The Complete Works of William Shakespeare In Plain and Simple English (Translated)
Page 81
LADY PERCY.
MISTRESS QUICKLY, hostess of a tavern in Eastcheap.
DOLL TEARSHEET.
Lords and Attendants; Porter, Drawers, Beadles, Grooms, etc.
A Dancer, speaker of the epilogue.
SCENE: England.
Warkworth. Before the castle.
[Enter Rumour, painted full of tongues.]
RUMOUR.
Open your ears; for which of you will stop
The vent of hearing when loud Rumour speaks?
I, from the orient to the drooping west,
Making the wind my post-horse, still unfold
The acts commenced on this ball of earth:
Upon my tongues continual slanders ride,
The which in every language I pronounce,
Stuffing the ears of men with false reports.
I speak of peace, while covert emnity
Under the smile of safety wounds the world:
And who but Rumour, who but only I,
Make fearful musters and prepared defence,
Whiles the big year, swoln with some other grief,
Is thought with child by the stern tyrant war,
And no such matter? Rumour is a pipe
Blown by surmises, jealousies, conjectures,
And of so easy and so plain a stop
That the blunt monster with uncounted heads,
The still-discordant wavering multitude,
Can play upon it. But what need I thus
My well-known body to anatomize
Among my household? Why is Rumour here?
I run before King Harry's victory;
Who in a bloody field by Shrewsbury
Hath beaten down young Hotspur and his troops,
Quenching the flame of bold rebellion
Even with the rebels' blood. But what mean I
To speak so true at first? my office is
To noise abroad that Harry Monmouth fell
Under the wrath of noble Hotspur's sword,
And that the king before the Douglas' rage
Stoop'd his anointed head as low as death.
This have I rumour'd through the peasant towns
Between that royal field of Shrewsbury
And this worm-eaten hold of ragged stone,
Where Hotspur's father, old Northumberland,
Lies crafty-sick: the posts come tiring on,
And not a man of them brings other news
Than they have learn'd of me: from Rumour's tongues
They bring smooth comforts false, worse than true wrongs.
Listen to me; for who will stop
listening when loud Rumour speaks?
I shall tell you about all the events
that have happened on this earth,
covering everything from East to West,
riding on the wind.
Continual falsehoods will come from my tongue,
spoken in every language,
filling the years of men with false reports.
I shall talk of peace while secret hatred
causes harm under the disguise of safety;
and who else but Rumour, only me,
can make armies gather, defences be prepared,
make everyone think war is bound
to come this year, when it
certainly isn't? The music of Rumour
is made up of guesses, suspicions, imagination,
it's so easy to play that the great
masses of the public
can play it. But why do I need to
explain this to you, who know me well?
Why is Rumour here?
I'm running ahead of King Harry's victory,
who in a bloody battle at Shrewsbury
has defeated young Hotspur and his troops,
putting out the flame of bold rebellion
with the blood of the rebels. But what am I doing
speaking the truth? My job is
to spread the gossip that Harry Monmouth fell
at the hands of noble Hotspur,
and that the King bowed his holy head
as low as death in the face of the anger of Douglas.
I have spread this rumour through the peasant towns
that lie between the royal battlefield of Shrewsbury
and this worm-eaten castle of crumbling stone,
where Hotspur's father, old Northumberland,
lies faking sickness. The messengers ride themselves to exhaustion,
and there's not one of them carrying any other news
except what I have spread. From the tongue of Rumour
they are bringing false comfort, which is worse than real bad news.
[Exit.]
[Enter Lord Bardolph.]
LORD BARDOLPH.
Who keeps the gate here, ho?
[The Porter opens the gate.]
Where is the earl?
Where's the gatekeeper?
Where is the Earl?
PORTER.
What shall I say you are?
Who shall I say you are?
LORD BARDOLPH.
Tell thou the earl
That the Lord Bardolph doth attend him here.
Go and tell the earl
that Lord Bardolph is waiting for him here.
PORTER.
His lordship is walk'd forth into the orchard:
Please it your honour, knock but at the gate,
And he himself will answer.
His Lordship is strolling in the orchard:
if your honour would just like to knock at the gate,
he will answer it himself.
[Enter Northumberland.]
LORD BARDOLPH.
Here comes the earl.
Here comes the Earl.
[Exit Porter.]
NORTHUMBERLAND.
What news, Lord Bardolph? every minute now
Should be the father of some stratagem:
The times are wild; contention, like a horse
Full of high feeding, madly hath broke loose
And bears down all before him.
