The Complete Works of William Shakespeare In Plain and Simple English (Translated)

by William Shakespeare

  GLEND.

  The Moon shines fair; you may away by night:

  I'll in and haste the writer, and withal

  Break with your wives of your departure hence:

  I am afraid my daughter will run mad,

  So much she doteth on her Mortimer.

  The moon is shining fair; you can go by night:

  I'll go and tell the writer to hurry, and also

  break the news of your departure to your wives:

  I'm afraid my daughter will go mad,

  she adores her Mortimer so much.

  [Exit.]

  MORT.

  Fie, cousin Percy! how you cross my father!

  Dammit, cousin Percy! How you annoy my father!

  HOT.

  I cannot choose:sometimes he angers me

  With telling me of the moldwarp and the ant,

  Of the dreamer Merlin and his prophecies,

  And of a dragon and a finless fish,

  A clip-wing'd griffin and a moulten raven,

  A couching lion and a ramping cat,

  And such a deal of skimble-skamble stuff

  As puts me from my faith. I tell you what,

  He held me last night at the least nine hours

  In reckoning up the several devils' names

  That were his lacqueys:I cried hum, and well,

  But mark'd him not a word. O, he's as tedious

  As a tired horse, a railing wife;

  Worse than a smoky house: I had rather live

  With cheese and garlic in a windmill, far,

  Than feed on cates and have him talk to me

  In any summer-house in Christendom.

  I can't help it: sometimes he annoys me

  telling me about moles and ants,

  of the dreamer Merlin and his prophecies,

  and of a dragon and a fish without fins,

  a wingless Griffin and a moulting raven,

  a crouching lion and a leaping cat,

  and such a lot of old claptrap

  I find it hard to believe anything. I tell you what,

  last night he kept me for at least nine hours

  telling me the names of all the devils

  who were his servants: I cried hum, and well well,

  but he paid no attention. Oh, he's as boring

  as a tired horse, a complaining wife;

  worse than a smoky house: I would far rather live

  with cheese and garlic in a windmill

  than feed on delicacies and have him talking to me

  in any summer house in Christendom.

  MORT.

  In faith, he is a worthy gentleman;

  Exceedingly well-read, and profited

  In strange concealments; valiant as a lion,

  And wondrous affable, and as bountiful

  As mines of India. Shall I tell you, cousin?

  He holds your temper in a high respect,

  And curbs himself even of his natural scope

  When you do cross his humour; faith, he does:

  I warrant you, that man is not alive

  Might so have tempted him as you have done,

  Without the taste of danger and reproof:

  But do not use it oft, let me entreat you.

  I swear, he is a good gentleman;

  he's very well read, and expert

  in secret arts; brave as a lion,

  and amazingly friendly, and as bountiful

  as the mines in India. Shall I tell you something, cousin?

  He has a very great respect for you,

  and reins in his natural inclinations

  when you annoy him; I swear, he does:

  I promise you, there isn't a man alive

  who could have pushed him as far as you have done

  without any danger or punishment:

  but don't try too often, I beg you.

  WOR.

  In faith, my lord, you are too wilful-blame;

  And since your coming hither have done enough

  To put him quite beside his patience.

  You must needs learn, lord, to amend this fault:

  Though sometimes it show greatness, courage, blood--

  And that's the dearest grace it renders you,--

  Yet oftentimes it doth present harsh rage,

  Defect of manners, want of government,

  Pride, haughtiness, opinion, and disdain;

  The least of which haunting a nobleman

  Loseth men's hearts, and leaves behind a stain

  Upon the beauty of all parts besides,

  Beguiling them of commendation.

  I swear, my lord, you are too wilful;

  since he came here you've done enough

  to put him quite out of temper.

  You must learn, lord, not to do this:

  although sometimes it can show greatness, courage, good breeding–

  and it has given you that noble grace/

  but often it looks like harsh anger,

  a lack of manners, of self-control,

  pride, haughtiness, arrogance and disdain;

  and if a nobleman has any of these qualities

  he will lose the hearts of men, and pollutes

  all his good parts as well,

  taking away people's good opinion of them.

  HOT.

  Well, I am school'd:good manners be your speed!

  Here come our wives, and let us take our leave.

  Well, I have been told: let's hope good manners win battles!

  Here come our wives, let's say goodbye to them.

  [Re-enter Glendower, with Lady Mortimer and Lady Percy.]

  MORT.

  This is the deadly spite that angers me,

  My wife can speak no English, I no Welsh.

  This is the terrible curse that angers me,

  my wife cannot speak English, and I can't speak Welsh.

  GLEND.

