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

by William Shakespeare

  So, if a son, dutiful to his father, is sent to commit sins upon the sea, the punishment should be on his father’s head, or if a servant, under his master’s command, gets robbed and killed, then it is the master’s fault that sent him. It is not the fault of the father, the master or the king, because the others offer their deaths when they offer their services. Anyway, has there ever been a king whose men were blameless? Some may have been guilty of murder while others of stealing. If these men escaped prosecution at home, they cannot escape God’s. War is a holy instrument of justice. So, some men pay for their crimes with their lives in the king’s war. The king is no guiltier of their damnation as he was their earlier crimes. Every man is responsible for his own soul. Therefore, every man should make amends for their sins so in death they will have a clear conscience. And, if he doesn’t die, he can live to tell his story to the glory of God.

  Williams

  'Tis certain, every man that dies ill, the ill upon his own head, the King is not to answer for it.

  It’s certain that any man who dies from illness, the illness is the fault of the king.

  Bates

  I do not desire he should answer for me; and yet I determine to fight lustily for him.

  I don’t want him to answer for me, and I willingly will fight for him.

  King

  I myself heard the King say he would not be ransom'd.

  I heard the king say he would not be ransomed.

  Williams

  Ay, he said so, to make us fight cheerfully; but when our throats are cut, he may be ransom'd, and we ne'er the wiser.

  He said that to make us fight harder, but when our throats are cut, he may be ransomed and we won’t know the difference.

  King

  If I live to see it, I will never trust his word after.

  If I live to see it, I won’t believe him ever again.

  Williams

  You pay him then. That's a perilous shot out of an elder-gun, that a poor and a private displeasure can do against a monarch! You may as well go about to turn the sun to ice with fanning in his face with a peacock's feather. You'll never trust his word after! Come, 'tis a foolish saying.

  You go tell him, then. What a pathetic threat! You may as well try to turn the sun to ice. “You’ll never trust his word again.” What a stupid thing to say.

  King

  Your reproof is something too round. I should be angry with you, if the time were convenient.

  You are out of line. I would be angry if I had the time.

  Williams

  Let it be a quarrel between us if you live.

  Well, if we live, let it be a quarrel between us.

  King

  I embrace it.

  I will.

  Williams

  How shall I know thee again?

  How will I know you again?

  King

  Give me any gage of thine, and I will wear it in my bonnet; then, if ever thou dar'st acknowledge it, I will make it my quarrel.

  Give me something to remember you by and I will wear it in my bonnet. Then, if you acknowledge it, I will quarrel with you.

  Williams

  Here's my glove; give me another of thine.

  Here’s my glove. Give me one of yours.

  King

  There.

  There.

  Williams

  This will I also wear in my cap. If ever thou come to me and say, after to-morrow, "This is my glove," by this hand I will take thee a box on the ear.

  I will wear it in my cap, and if you ever come to me and say, “This is my glove,” I will box you on the ear with this hand.

  King

  If ever I live to see it, I will challenge it.

  If I live to see it, I will challenge you.

  Williams

  Thou dar'st as well be hang'd.

  You might as well be hanged.

  King

  Well, I will do it, though I take thee in the King's company.

  I will do it, even in front of the king.

  Williams

  Keep thy word; fare thee well.

  Keep your word. Goodbye.

  Bates

  Be friends, you English fools, be friends. We have French quarrels enow, if you could tell how to reckon.

  Be friends, you English fools. We have enough French quarrels for you to worry about.

  King

  Indeed, the French may lay twenty French crowns to one they will beat us, for they bear them on their shoulders; but it is no English treason to cut French crowns, and to-morrow the King himself will be a clipper. Upon the King! Let us our lives, our souls, Our debts, our careful wives, Our children, and our sins lay on the King! We must bear all. O hard condition, Twin-born with greatness, subject to the breath Of every fool, whose sense no more can feel But his own wringing! What infinite heart's-ease Must kings neglect, that private men enjoy! And what have kings, that privates have not too, Save ceremony, save general ceremony? And what art thou, thou idol Ceremony? What kind of god art thou, that suffer'st more Of mortal griefs than do thy worshippers? What are thy rents? What are thy comings in? O Ceremony, show me but thy worth! What is thy soul of adoration? Art thou aught else but place, degree, and form, Creating awe and fear in other men? Wherein thou art less happy being fear'd Than they in fearing. What drink'st thou oft, instead of homage sweet, But poison'd flattery? O, be sick, great greatness, And bid thy Ceremony give thee cure! Think'st thou the fiery fever will go out With titles blown from adulation? Will it give place to flexure and low bending? Canst thou, when thou command'st the beggar's knee, Command the health of it? No, thou proud dream, That play'st so subtly with a king's repose; I am a king that find thee, and I know 'Tis not the balm, the sceptre, and the ball, The sword, the mace, the crown imperial, The intertissued robe of gold and pearl, The farced title running 'fore the King, The throne he sits on, nor the tide of pomp That beats upon the high shore of this world, No, not all these, thrice-gorgeous Ceremony,-- Not all these, laid in bed majestical, Can sleep so soundly as the wretched slave, Who with a body fill'd and vacant mind Gets him to rest, cramm'd with distressful bread, Never sees horrid night, the child of hell, But, like a lackey, from the rise to set Sweats in the eye of Phoebus, and all night Sleeps in Elysium; next day after dawn, Doth rise and help Hyperion to his horse, And follows so the ever-running year, With profitable labour, to his grave: And, but for ceremony, such a wretch, Winding up days with toil and nights with sleep, Had the fore-hand and vantage of a king. The slave, a member of the country's peace, Enjoys it, but in gross brain little wots What watch the King keeps to maintain the peace, Whose hours the peasant best advantages.

