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

by William Shakespeare

  EDWARD.

  His name that valiant duke hath left with thee;

  His dukedom and his chair with me is left.

  That brave Duke left his name with you;

  his dukedom and his position he left to me.

  RICHARD.

  Nay, if thou be that princely eagle's bird,

  Show thy descent by gazing 'gainst the sun;

  For chair and dukedom, throne and kingdom say:

  Either that is thine, or else thou wert not his.

  So if you are the son of that princely eagle,

  show your ancestry by staring at the sun;

  for his position and dukedom, the throne and the kingdom say:

  either it's all yours, or you were no son of his.

  [March. Enter WARWICK and MONTAGUE, with their Army.]

  WARWICK.

  How now, fair lords! What fare? what news abroad?

  Hello there, fair lords! What's going on? What's the news?

  RICHARD.

  Great Lord of Warwick, if we should recount

  Our baleful news, and at each word's deliverance

  Stab poniards in our flesh till all were told,

  The words would add more anguish than the wounds.

  O valiant lord, the Duke of York is slain!

  Great Lord of Warwick, if we told you

  our terrible news, and stabbed daggers into our

  flesh with each word until everything was told,

  the words would cause more pain than the wounds.

  O brave lord, the Duke of York has been killed!

  EDWARD.

  O, Warwick, Warwick! that Plantagenet

  Which held thee dearly as his soul's redemption

  Is by the stern Lord Clifford done to death.

  O Warwick, Warwick! The Plantagenet

  to whom you were as dear as the salvation of his soul

  has been killed by the hard Lord Clifford.

  WARWICK.

  Ten days ago I drown'd these news in tears,

  And now, to add more measure to your woes,

  I come to tell you things sith then befallen.

  After the bloody fray at Wakefield fought,

  Where your brave father breath'd his latest gasp,

  Tidings, as swiftly as the posts could run,

  Were brought me of your loss and his depart.

  I, then in London, keeper of the king,

  Muster'd my soldiers, gather'd flocks of friends,

  And very well appointed, as I thought,

  March'd toward Saint Alban's to intercept the queen,

  Bearing the king in my behalf along;

  For by my scouts I was advertised

  That she was coming with a full intent

  To dash our late decree in parliament

  Touching King Henry's oath and your succession.

  Short tale to make, we at Saint Alban's met,

  Our battles join'd, and both sides fiercely fought;

  But, whether 't was the coldness of the king,

  Who look'd full gently on his warlike queen,

  That robb'd my soldiers of their heated spleen,

  Or whether 't was report of her success,

  Or more than common fear of Clifford's rigour,

  Who thunders to his captives blood and death,

  I cannot judge; but, to conclude with truth,

  Their weapons like to lightning came and went,

  Our soldiers',--like the night-owl's lazy flight,

  Or like an idle thrasher with a flail--

  Fell gently down, as if they struck their friends.

  I cheer'd them up with justice of our cause,

  With promise of high pay and great rewards,

  But all in vain; they had no heart to fight,

  And we in them no hope to win the day;

  So that we fled: the king unto the queen;

  Lord George your brother, Norfolk, and myself,

  In haste, post-haste, are come to join with you;

  For in the marches here, we heard, you were

  Making another head to fight again.

  I received this news with tears ten days ago,

  and now, to give you even more sorrow,

  I have come to tell you the things that happened since then.

  After the bloody battle that was fought at Wakefield,

  where your brave father breathed his last breath,

  news came to me of your loss

  and his death as quickly as the messengers could run.

  I, then in London, the king's jailer, gathered my soldiers and all my friends,

  and in very good order, so I thought,

  marched towards St Albans to intercept the Queen,

  carrying the King along with me;

  I had been warned by my spies

  that she was coming intending to

  revoke our recent order in Parliament

  relating to King Henry's promise and your succession.

  To make the story short, we met at St Albans,

  we joined in battle, and both sides fought fiercely;

  but whether it was the coolness of the king,

  who looked kindly on his warlike Queen,

  that extinguished the passion of my soldiers,

  or whether it was reports of her success,

  or unusual fear of Clifford's strength,

  who threatens his captives with blood and death,

  I cannot tell; but, to tell you the truth,

  their weapons flashed around like lightning,

  those of our soldiers–like the lazy flight of a night owl,

  or like a lazy thresher with his flail–

  gave gentle blows, as if they were hitting their friends.

  I roused them by telling them of the justice of our cause,

  and promising them high pay and great rewards,

  but it was all in vain; they had no heart for the fight,

  and gave us no hope that we could be triumphant;

  so we fled: the King went to the Queen;

  Lord George your brother, Norfolk, and myself,

  have come here as quickly as we could to join with you;

  for we heard that you were preparing to raise

  another force here to fight again.

