The Complete Works of William Shakespeare In Plain and Simple English (Translated)
Page 290
Did pretty Jessica, like a little shrew,
Slander her love, and he forgave it her.
On a night like this,
Pretty Jessica, like a troublesome person,
Said awful things about her lover, and he forgave her.
JESSICA
I would out-night you, did no body come;
But, hark, I hear the footing of a man.
I would outdo you if making references to the night if nobody came,
But, listen, I hear footsteps.
Enter STEPHANO
LORENZO
Who comes so fast in silence of the night?
Who comes so quickly in the quiet of night?
STEPHANO
A friend.
A friend.
LORENZO
A friend! what friend? your name, I pray you, friend?
A frined! What friend? What is your name, please, frined?
STEPHANO
Stephano is my name; and I bring word
My mistress will before the break of day
Be here at Belmont; she doth stray about
By holy crosses, where she kneels and prays
For happy wedlock hours.
My name is Stephano, and I am here to tell you
My mistress will be here before the sun rises,
Back in Belmont. She’s still among
The holy crosses at the monastary, where she’s on her knees praying
For a happy marriage.
LORENZO
Who comes with her?
Who is coming with her?
STEPHANO
None but a holy hermit and her maid.
I pray you, is my master yet return'd?
Just a holy hermit and her maid.
Tell me, has my master returned yet?
LORENZO
He is not, nor we have not heard from him.
But go we in, I pray thee, Jessica,
And ceremoniously let us prepare
Some welcome for the mistress of the house.
He’s not here, and we haven’t heard from him
But let’s go inside, Jessica,
And prepare a ceremony
To welcome the mistress back to her house.
Enter LAUNCELOT
LAUNCELOT
Sola, sola! wo ha, ho! sola, sola!
Hello! Hello! Wo, ha, ho! Hello! Hello!
LORENZO
Who calls?
Who’s shouting?
LAUNCELOT
Sola! did you see Master Lorenzo?
Master Lorenzo, sola, sola!
Hello! Did you see Master Lorenzo?
Master Lorenzo! Hello! Hello!
LORENZO
Leave hollaing, man: here.
Stop the hollering, man, I’m here.
LAUNCELOT
Sola! where? where?
Hello! Where? Where?
LORENZO
Here.
Here.
LAUNCELOT
Tell him there's a post come from my master, with
his horn full of good news: my master will be here
ere morning.
Tell him a message has arrived from my master, full
of very good news. My master will be here
before morning.
Exit
LORENZO
Sweet soul, let's in, and there expect their coming.
And yet no matter: why should we go in?
My friend Stephano, signify, I pray you,
Within the house, your mistress is at hand;
And bring your music forth into the air.
Sweethear, let’s go in and wait for them to arrive.
But, waiy, it doesn’t matter—why should we go in?
Friend Stephano, please make it known
Inside the house that your mistress is coming,
And bring muscians out here.
Exit Stephano
How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank!
Here will we sit and let the sounds of music
Creep in our ears: soft stillness and the night
Become the touches of sweet harmony.
Sit, Jessica. Look how the floor of heaven
Is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold:
There's not the smallest orb which thou behold'st
But in his motion like an angel sings,
Still quiring to the young-eyed cherubins;
Such harmony is in immortal souls;
But whilst this muddy vesture of decay
Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it.
See how lovely the moonlight looks on the bank!
Let’s sit here and let the sounds of music
Creep into our ears. The stillness of nightime
Makes the music all the more sweet sounding.
Sit down, Jessica. Look at how the floor of heaven
Is inlaid with a thin layer of bright gold:
Even the smallest star that you can see
Sings like an angel in its motion,
Silently choiring to the youthful cherubs.
Immortal beings can hear the songs,
But we who live here on earth
And live in earthly bodies cannot hear it.
Enter Musicians
Come, ho! and wake Diana with a hymn!
With sweetest touches pierce your mistress' ear,
And draw her home with music.
Come on! Wake Diana with a song!
With the sweetest touches play your instruments so your mistress can hear
And bring her home with music.
Music
JESSICA
I am never merry when I hear sweet music.
I never feel like laughing when I hear sweet music.