  Indeed, the French may bet twenty one they will beat us, but we will cut them down alongside the king tomorrow.

  Exit soldiers.

  I swear, let us lay our lives, our souls, our debts, our wives, our children, and our sins on the king! I must bear it all. What a hard life to live, born with greatness and subject to every fool. What a king must bear, that a private man enjoys! What’s the difference between a king and a common man. Just general ceremony? What kind of god suffers more than mortals? What is the payment? What’s it all worth? What makes a soul more worthy of adoration? Place and position in life to create fear in other men, while you are more unhappy being feared than the ones who are actually fearful? What good is useless flattery instead of sincere love? I am sick of all the ceremony. Give me a cure! Do you think a title gives so much credit men are eager to bend their knee? It’s all a vain dream. I understand you, ceremony. I am a king, and I know nothing will help the king sleep like the common man, with an empty mind and full belly rests peacefully. He never wakes in the night, tormented like a child of hell. After years of labor he goes to his grave and rests in peace. He is better off than a king. He enjoys peace in his country without worrying about how to maintain it.

  Enter Erpingham

  Erpingham

  My lord, your nobles, jealous of your absence, Seek t
hrough your camp to find you.

  My lord, your nobles are looking for you throughout the camp.

  King

  Good old knight, Collect them all together at my tent. I'll be before thee.

  Good old knight, get them all together at my tent. I’ll be right there.

  Erpingham

  I shall do't, my lord.

  I’ll do it, my lord.

  Exit.

  King

  O God of battles! steel my soldiers' hearts. Possess them not with fear. Take from them now The sense of reckoning, if the opposed numbers Pluck their hearts from them. Not to-day, O Lord, O, not to-day, think not upon the fault My father made in compassing the crown! I Richard's body have interred new, And on it have bestow'd more contrite tears Than from it issued forced drops of blood. Five hundred poor I have in yearly pay, Who twice a day their wither'd hands hold up Toward heaven, to pardon blood; and I have built Two chantries, where the sad and solemn priests Sing still for Richard's soul. More will I do; Though all that I can do is nothing worth, Since that my penitence comes after all, Imploring pardon.

  Oh God of battles! Make my soldiers’ hearts steel. Take away their fear and their sense of revenge, if the enemy is too great. Oh Lord, don’t think about the way my father took the crown today. Oh not today! I have cried more tears over Richard’s body than he drew from this world. I employ five hundred people to pray for my absolution twice a day, and I’ve built two churches to house priests who sing continually for Richard’s soul. I will do more, but nothing is worth your pardon.

  Enter Gloucester

  Gloucester

  My liege!

  My liege!

  King

  My brother Gloucester's voice? Ay; I know thy errand, I will go with thee. The day, my friends, and all things stay for me.

  Is that you, Gloucester? Yes, I know why you’re here. I will go with you. Today, my friends and everything wait upon me.

  Exit.

  Enter the Dauphin, Orleans, Rambures, and others.

  Orleans

  The sun doth gild our armour; up, my lords!

  The sun is shining upon our armor. Get up, my lords!

  Dauphin

  Montez a cheval! My horse, varlet! lackey! ha!

  Get on your horse. Get my horse! Ha!

  Orleans

  O brave spirit!

  Oh, brave spirit!

  Dauphin

  Via! les eaux et la terre.

  I will ride him through floods and fields.

  Orleans

  Rien puis? L'air et le feu.

  What about through air and fire?

  Dauphin

  Ciel, cousin Orleans.

  Just the heavens, cousin Orleans.

  Enter Constable.

  Now, my Lord Constable!

  Hello, my lord, Constable!

  Constable

  Hark, how our steeds for present service neigh!

