The Complete Works of William Shakespeare In Plain and Simple English (Translated)
Page 164
You who fought against me so strongly,
give me your gold, if you have any gold,
for I have paid for it with a hundred blows.
But let me see; is this the face of an enemy?
Ah, no, no, no! It is my only son!
Ah, boy, if there is any life left in you,
look up at me; look at these showers there are here,
blown up by the storms of my heart,
falling on your wounds that kill my eye and my heart!
Oh, God, have pity on this miserable time!
What terrible, evil, bloodthirsty,
wrong, disloyal and unnatural things
this deadly quarrel throws up every day!
Oh boy, your father gave you life too soon,
and has taken life away too late!
KING HENRY.
Woe above woe! grief more than common grief!
O that my death would stay these ruthful deeds!--
O pity, pity! gentle heaven, pity!--
The red rose and the white are on his face,
The fatal colours of our striving houses;
The one his purple blood right well resembles,
The other his pale cheeks, methinks, presenteth.
Wither one rose, and let the other flourish!
If you contend, a thousand lives must wither.
Sorrow on top of sorrow! Grief worse than grief!
If only I could stop these awful acts with my death!
Oh pity, pity! Gentle heaven, take pity!
He has the red rose and the white on his face,
the fatal colours of our competing houses;
his purple blood resembles one
and I think his pale cheek another.
Let one rose wither, and the other flourish!
If you fight, a thousand must lose their lives.
SON.
How will my mother, for a father's death,
Take on with me and ne'er be satisfied!
To think how my mother will attack me for
my father's death, she will never stop!
FATHER.
How will my wife, for slaughter of my son,
Shed seas of tears and ne'er be satisfied!
To think how my wife, for the death of my son,
will shed seas of tears and never stop!
KING HENRY.
How will the country, for these woeful chances,
Misthink the king and not be satisfied!
To think how the country, due to these terrible happenings,
will misjudge the king and always hate him!
SON.
Was ever son so rued a father's death?
Did any son ever so regret the death of the father?
FATHER.
Was ever father so bemoan'd his son?
Did any father so mourn for his son?
KING HENRY.
Was ever king so griev'd for subjects' woe?
Much is your sorrow, mine ten times so much.
Was any king ever so sorrowful for his subjects' suffering?
Your sorrow is great, mine is ten times greater.
SON.
I'll bear thee hence, where I may weep my fill.
I'll take you away, where I can weep my fill.
[Exit with the body.]
FATHER.
These arms of mine shall be thy winding-sheet;
My heart, sweet boy, shall be thy sepulchre,
For from my heart thine image ne'er shall go;
My sighing breast shall be thy funeral bell;
And so obsequious will thy father be,
Even for the loss of thee, having no more,
As Priam was for all his valiant sons.
I'll bear thee hence; and let them fight that will,
For I have murder'd where I should not kill.
These arms of mine shall be your shroud;
my heart, sweet boy, shall be your grave,
and the image of you shall never leave my heart;
my sighing chest shall be your funeral bell;
and your father will mourn as much
at the loss of you, having no others,
as Priam did for all his brave sons.
I'll take you away; let them fight if they want to,
I have murdered one I should not have killed.
[Exit with the body.]
KING HENRY.
Sad-hearted men, much overgone with care,
Here sits a king more woeful than you are.
Sad hearted men, overthrown with care,
this king is even more sorrowful than you.
[Alarums. Excursions. Enter QUEEN MARGARET,
PRINCE OF WALES, and EXETER.]
PRINCE.
Fly, father, fly! for all your friends are fled,
And Warwick rages like a chafed bull.
Away! for death doth hold us in pursuit.
Run, father, run! All your friends have fled,
and Warwick is charging around like an angry bull.
Run! Death is chasing us.
QUEEN MARGARET.
Mount you, my lord; towards Berwick post amain.
Edward and Richard, like a brace of greyhounds,
Having the fearful flying hare in sight,
With fiery eyes, sparkling for very wrath,
And bloody steel grasp'd in their ireful hands,
Are at our backs; and therefore hence amain.
Get on your horse, my lord; ride straight towards Berwick.
Edward and Richard, like a pair of greyhounds
who have the terrified flying hare in view,
with fiery eyes, sparkling with anger,
and bloody weapons held in their angry hands,
are on our trail; so go there at once.
EXETER.
Away! for vengeance comes along with them.
