The Complete Works of William Shakespeare In Plain and Simple English (Translated)
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into the waves of the sea.
Oh Lord! I thought I felt the pain of drowning:
what a dreadful noise of water there was in my ears;
what ugly sights of death I saw with my eyes!
I thought I saw a thousand terrible wrecks;
ten thousand men gnawed on by fish;
slabs of gold, great anchors, heaps of pearls,
stones and jewels beyond price,
all scattered on the bottom of the sea.
Some were inside the skulls of dead men, and had
crept into the holes where eyes once lived–
as if they were imitating eyes–reflecting gems,
that shone in the slimy bottom of the sea,
and mocked the dead bones that were scattered all around.
KEEPER.
Had you such leisure in the time of death
To gaze upon these secrets of the deep?
You had time as you were dying
to look at all these secrets of the deep?
CLARENCE.
Methought I had; and often did I strive
To yield the ghost, but still the envious flood
Stopp'd in my soul and would not let it forth
To find the empty, vast, and wand'ring air;
But smother'd it within my panting bulk,
Who almost burst to belch it in the sea.
I thought I had; and I often tried
to give up the ghost, but the jealous water
crushed my soul and would not let it escape
into the empty vastness of the air;
it choked it within my breathless body,
which almost had to burst to let it out into the sea.
KEEPER.
Awak'd you not in this sore agony?
Didn't this awful agony wake you up?
CLARENCE.
No, no, my dream was lengthen'd after life.
O, then began the tempest to my soul!
I pass'd, methought, the melancholy flood
With that sour ferryman which poets write of,
Unto the kingdom of perpetual night.
The first that there did greet my stranger soul
Was my great father-in-law, renowned Warwick,
Who spake aloud 'What scourge for perjury
Can this dark monarchy afford false Clarence?'
And so he vanish'd. Then came wand'ring by
A shadow like an angel, with bright hair
Dabbled in blood, and he shriek'd out aloud
'Clarence is come-false, fleeting, perjur'd Clarence,
That stabb'd me in the field by Tewksbury.
Seize on him, Furies, take him unto torment!'
With that, methoughts, a legion of foul fiends
Environ'd me, and howled in mine ears
Such hideous cries that, with the very noise,
I trembling wak'd, and for a season after
Could not believe but that I was in hell,
Such terrible impression made my dream.
No, no, my dream went into the afterlife.
Oh, what a storm began in my soul!
I thought that I crossed the sad stream
with that grim ferryman whom the poets write of,
into the kingdom of perpetual darkness.
The first person to greet my foreign soul
was my great father-in-law, famous Warwick,
who said aloud, ‘What penalty for perjury
can the dark ruler give to foolish Clarence?’
And so he vanished. Then a shadow like an angel
came wandering by, with bright hair
covered in blood; and he shrieked aloud,
‘Clarence has come: false, fleeing, perjured Clarence,
who stabbed me in the battle at Tewkesbury!
Seize him, Furies! Take him and torture him!’
At that, I thought, a legion of horrible Demons
surrounded me, and howled such hideous cries
in my ears that the noise itself
made me wake up trembling, and for a while afterwards
I couldn't believe that I wasn't in hell,
my dream had made such a terrible impression on me.
KEEPER.
No marvel, lord, though it affrighted you;
I am afraid, methinks, to hear you tell it.
It's no wonder it frightened you, lord;
it makes me frightened just to hear you talking about it.
CLARENCE.
Ah, Keeper, Keeper, I have done these things
That now give evidence against my soul
For Edward's sake, and see how he requites me!
O God! If my deep prayers cannot appease Thee,
But Thou wilt be aveng'd on my misdeeds,
Yet execute Thy wrath in me alone;
O, spare my guiltless wife and my poor children!
Keeper, I prithee sit by me awhile;
My soul is heavy, and I fain would sleep.
Oh, jailer, jailer, I have done things
for Edward's sake that I shall pay for in the
afterlife, and see how he repays me!
O God! If my best prayers cannot appease you,
and you insist on punishing my sins,
please only punish me;
spare my guiltless wife and my poor children!
Jailer, please sit with me awhile;
my soul is heavy, and I should like to sleep.
KEEPER.
I will, my lord. God give your Grace good rest.
I will, my lord. May God give your Grace a good rest.
