The Complete Works of William Shakespeare In Plain and Simple English (Translated)
Page 146
Rear up his body; wring him by the nose.
Lift up his body; twist his nose.
QUEEN.
Run, go, help, help!--O Henry, ope thine eyes!
Run, go and get help! O Henry, open your eyes!
SUFFOLK.
He doth revive again.--Madam, be patient.
He's coming round. Madam, calm yourself.
KING.
O heavenly God!
O God in heaven!
QUEEN.
How fares my gracious lord?
How are you my gracious lord?
SUFFOLK.
Comfort, my sovereign! gracious Henry, comfort!
Be easy, my sovereign! Gracious Henry, be easy!
KING.
What, doth my Lord of Suffolk comfort me?
Came he right now to sing a raven's note
Whose dismal tune bereft my vital powers,
And thinks he that the chirping of a wren,
By crying comfort from a hollow breast,
Can chase away the first-conceived sound?
Hide not thy poison with such sugar'd words;
Lay not thy hands on me; forbear, I say!
Their touch affrights me as a serpent's sting.
Thou baleful messenger, out of my sight!
Upon thy eye-balls murtherous tyranny
Sits in grim majesty, to fright the world.
Look not upon me, for thine eyes are wounding.
Yet do not go away; come, basilisk,
And kill the innocent gazer with thy sight,
For in the shade of death I shall find joy,
In life but double death, now Gloster's dead.
What, is my Lord of Suffolk comforting me?
He came just now singing like a raven
whose horrible tune stripped me of my consciousness,
and he thinks that chirping like a wren,
telling me from his empty heart to be easy,
will chase away what I heard first?
Don't hide your poison with such sweet words;
don't put your hands on me; get off, I say!
Your touch is as horrid as the bite of a snake.
You evil messenger, get out of my sight!
I can see murderous tyranny in your eyes,
grimly ruling there, to terrify the world.
Don't look at me, for your eyes are like weapons.
But do not go away; come, basilisk,
and kill the innocent onlooker with your eyes,
for I will find happiness in the shadow of death,
for life is worse than death, now that Gloucester is dead.
QUEEN.
Why do you rate my Lord of Suffolk thus?
Although the duke was enemy to him,
Yet he most Christian-like laments his death;
And for myself, foe as he was to me,
Might liquid tears or heart-offending groans
Or blood-consuming sighs recall his life,
I would be blind with weeping, sick with groans,
Look pale as primrose with blood-drinking sighs,
And all to have the noble duke alive.
What know I how the world may deem of me?
For it is known we were but hollow friends.
It may be judg'd I made the duke away;
So shall my name with slander's tongue be wounded
And princes' courts be fill'd with my reproach.
This get I by his death. Ay me, unhappy!
To be a queen, and crown'd with infamy!
Why you attacking my Lord Suffolk like this?
Although the Duke fought against him,
he is sorrowing for his death like a Christian;
and for myself, even though he was my enemy,
if tears or heartfelt groans
or the deepest sighs could bring him back to life,
I would be blind with weeping, sick with groans,
spend all my blood on great sighs,
to bring the noble duke back to life.
What will the world say about me?
It's known that we weren't true friends.
People may say that I killed the Duke;
so my name will be wounded by slander,
and the courts of Princes will be filled with criticism of me.
This is what his death brings to me. Alas, poor me!
To be a queen, and have a bad reputation as my crown!
KING.
Ah, woe is me for Gloster, wretched man!
Ah, I sorrow for Gloucester, wretched man!
QUEEN.
Be woe for me, more wretched than he is.
What, dost thou turn away and hide thy face?
I am no loathsome leper; look on me.
What! art thou, like the adder, waxen deaf?
Be poisonous too and kill thy forlorn queen.
Is all thy comfort shut in Gloster's tomb?
Why, then, dame Margaret was ne'er thy joy.
Erect his statue and worship it,
And make my image but an alehouse sign.
Was I for this nigh wrack'd upon the sea,
And twice by awkward wind from England's bank
Drove back again unto my native clime?
What boded this but well forewarning wind
Did seem to say 'Seek not a scorpion's nest,
Nor set no footing on this unkind shore?'
What did I then, but curs'd the gentle gusts
And he that loos'd them forth their brazen caves,
And bid them blow towards England's blessed shore,
Or turn our stern upon a dreadful rock?
Yet Aeolus would not be a murtherer,
But left that hateful office unto thee.
The pretty-vaulting sea refus'd to drown me,
Knowing that thou wouldst have me drown'd on shore,
With tears as salt as sea, through thy unkindness.