Nay, stay not to expostulate; make speed,
Or else come after; I'll away before.
Go! They are bringing vengeance with them.
No, don't stop to talk about it; hurry,
or otherwise, come after us; I'm going now.
KING HENRY.
Nay, take me with thee, good sweet Exeter;
Not that I fear to stay, but love to go
Whither the queen intends. Forward! away!
No, take me with you, good sweet Exeter;
I'm not frightened to stay, but I love to go
wherever the Queen is going. Let's go!
[Exeunt.]
[A loud alarum. Enter CLIFFORD, wounded.]
CLIFFORD.
Here burns my candle out; ay, here it dies,
Which whiles it lasted gave King Henry light.
O Lancaster! I fear thy overthrow
More than my body's parting with my soul!
My love and fear glued many friends to thee;
And, now I fall, thy tough commixtures melt,
Impairing Henry, strengthening mis-proud York.
The common people swarm like summer flies;
And whither fly the gnats but to the sun?
And who shines now but Henry's enemies?
O Phoebus, hadst thou never given consent
That Phaethon should check thy fiery steeds,
Thy burning car never had scorch'd the earth!
And, Henry, hadst thou sway'd as kings should do,
Or as thy father and his father did,
Giving no ground unto the house of York,
They never then had sprung like summer flies;
I, and ten thousand in this luckless realm,
Had left no mourning widows for our death,
And thou this day hadst kept thy chair in peace.
For what doth cherish weeds but gentle air?
And what makes robbers bold but too much lenity?
Bootless are plaints, and cureless are my wounds;
No way to fly, nor strength to hold out flight.
The foe is merciless and will not pity,
F
or at their hands I have deserv'd no pity.
The air hath got into my deadly wounds,
And much effuse of blood doth make me faint.--
Come, York and Richard, Warwick, and the rest;
I stabb'd your fathers' bosoms, split my breast.
This is where my candle burns out; this is where it dies,
which gave light to King Henry while it lasted.
Oh Lancaster! I fear your overthrow
more than I fear my own death!
Loyalty and fear of me got you many friends;
and now I am going these alliances will dissolve,
damaging Henry, strengthening arrogant York.
The common people swarm like summer flies;
and where do gnats fly except towards the sun?
And who is shining now except for Henry's enemies?
Oh Phoebus, I wish you had never given permission
for Phaeton to control your fiery steeds,
I wish your burning light had never touched the earth!
And Henry, if you had ruled as kings should do,
or as your father and his father did,
not giving any ground to the house of York,
they would never then have risen up like summer flies;
and I, and ten thousand others in this unlucky kingdom,
would not have left widows mourning for our deaths,
and you would have kept your throne in peace.
What's the best thing for weeds? Mild weather.
What makes robbers confident? Too much mercy.
There is no sense in complaining, and my wounds cannot be cured;
there is nowhere to run to, and I don't have the strength to run.
The enemy is merciless and will show no pity,
for I deserve no pity from them.
These fatal wounds are open to the air,
and losing so much blood makes me faint.
Come, York and Richard, Warwick and the rest;
I stabbed your fathers in the heart, do the same to me.
[He faints.]
[Alarum and retreat. Enter EDWARD, GEORGE, RICHARD,
MONTAGUE, WARWICK, and Soldiers.]
EDWARD.
Now breathe we, lords; good fortune bids us pause,
And smooth the frowns of war with peaceful looks.--
Some troops pursue the bloody-minded queen
That led calm Henry, though he were a king,
As doth a sail, fill'd with a fretting gust,
Command an argosy to stem the waves.
But think you, lords, that Clifford fled with them?
Now let's catch our breath, lords; success tells us to pause,
and smooth out the frowns of war with some peaceful rest.
Some troops are chasing the bloodthirsty Queen
who led calm Henry on, although he was a King,
like a sail, filled with storm winds,
that drives a ship into the waves.
But do you think, lords, that Clifford fled with them?
WARWICK.
No, 't is impossible he should escape;
For, though before his face I speak the words,
Your brother Richard mark'd him for the grave,
And whereso'er he is he's surely dead.
No, it's impossible for him to escape;
for although I say these words in front of him,
your brother Richard marked him for the grave,
and wherever he is he is surely dead.
[Clifford groans and dies.]
EDWARD.
Whose soul is that which takes her heavy leave?
Who is that dying there?
RICHARD.
A deadly groan, like life and death's departing.