[CLARENCE sleeps]
Enter BRAKENBURY the Lieutenant
BRAKENBURY.
Sorrow breaks seasons and reposing hours,
Makes the night morning and the noontide night.
Princes have but their titles for their glories,
An outward honour for an inward toil;
And for unfelt imaginations
They often feel a world of restless cares,
So that between their tides and low name
There's nothing differs but the outward fame.
Sorrow breaks up the seasons and the hours of rest,
makes the night morning and midday night.
Princes only have their titles as their glory,
external honours for inner turmoil;
instead of the pleasure we imagine they feel
they often have a world of restless care,
so that when they fall low there is
often nothing different except for their outward title.
Enter the two MURDERERS
FIRST MURDERER.
Ho! who's here?
Hello! Who's this?
BRAKENBURY.
What wouldst thou, fellow, and how cam'st
thou hither?
What do you want, fellow, and how did you
get in here?
FIRST MURDERER.
I would speak with Clarence, and I came
hither on my legs.
I want to speak to Clarence, and I came
here on my legs.
BRAKENBURY.
What, so brief?
Is that it?
SECOND MURDERER.
'Tis better, sir, than to be tedious. Let
him see our commission and talk no more.
It's better than being long-winded, sir.
Have a look at our commission and let's have no more talk.
[BRAKENBURY reads it]
BRAKENBURY.
I am, in this, commanded to deliver
The noble Duke of Clarence to your hands.
I will not reason what is meant hereby,
Because I will be guiltless from the meaning.
There lies the Duke asleep; and there the keys.
I'll to the King and signify to him
That thus I have resign'd to you my charge.
This orders me to hand over
the noble Duke of Clarence to you.
&
nbsp; I will not question what this means,
because I don't want to be involved with any of it.
There is the duke lying asleep; and here are the keys.
I'll go to the king and tell him
that I have handed my prisoner over to you.
FIRST MURDERER.
You may, sir; 'tis a point of wisdom. Fare
you well.
Do that, sir; that's very wise. Farewell.
Exeunt BRAKENBURY and KEEPER
SECOND MURDERER.
What, shall I stab him as he sleeps?
Well, shall I stab him while he's asleep?
FIRST MURDERER.
No; he'll say 'twas done cowardly, when
he wakes.
No, he'll say it was a cowardly deed, when
he wakes up.
SECOND MURDERER.
Why, he shall never wake until the great
judgment-day.
But he won't wake up until
the day of judgement.
FIRST MURDERER.
Why, then he'll say we stabb'd him
sleeping.
Well, then he'll say we stabbed him while he was asleep.
SECOND MURDERER.
The urging of that word judgment hath
bred a kind of remorse in me.
The mention of that word judgement has
made me feel kind of regretful.
FIRST MURDERER.
What, art thou afraid?
What, are you afraid?
SECOND MURDERER.
Not to kill him, having a warrant; but to
be damn'd for killing him, from the which no warrant can
defend me.
Not of killing him, we have a warrant; part of
the damnation I will get for killing him, which no warrant can
clear me of.
FIRST MURDERER.
I thought thou hadst been resolute.
I thought you were resolved.
SECOND MURDERER.
So I am, to let him live.
And I am, to let him live.
FIRST MURDERER.
I'll back to the Duke of Gloucester and
tell him so.
I'll go back to the Duke of Gloucester and tell him so.
SECOND MURDERER.
Nay, I prithee, stay a little. I hope this
passionate humour of mine will change; it was wont to
hold me but while one tells twenty.
No, please, wait a minute. I hope this
sudden passion of mine will fade; it usually
only lasts for twenty seconds.
FIRST MURDERER.
How dost thou feel thyself now?
How are you feeling now?
SECOND MURDERER.
Faith, some certain dregs of conscience
are yet within me.
I swear, there are still some dregs of conscience
within me.
FIRST MURDERER.
Remember our reward, when the deed's
done.
Think of the reward we shall get for the deed.
SECOND MURDERER.
Zounds, he dies; I had forgot the reward.
By God, he's dead; I'd forgotten about the reward.
FIRST MURDERER.
Where's thy conscience now?
Where is your conscience now?
SECOND MURDERER.
O, in the Duke of Gloucester's purse!
Oh, it's in the Duke of Gloucester's purse!