  Hey, are our horses ready to serve us?

  Dauphin

  Mount them, and make incision in their hides, That their hot blood may spin in English eyes, And dout them with superfluous courage, ha!

  When you mount them, cut them in their hides so the blood may spin out into the eyes of the English. Give them any extra courage you have, ha!

  Rambures

  What, will you have them weep our horses' blood? How shall we, then, behold their natural tears?

  Do you want them to weep blood from our horses? How will we see their natural tears?

  Enter Messenger.

  Messenger

  The English are embattl'd, you French peers.

  The English are ready, my French lords.

  Constable

  To horse, you gallant princes! straight to horse! Do but behold yon poor and starved band, And your fair show shall suck away their souls, Leaving them but the shales and husks of men. There is not work enough for all our hands; Scarce blood enough in all their sickly veins To give each naked curtle-axe a stain, That our French gallants shall to-day draw out, And sheathe for lack of sport. Let us but blow on them, The vapour of our valour will o'erturn them. 'Tis positive 'gainst all exceptions, lords, That our superfluous lackeys and our peasants, Who in unnecessary action swarm About our squares of battle, were enow To purge this field of such a hilding foe, Though we upon this mountain's basis by Took stand for idle speculation, But that our honours must not. What's to say? A very little little let us do, And all is done. Then let the trumpets sound The tucket sonance and the note to mount; For our approach shall so much dare the field That England shall crouch down in fear and yield.

  To your horses, you gallant princes! Straight to your horses! Look upon the poor and starved band of men. Your appearance will suck away their souls, leaving them just empty shells of men. There isn’t enough work for all of us or enough blood in all their veins to stain one of our axes. Let’s just blow on them and watch our breath knock them down. It’s true our peasants and servants are enough to purge the battlefield of our enemy. We stand here for them to see, but that doesn’t honor us. So, let’s do the little that must be done. Then let the trumpets play to announce our approach and watch England crouch down in fear and give up.

  Enter Grandpre.

  Grandpre

  Why do you stay so long, my lords of France? Yond island carrions, desperate of their bones, Ill-favouredly become the morning field. Their ragged curtains poorly are let loose, And our air shakes them passing scornfully. Big Mars seems bankrupt in their beggar'd host, And faintly through a rusty beaver peeps; The horsemen sit like fixed candlesticks With torch-staves in their hand; and their poor jades Lob down their heads, drooping the hides and hips, The gum down-roping from their pale-dead eyes, And in their pale dull mouths the gimmal bit Lies foul with chew'd grass, still, and motionless; And their executors, the knavish crows, Fly o'er them, all impatient for their hour. Description cannot suit itself in words To demonstrate the life of such a battle, In life so lifeless as it shows itself.

  Why are you still here, my lords? The poor English are already on the field. Their ragged flags are flying as French air blows them about scornfully. Mars, the god of war, will not spend much on this battle. The horsemen look through their rusty helmets like frozen sticks. With torches in their hands, they sit on horses whose heads hang low showing the bones of their hips as they tug at the grass. The crows are flying high impatiently waiting their deaths. There aren’t any words in life to describe this lifeless battle.

  Constable

  They have said their prayers, and they stay for death.

  They have said their prayers and they are ready for death.

  Dauphin

  Shall we go send them dinners and fresh suits And give their fasting horses provender, And after fight with them?

  Should we send them food and new armor, or give their horses provisions before we fight them?

  Constable

  I stay but for my guard; on to the field! I will the banner from a trumpet take, And use it for my haste. Come, come, away! The sun is high, and we outwear the day.

  I’m waiting on my banner man, but never mind. To the field! I will take the banner from a trumpeter. Let’s hurry. Come on! The sun is high and we are wasting daylight.

  Exit.

  Enter Gloucester, Bedford, Exeter, Erpingham, with his entire host: Salisbury and Westmoreland.

  Gloucester

  Where is the King?

  Where is the king?

  Bedford

  The King himself is rode to view their battle.

  He has ridden to see the battle for himself.

  Westmoreland

  Of fighting men they have full three-score thousand.

  They have three thousand fighting men.

  Exeter

  There's five to one; besides, they all are fresh.

  That’s five to one, and they are all fresh.

  Salisbury

  God's arm strike with us! 'tis a fearful odds. God be wi' you, princes all; I'll to my cha
rge. If we no more meet till we meet in heaven, Then, joyfully, my noble Lord of Bedford, My dear Lord Gloucester, and my good Lord Exeter, And my kind kinsman, warriors all, adieu!

  God be with us! These are fearsome odds. God be with you, princes. I’m going to my men. If we don’t meet again until heaven then, know I consider you all, Bedford, Gloucester, Exeter, warriors! Goodbye!

  Bedford