That was a deadly groan, as if life and death were leaving at once.
EDWARD.
See who it is; and, now the battle's ended,
If friend or foe, let him be gently us'd.
See who it is; and, now the battle is over,
treat him with respect, whether friend or enemy.
RICHARD.
Revoke that doom of mercy, for 't is Clifford,
Who, not contented that he lopp'd the branch,
In hewing Rutland when his leaves put forth,
But set his murthering knife unto the root
From whence that tender spray did sweetly spring;
I mean our princely father, Duke of York.
Take back that sentence of mercy, for it is Clifford,
who, not content with chopping off the branch,
when he cut down Rutland,
had to put his murdering knife to the root
from which that sweet twig grew;
I mean our princely father, Duke of York.
WARWICK.
From off the gates of York fetch down the head,
Your father's head, which Clifford placed there;
Instead whereof, let this supply the room.
Measure for measure must be answered.
Take the head of York down from the gates,
your father's head, which Clifford placed there;
let his head be placed there instead.
This must be paid an eye for an eye.
EDWARD.
Bring forth that fatal screech-owl to our house,
That nothing sung but death to us and ours;
Now death shall stop his dismal threatening sound,
And his ill-boding tongue no more shall speak.
Bring forward that fatal omen to our family,
who brought nothing but death to me and mine;
now death shall stop his dismal threats,
and his ill omened tongue shall speak no more.
[Soldiers bring the body forward.]
WARWICK.
I think his understanding is bereft.--
Speak, Clifford, dost thou know who speaks to thee?--
Dark cloudy death o'ershades his beams of life,
And he nor sees nor hears us, what we say.
I don't think he can understand any more.
Speak, Clifford, do you know who's talking to you?
The dark cloud of death is overshadowing his light of life,
and he cannot see us or hear what we say.
RICHARD.
O, would he did! and so, perhaps, he doth;
'T is but his policy to counterfeit,
Because he would avoid such bitter taunts
Which in the time of death he gave our father.
I wish he could! And maybe he does;
it would be just like him to fake,
so that he could avoid the bitter taunts
which he gave to our father when he was dying.
GEORGE.
If so thou think'st, vex him with eager words.
If that's what you think, test him with provoking words.
RICHARD.
Clifford, ask mercy, and obtain no grace.
Clifford, ask for mercy, and you will get no grace.
EDWARD.
Clifford, repent in bootless penitence.
Clifford, repent with useless regrets.
WARWICK.
Clifford, devise excuses for thy faults.
Clifford, make up excuses for your crimes.
GEORGE.
While we devise fell tortures for thy faults.
While we invent terrible tortures for your faults.
RICHARD.
Thou didst love York, and I am son to York.
You loved York, and I am the son of York.
EDWARD.
Thou pitiedst Rutland, I will pity thee.
I will show you the same pity you showed to Rutland.
GEORGE.
Where's Captain Margaret to fence you now?
Where is Captain Margaret to protect you now?
WARWICK.
They mock thee, Clifford; swear as thou wast wont.
They are mocking you, Clifford; swear as you used to.
RICH
ARD.
What! not an oath? nay then, the world goes hard
When Clifford cannot spare his friends an oath.--
I know by that he's dead; and, by my soul,
If this right hand would buy two hours' life,
That I in all despite might rail at him,
This hand should chop it off, and with the issuing blood
Stifle the villain whose unstanched thirst
York and young Rutland could not satisfy.
What! No swearing? No, the world must be in a bad way
when Clifford cannot spare an oath for his friends.
That proves that he is dead: and, I swear to God,
if this right hand could be exchanged for two hours of life,
so that I could spend that time attacking him,
my other hand would chop it off, and with the blood which flowed
I would choke the villain whose unsatisfied thirst
could not be assuaged with the blood of York and young Rutland.
WARWICK.
Ay, but he's dead. Off with the traitor's head,
And rear it in the place your father's stands.--
And now to London with triumphant march,
There to be crowned England's royal king;
From whence shall Warwick cut the sea to France,
And ask the Lady Bona for thy queen.
So shalt thou sinew both these lands together,
And, having France thy friend, thou shalt not dread
The scatt'red foe that hopes to rise again;
For though they cannot greatly sting to hurt,
Yet look to have them buzz to offend thine ears.
First will I see the coronation,
And then to Brittany I'll cross the sea
To effect this marriage, so it please my lord.