  EDWARD.

  Where is the Duke of Norfolk, gentle Warwick?

  And when came George from Burgundy to England?

  Where is the Duke of Norfolk, gentle Warwick?

  And when did George come from Burgundy to England?

  WARWICK.

  Some six miles off the duke is with the soldiers;

  And for your brother, he was lately sent

  From your kind aunt, Duchess of Burgundy,

  With aid of soldiers to this needful war.

  The Duke is about six miles away with his soldiers;

  as for your brother, he was recently sent

  by your kind aunt, Duchess of Burgundy,

  with soldiers to fight in this essential war.

  RICHARD.

  'T was odds, belike, when valiant Warwick fled;

  Oft have I heard his praises in pursuit,

  But ne'er till now his scandal of retire.

  It's strange to hear that brave Warwick fled;

  I've often heard him praised for his pursuits,

  but never until now have I heard of the scandal of his retreat.

  WARWICK.

  Nor now my scandal, Richard, dost thou hear;

  For thou shalt know, this strong right hand of mine

  Can pluck the diadem from faint Henry's head

  And wring the awful sceptre from his fist,

  Were he as famous and as bold in war

  As he is fam'd for mildness, peace, and prayer.

  And you are not hearing that scandal now, Richard;

  for you should know, this strong right hand of mine

  can pull the crown off the head of weak Henry

  and tear the awesome sceptre from his fist,

>   even if he was as famous and strong in war

  as he is famous for mildness, peace and prayer.

  RICHARD.

  I know it well, Lord Warwick, blame me not;

  'T is love I bear thy glories makes me speak.

  But in this troublous time what's to be done?

  Shall we go throw away our coats of steel

  And wrap our bodies in black mourning-gowns,

  Numbering our Ave-Maries with our beads?

  Or shall we on the helmets of our foes

  Tell our devotion with revengeful arms?

  If for the last, say ay, and to it, lords.

  I certainly know that, Lord Warwick, don't be angry;

  it's the love I have for your honour that makes me speak.

  But what should we do in this troubled time?

  Should we throw away our suits of armour

  and wrap our bodies in black mourning gowns,

  counting the Ave Marias on our rosaries?

  Or should we show our devotion by beating

  upon the helmets of our enemies?

  If you agree with that last, say so, and let's get to it, lords.

  WARWICK.

  Why, therefore Warwick came to seek you out,

  And therefore comes my brother Montague.

  Attend me, lords. The proud insulting queen,

  With Clifford and the haught Northumberland,

  And of their feather many moe proud birds,

  Have wrought the easy-melting king like wax.

  He swore consent to your succession,

  His oath enrolled in the parliament;

  And now to London all the crew are gone,

  To frustrate both his oath and what beside

  May make against the house of Lancaster.

  Their power, I think, is thirty thousand strong;

  Now, if the help of Norfolk and myself,

  With all the friends that thou, brave Earl of March,

  Amongst the loving Welshmen canst procure,

  Will but amount to five and twenty thousand,

  Why, Via! to London will we march amain,

  And once again bestride our foaming steeds,

  And once again cry 'Charge upon our foes!'

  But never once again turn back and fly.

  Why, that's why I've come to look for you,

  and that's why my brother Montague has come.

  Listen to me, lords. The arrogant insulting Queen,

  with Clifford and the haughty Northumberland,

  and many other arrogant birds of the same feather,

  have moulded the soft king like wax.

  He swore his agreement to your succession,

  took his oath in Parliament;

  and now the whole group of them have gone to London,

  to block his oath and do everything else

  they can do against the house of Lancaster.

  I think they have a force of thirty thousand men;

  now, if with the help of Norfolk and myself,

  and all the friends that you, brave Earl of March,

  can raise amongst the loving Welshmen,

  we can just get a force of twenty-five thousand,

  why, we shall march straight to London,

  we shall mount again on our foaming horses,

  and once again we shall sound the charge,

  and never retreat again.

  RICHARD.

  Ay, now, methinks, I hear great Warwick speak.

  Ne'er may he live to see a sunshine day

  That cries 'Retire,' if Warwick bid him stay.

  That's the true voice of great Warwick, I think.

  May nobody ever live to see another sunrise

  if he sounds the retreat when Warwick tells him to stand.

  EDWARD.

  Lord Warwick, on thy shoulder will I lean;

  And when thou fail'st--as God forbid the hour!--

  Must Edward fall, which peril heaven forfend!

  Lord Warwick, I will lean on your shoulder;

  and when you fall–God forbid!–

  Edward must fall, may heaven protect us from that danger!

  WARWICK.

  No longer Earl of March, but Duke of York.