  My daughter weeps:she will not part with you;

  She'll be a soldier too, she'll to the wars.

  My daughter weeps: she doesn't want to leave you;

  she wants to be a soldier too, she wants to go to the war.

  MORT.

  Good father, tell her that she and my aunt Percy

  Shall follow in your conduct speedily.

  Good father, tell her that she and my aunt Percy

  will soon follow under your escort.

  [Glendower speaks to Lady Mortimer in Welsh, and she answers

  him in the same.]

  GLEND.

  She's desperate here; a peevish self-will'd harlotry,

  One that no persuasion can do good upon.

  She is desperate here; she's being wilful and sullen,

  there's nothing I can do to change her mind.

  [Lady Mortimer speaks to Mortimer in Welsh.]

  MORT.

  I understand thy looks:that pretty Welsh

  Which thou pour'st down from these swelling heavens

  I am too perfect in; and, but for shame,

  In such a parley should I answer thee.

  [Lady Mortimer speaks to him again in Welsh.]

  I understand thy kisses, and thou mine,

  And that's a feeling disputation:

  But I will never be a truant, love,

  Till I have learn'd thy language; for thy tongue

  Makes Welsh as sweet as ditties highly penn'd,

  Sung by a fair queen in a Summer's bower,

  With ravishing division, to her lute.

  I understand your looks: the pretty Welsh

  which is pouring down from those swelling heavens

  is easy for me to read; and, if it wasn't for fear of being ashamed,

  I would answer you in the same language.

  I understand your kisses, and you understand mine,

  and we can exchange our feelings:

  but I will never leave off learning, love,

  until I have learned your language; for your tongue

  makes Welsh as sweet
as the greatest poetry,

  sung by a fair Queen in a summer glade,

  playing brilliantly on her lute.

  GLEND.

  Nay, if you melt, then will she run mad.

  No, if you start crying then she will go mad.

  [Lady Mortimer speaks to Mortimer again in Welsh.]

  MORT.

  O, I am ignorance itself in this!

  Oh, I don't understand a word of this!

  GLEND.

  She bids you on the wanton rushes lay you down,

  And rest your gentle head upon her lap,

  And she will sing the song that pleaseth you,

  And on your eyelids crown the god of sleep,

  Charming your blood with pleasing heaviness;

  Making such difference betwixt wake and sleep,

  As is the difference betwixt day and night,

  The hour before the heavenly-harness'd team

  Begins his golden progress in the East.

  She asks you to lie down on the luxuriant rushes,

  and rest your gentle head upon her lap,

  and she will sing the song you like,

  and send you off to sleep,

  charming your blood with a sweet drowsiness,

  making the same difference between waking and sleeping

  as the difference between day and night,

  the hour before the sun rises in the east.

  MORT.

  With all my heart I'll sit and hear her sing:

  By that time will our book, I think, be drawn.

  With all my heart I shall sit and hear her sing:

  by that time I think our contract will be drawn up.

  GLEND.

  Do so:

  An those musicians that shall play to you

  Hang in the air a thousand leagues from hence,

  And straight they shall be here:sit, and attend.

  Do so:

  and those musicians that will play to you

  are in the air thousands of miles away,

  and they will be here at once: sit, and listen.

  HOT.

  Come, Kate, thou art perfect in lying down:come, quick,

  quick, that I may lay my head in thy lap.

  Come, Kate, you're very good at lying down: come, quickly,

  quickly, so I can put my head in your lap.

  LADY P.

  Go, ye giddy goose.

  Give over, you giddy goose.

  [The music plays.]

  HOT.

  Now I perceive the Devil understands Welsh;

  And 'tis no marvel he's so humorous.

  By'r Lady, he's a good musician.

  Now I see the devil can speak Welsh;

  it's no surprise he's so changeable.

  I swear, he's a good musician.

  LADY P.

  Then should you be nothing but musical; for you are

  altogether governed by humours. Lie still, ye thief, and hear

  the lady sing in Welsh.

  So you should be nothing but musical; for you are

  as changeable as anybody. Keep still, you scoundrel, and listen

  to the lady singing in Welsh.

  HOT.

  I had rather hear Lady, my brach, howl in Irish.

  I would rather hear my bitch howl in Irish.

  LADY P.

  Wouldst thou have thy head broken?

  Do you want a broken head?

  HOT.

  No.

  No.

  LADY P.

  Then be still.

  Then keep still.

  HOT.

  Neither; 'tis a woman's fault.

  I shan't; that's for women.

  LADY P.

  Now God help thee!

  Now God help you!

  HOT.

  Peace! she sings.

  Hush! She's singing.