The splitting rocks cower'd in the sinking sands
And would not dash me with their ragged sides,
Because thy flinty heart, more hard than they,
Might in thy palace perish Margaret.
As far as I could ken thy chalky cliffs,
When from thy shore the tempest beat us back,
I stood upon the hatches in the storm,
And when the dusky sky began to rob
My earnest-gaping sight of thy land's view,
I took a costly jewel from my neck--
A heart it was, bound in with diamonds--
And threw it towards thy land; the sea receiv'd it,
And so I wish'd thy body might my heart.
And even with this I lost fair England's view,
And bid mine eyes be packing with my heart,
And call'd them blind and dusky spectacles,
For losing ken of Albion's wished coast.
How often have I tempted Suffolk's tongue,
The agent of thy foul inconstancy,
To sit and witch me, as Ascanius did
When he to madding Dido would unfold
His father's acts commenc'd in burning Troy!
Am I not witch'd like her? or thou not false like him?
Ay me, I can no more! die, Margaret!
For Henry weeps that thou dost live so long.
Be sorry for me, who is more wretched than him.
What, do you turn away and hide your face?
I am not some horrible leper; look at me.
What! Have you become deaf like an adder?
Then be poisonous as well and kill your lost Queen.
Has all your sympathy been shut up in the tomb of Gloucester?
Why then, you never loved Lady Margaret.
Put up his statue and worship it,
and make an inn sign out of my picture.
Was this what I was almost killed in a shipwreck for,
and twice driven back from the shores of England
by ill winds to my native land?
What was happening but the f
orewarning winds
were saying “Don't put your hand in a scorpion's nest,
don't set foot on this unkind shore"?
And what did I do, I cursed those kind winds,
and the one who set them free from their loud caves,
and told them to blow towards the blessed shore of England,
or break our stern upon a dreadful rock?
But the god of winds would not be a murderer,
he left that horrible job to you.
The leaping sea refused to drown me,
knowing that you would have me drowned on shore,
in tears as salt as the sea, duty or unkindness.
The splitting rocks hid in the quicksand,
and would not smash me against their ragged sides,
because they knew that Margaret would die smashed against
your flinty heart, harder than them, in your palace.
For as long as I could see your chalky cliffs,
when the storm drove us back from your shore,
I stood up on the deck in the storm,
and when the dark sky began to take away
the sight of your land from my straining vision,
I took an expensive jewel from around my neck–
it was a heart, surrounded with diamonds–
and threw it towards your country; the sea swallowed it,
and so I wish that your body might swallow my heart.
And even as I did it I lost sight of fair England,
and told my eyes to follow my heart,
and called them blind and filthy spectacles,
for losing sight of the longed for coast of Albion.
How often I asked Suffolk, the agent
of your foul unfaithfulness, to sit and bewitch me
as Ascanius did, when he would tell
besotted Dido the tales of what his father
did in burning Troy!
Haven't I been bewitched like her? And aren't you false like him?
Oh, I can't stand any more! Die, Margaret!
Henry is weeping because you've lived too long.
[Noise within. Enter WARWICK, SALISBURY, and many Commons.]
WARWICK.
It is reported, mighty sovereign,
That good Duke Humphrey traitorously is murther'd
By Suffolk and the Cardinal Beaufort's means.
The commons, like an angry hive of bees
That want their leader, scatter up and down
And care not who they sting in his revenge.
Myself have calm'd their spleenful mutiny
Until they hear the order of his death.
It has been reported, mighty sovereign,
that the good Duke Humphrey has been treacherously murdered
by the plans of Suffolk and the Cardinal Beaufort.
The common people, like a hive of angry bees
who are missing their leader, are rushing around
and do not care whom they sting to take revenge for him.
I myself have calmed their angry mutiny
until they hear the true story of his death.
KING.
That he is dead, good Warwick, 't is too true;
But how he died God knows, not Henry.
Enter his chamber, view his breathless corpse,
And comment then upon his sudden death.
Is all too true that he's dead, good Warwick;
but God knows how he died, Henry doesn't.
Go into his room, see his dead body,
and then say what you think about his sudden death.
WARWICK.
That shall I do, my liege.--Stay, Salisbury,
With the rude multitude till I return.
I shall do that, my lord. Stay here, Salisbury,
with these commoners until I come back.
[Exit.]
KING.
O Thou that judgest all things, stay my thoughts,
My thoughts, that labour to persuade my soul
Some violent hands were laid on Humphrey's life!