What's the news, Lord Bardolph? There should be
action being taken every minute:
these are wild times; conflict, like a horse
full of rich food, has madly broken loose,
and is destroying everything
LORD BARDOLPH.
Noble earl,
I bring you certain news from Shrewsbury.
Noble Earl,
I've brought you definite news from Shrewsbury.
NORTHUMBERLAND.
Good, an God will!
Please God say it's good news!
LORD BARDOLPH.
As good as heart can wish:
The king is almost wounded to the death;
And, in the fortune of my lord your son,
Prince Harry slain outright; and both the Blunts
Kill'd by the hand of Douglas; young Prince John,
And Westmoreland and Stafford fled the field:
And Harry Monmouth's brawn, the hulk Sir John,
Is prisoner to your son: O, such a day,
So fought, so follow'd and so fairly won,
Came not till now to dignify the times,
Since Caesar's fortunes!
As good as the heart could wish for:
the King has been wounded, almost killed;
and as for the fate of my lord your son,
he has killed Prince Harry, and both the Blunts
have been killed by Douglas; young Prince John
fled from the battlefield with Westmorland and Stafford:
and Harry Monmouth's strongman, the great lump Sir John,
is held prisoner by your son: there hasn't been a day
of fighting, of such great victory,
that has so enhanced the glory of the times
since Caesar's triumphs!
NORTHUMBERLAND.
How is this derived?
Saw you the field? came you from Shrewsbu
ry?
How did this happen?
Did you see the battle? Have you come from Shrewsbury?
LORD BARDOLPH.
I spake with one, my lord, that came from thence,
A gentleman well bred and of good name,
That freely render'd me these news for true.
My Lord, I spoke to someone who came from there,
a well bred gentleman of good family
who gladly told me that this news was true.
NORTHUMBERLAND.
Here comes my servant Travers, whom I sent
On Tuesday last to listen after news.
Here comes my servant Travers, whom I sent
last Tuesday to discover the news.
[Enter Travers.]
LORD BARDOLPH.
My lord, I over-rode him on the way;
And he is furnish'd with no certainties
More than he haply may retail from me.
My Lord, I overtook him on the way;
he has no other news than what
I have already given you.
NORTHUMBERLAND.
Now, Travers, what good tidings comes with you?
Now, Travers, what good news do you bring?
TRAVERS.
My lord, Sir John Umfrevile turn'd me back
With joyful tidings; and, being better horsed,
Out-rode me. After him came spurring hard
A gentleman, almost forspent with speed,
That stopp'd by me to breathe his bloodied horse.
He ask'd the way to Chester; and of him
I did demand what news from Shrewsbury:
He told me that rebellion had bad luck
And that young Harry Percy's spur was cold.
With that, he gave his able horse the head,
And bending forward struck his armed heels
Against the panting sides of his poor jade
Up to the rowel-head, and starting so
He seem'd in running to devour the way,
Staying no longer question.
My Lord, Sir John Umfrevile send me back
with happy news; and, having a better horse,
he out rode me. After him a gentleman came
riding hard, almost exhausted with his speed,
who stopped next to me to rest his winded horse.
He asked the way to Chester; and I asked him
what news there was from Shrewsbury:
he told me that the rebellion had suffered misfortunes
and that young Harry Percy's efforts had failed.
Saying that, he gave his vigourous horse its head,
and leaning forward jabbed his spurs
into the panting sides of his poor nag
up to the stops, and galloped off so fast
he seemed to be eating up the road,
he didn't stop for me to ask any more questions.
NORTHUMBERLAND.
Ha! Again:
Said he young Harry Percy's spur was cold?
Of Hotspur Coldspur? that rebellion
Had met ill luck?
Ha! Tell me again:
he said young Harry Percy's efforts had failed?
That Hotspur was Coldspur? That the rebellion
had suffered misfortunes?
LORD BARDOLPH.
My lord, I'll tell you what;
If my young lord your son have not the day,
Upon mine honour, for a silken point
I'll give my barony: never talk of it.
My lord, I'll tell you what;
if my young lord, your son, has not won,
I'll swap my baronetcy for a silk shoelace,
I swear it: don't believe it.
NORTHUMBERLAND.
Why should that gentleman that rode by Travers
Give then such instances of loss?
Then why should the gentleman who rode past Travers
say the battle was lost?
LORD BARDOLPH.
Who, he?