  [A Welsh song by Lady Mortimer.]

  Come, Kate, I'll have your song too.

  Come, Kate, give us a song too.

  LADY P.

  Not mine, in good sooth.

  I shan't, I swear.

  HOT.

  Not yours, in good sooth! 'Heart! you swear like a

  comfit-maker's wife. Not mine, in good sooth; and, As true

  as I live; and, As God shall mend me; and, As sure as day;

  And givest such sarcenet surety for thy oaths,

  As if thou ne'er walk'dst further than Finsbury.

  Swear me, Kate, like a lady as thou art,

  A good mouth-filling oath; and leave in sooth,

  And such protest of pepper-gingerbread,

  To velvet-guards and Sunday-citizens. Come, sing.

  You shan't, you swear! By God! You swear like a

  confectioner's wife. You shan't, you swear; and “as true

  as I live" and “as God shall mend me" and “as sure as day";

  your oaths are so insignificant one would think

  you had never gone further than Finsbury.

  Swear to me Kate, like the lady you are,

  a good meaty oath; and leave saying “in truth"

  and other such footling swearing

  to the Sunday tourists. Come along, sing.

  LADY P.

  I will not sing.

  I shall not sing.

  HOT.

  'Tis the next way to turn tailor, or be redbreast-teacher.

  An the indentures be drawn, I'll away within these two hours;

  and so, come in when ye will.

  Alright, it only turns one into a tailor, or a songbird teacher.

  Once the contracts are drawn up, I'll be off within two hours;

  and so, come inside when you want.

  [Exit.]

  GLEND.

  Come, come, Lord Mortimer; you are as slow

  As hot Lord Percy is on fire to go.

  By this our book's drawn; we'll but seal, and then

  To horse immediately.

  Come, come, Lord Mortimer; you are as reluctant

  to go as hot Lord Percy is keen.

  Our contract has been finished; we just have to seal it, and then

  we'll go straight off.

  MORT.

  With all my heart.

  I totally agree.

  [Exeunt.]

  [Enter King Henry, Prince Henry, and Lords.]

  KING.

  Lords, give us leave; the Prince of Wales and I

  Must have some private conference: but be near at hand,

  For we shall presently have need of you.

  [Exeunt Lords.]

  I know not whether God will have it so,

  For some displeasing service I have done,

  That, in His secret doom, out of my blood

  He'll breed revengement and a scourge for me;

  But thou dost, in thy passages of life,

  Make me believe that thou art only mark'd

  For the hot vengeance and the rod of Heaven

  To punish my mistreadings. Tell me else,

  Could such inordinate and low desires,

  Such poor, such base, such lewd, such mean attempts,

  Such barren pleasures, rude society,

  As thou art match'd withal and grafted to,

  Accompany the greatness of thy blood,

  And hold their level with thy princely heart?

  Lords, excuse us; the Prince of Wales and I

  must have a private talk: but stay close by,

  for I shallneed you soon.

  I don't know whether God has arranged it like this,

  thanks to something I have done wrong,

  and that he has passed sentence that my own flesh and blood

  should be the instrument of revenge and a whip for me;

  but the way you live your life

  makes me believe that you have been chosen

  as the instrument of revenge and the rod of heaven,

  to punish my errors. Tell me otherwise

  how such unworthy and low desires,

  s
uch wretched base exploits,

  such empty pleasures andvulgar society

  such as you associate with can

  be matched with the greatness of your blood,

  and find a place within your princely heart.

  PRINCE.

  So please your Majesty, I would I could

  Quit all offences with as clear excuse

  As well as I am doubtless I can purge

  Myself of many I am charged withal:

  Yet such extenuation let me beg,

  As, in reproof of many tales devised

  By smiling pick-thanks and base news-mongers,--

  Which oft the ear of greatness needs must hear,--

  I may, for some things true, wherein my youth

  Hath faulty wander'd and irregular,

  Find pardon on my true submission.

  If you please, your Majesty, I wish I could

  acquit myself of all offences with as good an excuse

  as I am sure that I can supply for

  many of the ones I'm charged with:

  but let me ask for this forgiveness,

  perhaps when I prove that many of the tales

  were invented by malicious and low gossips–

  they are always present around royalty–

  I might be forgiven for some of the things

  I have done wrong due to my wayward youth

  by making a clean breast of everything.

  KING.

  God pardon thee! Yet let me wonder, Harry,

  At thy affections, which do hold a wing

  Quite from the flight of all thy ancestors.

  Thy place in Council thou hast rudely lost,

  Which by thy younger brother is supplied;

  And art almost an alien to the hearts