If my suspect be false, forgive me, God,
For judgment only doth belong to thee.
Fain would I go to chafe his paly lips
With twenty thousand kisses, and to drain
Upon his face an ocean of salt tears
To tell my love unto his dumb deaf trunk,
And with my fingers feel his hand unfeeling;
But all in vain are these mean obsequies;
And to survey his dead and earthy image,
What were it but to make my sorrow greater?
O you who judge all things, calm my thoughts,
my thoughts, that are telling my soul
that Humphrey met a violent end!
If my suspicions are false, forgive me, God,
for you are the only one who can judge.
I should like to cover his pale lips
with twenty thousand kisses, and spill
an ocean of salt tears upon his face,
to tell his dumb deaf body of my love for him,
and to take his senseless hand in mine;
but all these mean tributes are in vain;
if I looked on his cold dead body,
what good would it do apart from making my sorrow greater?
[Re-enter WARWICK and others, bearing GLOSTER's
body on a bed.]
WARWICK.
Come hither, gracious sovereign, view this body.
Come here, gracious sovereign, and look at this body.
KING.
That is to see how deep my grave is made;
For with his soul fled all my worldly solace,
For seeing him I see my life in death.
That would be to look into my own grave;
all my comfort on this earth left along with his soul,
seeing him I can see my own death.
WARWICK.
As surely as my soul intends to live
With that dread King that took our state upon him
To free us from his father's wrathful curse,
I do believe that violent hands were laid
Upon the life of this thrice-famed duke.
As definitely as my soul intends to live
with that great Lord who took our sins upon him
to free us from the angry curse of his father,
I do believe that this triply famous Duke
suffered at the hands of violent men.
SUFFOLK.
A dreadful oath, sworn with a solemn tongue!
What instance gives Lord Warwick for his vow?
A dreadful oath, solemnly sworn!
What justification has Lord Warwick got for his vow?
WARWICK.
See how the blood is settled in his face.
Oft have I seen a timely-parted ghost,
Of ashy semblance, meagre, pale, and bloodless,
Being all descended to the labouring heart,
Who, in the conflict that it holds with death,
Attracts the same for aidance 'gainst the enemy,
Which with the heart there cools and ne'er returneth
To blush and beautify the cheek again.
But see, his face is black and full of blood,
His eyeballs further out than when he liv'd,
Staring full ghastly like a strangled man;
His hair uprear'd, his nostrils stretch'd with struggling,
His hands abroad display'd, as one that grasp'd
And tugg'd for life and was by strength subdu'd.
Look, on the sheets his hair, you see, is sticking;
His well-proportion'd beard made rough and rugged,
Like to the summer's corn by tempest lodged.
It cannot be but he was murther'd here;
The least of all these signs were probable.
See the way the blood has settled in his face.
I have often seen the body of someone who's died naturally,
white, thin, pale
and bloodless,
with all the blood drawn back to its heart,
which, in its fight with death,
calls the blood back to help it fight the enemy,
which cools down in the heart and never goes back
to redden and beautify the cheek again.
But look, his face is black and full of blood,
his eyeballs are standing out further than when he was alive,
staring horribly like a strangled man;
his hair is standing on end, his nostrils wide with struggle,
his hands thrown apart, like someone who struggled
and grappled for his life and was forcibly restrained.
Look, you can see his hair stuck to the sheets;
his well shaped beard is rough and disorderly,
like a field of summer corn after a storm.
The smallest one of these signs show that he
can only have been murdered.
SUFFOLK.
Why, Warwick, who should do the duke to death?
Myself and Beaufort had him in protection;
And we, I hope, sir, are no murtherers.
Why, Warwick, who would kill the Duke?
Myself and Beaufort had him in our custody;
and we are no murderers, I hope, sir.
WARWICK.
But both of you were vow'd Duke Humphrey's foes,
And you, forsooth, had the good duke to keep;
'T is like you would not feast him like a friend,
And 't is well seen he found an enemy.
But both of you were sworn enemies of Duke Humphrey,
and you certainly had the good Duke in your custody;
it's not likely that you would have welcomed him like a friend,
and it is quite obvious that he found an enemy.
QUEEN.
Then you, belike, suspect these noblemen
As guilty of Duke Humphrey's timeless death.
Then it seems that you suspect these noblemen
of being guilty of Duke Humphrey's untimely death.
WARWICK.
Who finds the heifer dead and bleeding fresh
And sees fast by a butcher with an axe
But will suspect 't was he that made the slaughter?
Who finds the partridge in the puttock's nest