He was some hilding fellow that had stolen
The horse he rode on, and, upon my life,
Spoke at a venture. Look, here comes more news.
Who was he?
Some worthless fellow who had stolen
the horse he was riding, and, I swear,
was just guessing. Look, here comes more news.
[Enter Morton.]
NORTHUMBERLAND.
Yea, this man's brow, like to a title-leaf,
Foretells the nature of a tragic volume:
So looks the strand whereon the imperious flood
Hath left a witness'd usurpation.
Say, Morton, didst thou come from Shrewsbury?
I can read this man's face like a title page,
telling of the tragic story to follow:
his brow is furrowed like a beach
which has been battered by the waves of the storm.
Tell me, Morton, did you come from Shrewsbury?
MORTON.
I ran from Shrewsbury, my noble lord;
Where hateful death put on his ugliest mask
To fright our party.
I ran from Shrewsbury, my noble Lord;
where horrible death had shown his worst
face, to terrify our side.
NORTHUMBERLAND.
How doth my son and brother?
Thou tremblest; and the whiteness in thy cheek
Is apter than thy tongue to tell thy errand.
Even such a man, so faint, so spiritless,
So dull, so dread in look, so woe-begone,
Drew Priam's curtain in the dead of night,
And would have told him half his Troy was burnt;
But Priam found the fire ere he his tongue,
And I my Percy's death ere thou report'st it.
This thou wouldst say: "Your son did thus and thus;
Your brother thus: so fought the noble Douglas:"
Stopping my greedy ear with their bold deeds:
But in the end, to stop my ear indeed,
Thou hast a sigh to blow away this praise,
Ending with "Brother, son, and all are dead."
How are my son and brother?
You're shaking; the paleness of your cheeks
tell me what's happened better than speech could.
You are like the man, so faint, so lacking in spirit,
so dull, with such a terrible look, so sad,
who drew back Priam's curtain in the dead of night,
and was going to tell him that half of Troy had burnt down;
but Priam guessed about the fire before he was told,
and I can guess the death of my Percy before you report it.
You're going to say this: “your son did this and that;
your brother did this: this is how the noble Douglas fought:"
filling my greedy ears up with their great deeds:
but in the end my ears will certainly be blocked,
with words which will make me forget all this praise,
you shall end with, “Brother, son and everyone else are dead."
MORTON.
Douglas is living, and your brother, yet:
But, for my lord your son,--
Douglas is alive, and so is your brother:
but as for my lord your son–
NORTHUMBERLAND.
Why, he is dead.
See what a ready tongue suspicion hath!
He that but fears the thing he would not know
Hath by instinct knowledge from others' eyes
That what he fear'd is chanced. Yet speak, Morton;
Tell thou an earl his divination lies,
And I will take it as a sweet disgrace
And make thee rich for doing me such wrong.
Why, he is dead.
See how quickly suspicion speaks to us!
Someone who is frightened by something he doesn't want to know
can instinctively pick up the news from the eyes of others
&n
bsp; that tell him what he feared has happened. But speak, Morton;
tell this earl that his guess is wrong,
and I will be delighted to be proved so
and I shall make you rich for contradicting me.
MORTON.
You are too great to be by me gainsaid:
Your spirit is too true, your fears too certain.
You are too great for me to contradict you:
with your fine intuition you have guessed right.
NORTHUMBERLAND.
Yet, for all this, say not that Percy's dead.
I see a strange confession in thine eye;
Thou shakest thy head and hold'st it fear or sin
To speak a truth. If he be slain, say so;
The tongue offends not that reports his death:
And he doth sin that doth belie the dead,
Not he which says the dead is not alive.
Yet the first bringer of unwelcome news
Hath but a losing office, and his tongue
Sounds ever after as a sullen bell,
Remember'd tolling a departing friend.
Yet in spite of this, don't say that Percys is dead.
I can see some strange feeling in your eyes; you are
shaking your head and think it would be wrong
to tell me the truth. If he has been killed, say so;
there is no wrong in telling of his death:
it's a sin to try and cover up death,
not to say that the dead are no longer alive.
But it's a thankless task to be the first
bringer of unwelcome news, his voice
will always be remembered afterwards like the sound
of the funeral bell tolling for a lost friend.
LORD BARDOLPH.
I cannot think, my lord, your son is dead.
My lord, I cannot believe that your son is dead.
MORTON.
I am sorry I should force you to believe
That which I would to God I had not seen;
But these mine eyes saw him in bloody state,