death of virtuous Lancaster.
Poor stone dead image of a holy King,
the pale ashes of the house of Lancaster,
you bloodless remains of that royal line:
May it be lawful for me to plead with your ghost
to hear the sorrowing of poor Anne,
the wife of your Edward, your slaughtered son,
stabbed by the same hand that wounded you.
Into these wounds that killed you
I pour my useless tears.
Curses on the hand that made these wounds;
cursed be the heart that could bring itself to do it;
May the blood of the bloodletter be cursed.
I wish for worse to happen to that horrible wretch,
who has made us wretched with your death,
than I wish to adders, spiders, toads,
or any creeping poisonous thing alive.
If he ever has a child, may it be an abortion:
monstrous, born too early,
with an ugly unnatural look
which terrifies the mother to see it,
and may it inherit his unhappiness.
If he ever marries, let his death
make her more miserable than
I am made by that of my young lord, and you.
Come, bring your holy burden to Chertsey,
taken from St Paul's to be buried there;
and whenever you get tired of the weight
you can rest, while I lament for King Henry's body.
Enter RICHARD
RICHARD.
Stay, you that bear the corse, and set it down.
Wait, you carrying that corpse, put it down.
ANNE.
What black magician conjures up this fiend
To stop devoted charitable deeds?
What black magician has summoned up this devil
to stop kind and devoted deeds?
RICHARD.
Villains, set down the corse; or, by Saint Paul,
I'll make a corse of him that disobeys!
Villains, put down the corpse; or, I swear by St Paul,
I'll make a corpse of the one who disobeys!
FIRST GENTLEMAN.
My lord, stand back, and let the coffin
pass.
My Lord, stand back and let the coffin pass.
RICHARD.
Unmannerd dog! Stand thou, when I command.
Advance thy halberd higher than my breast,
Or, by Saint Paul, I'll strike thee to my foot
And spurn upon thee, beggar, for thy boldness.
Rude dog! You stop when I order.
Stop pointing your spear at me,
or, by St Paul, I'll knock you to the ground
and grind you with my heel, beggar, for your impudence.
[The bearers set down the coffin]
ANNE.
What, do you tremble? Are you all afraid?
Alas, I blame you not, for you are mortal,
And mortal eyes cannot endure the devil.
Avaunt, thou dreadful minister of hell!
Thou hadst but power over his mortal body,
His soul thou canst not have; therefore, be gone.
What, are you trembling? Are you all afraid?
Alas, I do not blame you, for you are mortal,
and the eyes of mortals cannot bear the sight of the devil.
Away with you, you foul Minister of hell!
You only have power over his mortal body,
you cannot have his soul; so, go.
RICHARD.
Sweet saint, for charity, be not so curst.
Sweet saint, be kind, don't be so harsh.
ANNE.
Foul devil, for God's sake, hence and trouble us not;
For thou hast made the happy earth thy hell
Fill'd it with cursing cries and deep exclaims.
Behold this pattern of thy butcheries.
O, gentlemen, see, see! Dead Henry's wounds
Open their congeal'd mouths and bleed afresh.
Blush, blush, thou lump of foul deformity,
For 'tis thy presence that exhales this blood
From cold and empty veins where no blood dwells;
Thy deeds inhuman and unnatural
Provokes this deluge most unnatural.
O God, which this blood mad'st, revenge his death!
O earth, which this blood drink'st, revenge his death!
Either, heav'n, with lightning strike the murd'rer dead;
Or, earth, gape open wide and eat him quick,
As thou dost swallow up this good king's blood,
Which his hell-govern'd arm hath butchered.
Foul devil, for God's sake, go away and don't bother us;
you have turned the happy earth into hell,
filling it with screams and curses.
If you enjoy seeing your horrible deeds,
look at this example of your butchery.
Oh gentlemen, look, look! The wounds of dead Henry
have reopened and are bleeding again.
Blush, blush, you foul twisted lump,
it’s your presence that makes this blood run
from cold and empty veins where there is no blood;
your inhuman and unnatural deeds
have caused this unnatural flood.
O God, who made this blood, revenge his death!
O Earth, which drinks this blood, revenge his death!
Let either heaven strike the murderer dead with lightning,
or let the Earth open wide and consume him as quickly
as you have swallowed up the blood of this good king,
whom his devilish hand butchered.
RICHARD.
Lady, you know no rules of charity,
Which renders good for bad, blessings for curses.