FIRST MURDERER.
When he opens his purse to give us our
reward, thy conscience flies out.
When he opens his purse to give us our
reward, your conscience will fly out.
SECOND MURDERER.
'Tis no matter; let it go; there's few or
none will entertain it.
It doesn't matter, let it go; it's not much
use to anybody.
FIRST MURDERER.
What if it come to thee again?
What if it comes back to haunt you?
SECOND MURDERER.
I'll not meddle with it-it makes a man
coward: a man cannot steal, but it accuseth him; a man
cannot swear, but it checks him; a man cannot lie with his
neighbour's wife, but it detects him. 'Tis a blushing shame-
fac'd spirit that mutinies in a man's bosom; it fills a man
full of obstacles: it made me once restore a purse of gold
that-by chance I found. It beggars any man that keeps it.
It is turn'd out of towns and cities for a dangerous thing;
and every man that means to live well endeavours to trust
to himself and live without it.
I won't bother with it–it makes a man
a coward: a man cannot steal without it accusing him; a man
cannot swear without it stopping him; a man cannot sleep with his
neighbour's wife without it finding him out. It is a blushing
shamefaced spirit that rebels in a man's heart; it makes everything difficult
for a man; it once made me give back a purse of gold that I had
found by accident. It will make any man who obeys it a beggar.
It is thrown out of towns and cities as a dangerous thing;
and every man who wants to live well tries to trust
himself and live without it.
FIRST MURDERER.
Zounds, 'tis even now at my elbow,
persuading me not to kill the Duke.
By God, it's here at my elbow even now,
trying to persuade me not to kill the Duke.
SECOND MURDERER.
Take the devil in thy mind and believe
him not; he would insinuate with thee but to make thee
sigh.
Stay faithful to the devil and don't pay it
any attention; it will only give you grief if you do.
FIRST MURDERER.
I am strong-fram'd; he cannot prevail with
me.
I'm strong-minded; it can't win me over.
SECOND MURDERER.
Spoke like a tall man that respects thy
reputation. Come, shall we fall to work?
Spoken like a brave man who cares about
his reputation. Come, shall we get to work?
FIRST MURDERER.
Take him on the costard with the hilts of
thy sword, and then chop him in the malmsey-butt in the
next room.
Run him through the head with your sword up to
the hilt, and then chuck him in the barrel of malmsey
next door.
SECOND MURDERER.
O excellent device! and make a sop of
him.
A splendid trick! Make him a piece of dipping bread.
FIRST MURDERER.
Soft! he wakes.
Quiet! He's waking up.
SECOND MURDERER.
Strike!
Strike!
FIRST MURDERER.
No, we'll reason with him.
No, we'll reason with him.
CLARENCE.
Where art thou, Keeper? Give me a cup of wine.
Where are you, jailer? Give me a cup of wine.
SECOND MURDERER.
You shall have wine enough, my lord,
anon.
You will have plenty of wine, my lord, soon.
CLARENCE.
In God's name, what art thou?
In God's name, who are you?
FIRST MURDERER.
A man, as you are.
A man, like you.
CLARENCE.
But not as I am, royal.
But not royal, as I am.
SECOND MURDERER.
Nor you as we are, loyal.
And you are not loyal, as we are.
CLARENCE.
Thy voice is thunder, but thy looks are humble.
Your voice is like t
hunder, but you look humble.
FIRST MURDERER.
My voice is now the King's, my looks
mine own.
I am speaking for the King, my looks are my own.
CLARENCE.
How darkly and how deadly dost thou speak!
Your eyes do menace me. Why look you pale?
Who sent you hither? Wherefore do you come?
How darkly and how terribly you speak!
Your eyes terrify me. Why are you looking pale?
Who sent you here? Why have you come?
SECOND MURDERER.
To, to, to-
To, to, to-
CLARENCE.
To murder me?
To murder me?
BOTH MURDERERS.
Ay, ay.
Yes, yes.
CLARENCE.
You scarcely have the hearts to tell me so,
And therefore cannot have the hearts to do it.
Wherein, my friends, have I offended you?
You hardly have the heart to tell me so,
and so you cannot have the heart to do it.
How have I offended you, my friends?
FIRST MURDERER.
Offended us you have not, but the King.
It's the king you have offended, not us.