  The next degree is England's royal throne;

  For King of England shalt thou be proclaim'd

  In every borough as we pass along,

  And he that throws not up his cap for joy

  Shall for the fault make forfeit of his head.

  King Edward,--valiant Richard,-- Montague,--

  Stay we no longer dreaming of renown,

  But sound the trumpets and about our task.

  You are no longer Earl of March, you are Duke of York.

  The next step is the royal throne of England;

  for you shall be proclaimed the King of England

  in every borough we pass through,

  and anyone who doesn't throw up his hat in happiness

  shall pay for his mistake with his head.

  King Edward–brave Richard–Montague–

  let's not stop here dreaming of fame,

  but sound the trumpets and go about our work.

  RICHARD.

  Then, Clifford, were thy heart as hard as steel,

  As thou hast shown it flinty by thy deeds,

  I come to pierce it, or to give thee mine.

  Then, Clifford, if your heart was as hard as steel,

  as hard as you have shown it through your deeds,

  I am coming to pierce it, or to give you mine.

  EDWARD.

  Then strike up, drums!--God and Saint George for us!

  Then strike up the drums! God and St George are on our side!

  [Enter a Messenger.]

  WARWICK.

  How now! what news?

  Hello there! What's the news?

  MESSENGER.

  The Duke of Norfolk sends you word by me,

  The queen is coming with a puissant host,

  And craves your company for speedy counsel.

  The Duke of Norfolk sends me with this message,

  that the Queen is coming with a strong force,

  and he begs you to go to him to give him your help.

  WARWICK.

  Why then it sorts; brave warriors, let's away.

  Then that's what we'll do; brave warriors, let's go.

  [Exeunt.]

  [Flourish. Enter KING HENRY, QUEEN MARGARET, the

  PRINCE OF WALES, CLIFFORD, and NORTHUMBERLAND,

  with drums and trumpets.]

  QUEEN MARGARET.

  Welcome, my lord, to this brave town of York.

  Yonder's the head of that arch-enemy

  That sought to be encompass'd with your crown;

  Doth not the object cheer your heart, my lord?

  Welcome, my lord, to this great town of York.

  There is the head of the arch enemy

  who tried to steal your crown;

  doesn't the sight of that make you rejoice, my lord?

  KING HENRY.

  Ay, as the rocks cheer them that fear their wreck;

  To see this sight, it irks my very soul.--

  Withhold revenge, dear God! 't is not my fault,

  Nor wittingly have I infring'd my vow.

  Yes, as rocks cheer up those who are facing a shipwreck;

  the sight of this cuts me to my very soul;

  do not take revenge, dear God! It is not my fault,

  I did not deliberately renege on my promise.

  CLIFFORD.

  My gracious liege, this too much lenity

  And harmful pity must be laid aside.

  To whom do lions cast their gentle looks?

  Not to the beast that would usurp their den.

  Whose hand is that the forest bear doth lick?

  Not his that spoils her young before her face.

  Who scapes the lurking serpent's mortal sting?

  Not he that sets his foot upon her back.

  The
smallest worm will turn, being trodden on,

  And doves will peck in safeguard of their brood.

  Ambitious York did level at thy crown,

  Thou smiling while he knit his angry brows.

  He, but a duke, would have his son a king,

  And raise his issue like a loving sire;

  Thou, being a king, blest with a goodly son,

  Didst yield consent to disinherit him,

  Which argu'd thee a most unloving father.

  Unreasonable creatures feed their young;

  And though man's face be fearful to their eyes,

  Yet, in protection of their tender ones,

  Who hath not seen them, even with those wings

  Which sometime they have us'd with fearful flight,

  Make war with him that climb'd unto their nest,

  Offering their own lives in their young's defence?

  For shame, my liege! make them your precedent.

  Were it not pity that this goodly boy

  Should lose his birthright by his father's fault,

  And long hereafter say unto his child,

  'What my great-grandfather and grandsire got,

  My careless father fondly gave away?'

  Ah, what a shame were this! Look on the boy,

  And let his manly face, which promiseth

  Successful fortune, steel thy melting heart

  To hold thine own, and leave thine own with him.

  My gracious lord, this excessive softness

  and damaging pity must be put aside.

  Do lions look kindly on anyone?

  Certainly not on an animal that wants to invade their den.

  Whose hand does the bear in the forest lick?

  Not that of the person who kills her young in front of her.

  Who escapes the fatal sting of the lurking serpent?

  Not the person who treads upon her back.

  The smallest worm will turn, if it is trodden on,

  and doves will peck to defend their family.

  Ambitious York took aim at your crown,

  with you smiling while he was frowning.

  He, just a Duke, wanted his son to be king,

  and raised his son like a loving father should;