LORENZO
The reason is, your spirits are attentive:
For do but note a wild and wanton herd,
Or race of youthful and unhandled colts,
Fetching mad bounds, bellowing and neighing loud,
Which is the hot condition of their blood;
If they but hear perchance a trumpet sound,
Or any air of music touch their ears,
You shall perceive them make a mutual stand,
Their savage eyes turn'd to a modest gaze
By the sweet power of music: therefore the poet
Did feign that Orpheus drew trees, stones and floods;
Since nought so stockish, hard and full of rage,
But music for the time doth change his nature.
The man that hath no music in himself,
Nor is not moved with concord of sweet sounds,
Is fit for treasons, stratagems and spoils;
The motions of his spirit are dull as night
And his affections dark as Erebus:
Let no such man be trusted. Mark the music.
That’s because your feelings are paying attention to the music.
Think about a frolicking herd of wild animals,
Or a herd of young and untrained colts,
Jumping around like crazy, bellowing and neighing loudly,
Which is how they are naturally,
But if they happen to hear the sound of a trumpet,
Or if the sound of soft music touches their ears,
You will see them all stop and stand still—
Their wild eyes calming
From the power of the music. That is why the poet
Wrote how Orpheus could bring trees, stones and rivers to him with music,
There is not much in the world too stupid, hard or full of anger
That can not be changed by music.
The man that has no music in him—
Who is not moved by the harmony of sweet sounds—
Is only good for betrayal, schemes and ruin.
His soul is as dull as the night,
And his emotions are dark as the son of Chaos.
A man like that can not be trusted. Listen to the music.
Enter PORTIA and NER
ISSA
PORTIA
That light we see is burning in my hall.
How far that little candle throws his beams!
So shines a good deed in a naughty world.
That light we see in burning in my house.
Look how far that candle throws its beams!
That’s how a good deed shines in an evil world.
NERISSA
When the moon shone, we did not see the candle.
When the moon was shining, we did not see the candle.
PORTIA
So doth the greater glory dim the less:
A substitute shines brightly as a king
Unto the king be by, and then his state
Empties itself, as doth an inland brook
Into the main of waters. Music! hark!
Brighter lights always dim the less.
Antoher light shines as brightly as a king
Until the king comes along, and then the other light
Suddenly becomes less, in the same way an inland stream
Empties into the sea. Music! Listen!
NERISSA
It is your music, madam, of the house.
It is your music, madam, coming from your house.
PORTIA
Nothing is good, I see, without respect:
Methinks it sounds much sweeter than by day.
I see now that you can’t consider anything good without comparison.
I think music sounds sweeter at night than during the day.
NERISSA
Silence bestows that virtue on it, madam.
The quiet of night gives it that quality, madam.
PORTIA
The crow doth sing as sweetly as the lark,
When neither is attended, and I think
The nightingale, if she should sing by day,
When every goose is cackling, would be thought
No better a musician than the wren.
How many things by season season'd are
To their right praise and true perfection!
Peace, ho! the moon sleeps with Endymion
And would not be awaked.
The crow sings as sweetly as the lark does
When neither is listened to. I think
The nightingale—if it were to sing by day,
When all the geese are cackling—would be no better regarded
As a musician than the common wren.
How many things are made to seem right
and praised as perfect if they come at the right time!
Quiet, now! The moon sleeps with its lover Endymion
And will not be awoken.
Music ceases
LORENZO
That is the voice,
Or I am much deceived, of Portia.
That is the voice
of Portia, if I am not mistaken.
PORTIA
He knows me as the blind man knows the cuckoo,
By the bad voice.
He recognizes me like the blind man recognizes the cuckoo—
by its bad voice.
LORENZO
Dear lady, welcome home.
Dear lady, welcome home.
PORTIA
We have been praying for our husbands' healths,
Which speed, we hope, the better for our words.
Are they return'd?
We have been praying for our husbands’ health.
We hope they are better off for our words.
Have they come back, yet?
LORENZO
Madam, they are not yet;
But there is come a messenger before,
To signify their coming.
Madam, they are not back yet.
But a messenger came earliet
And said they are on their way.
PORTIA
Go in, Nerissa;
Give order to my servants that they take
No note at all of our being absent hence;
Nor you, Lorenzo; Jessica, nor you.
Go inside, Nerissa.
Tell the servants they must not mention
That we have been gone.
You neither, Lorenzo, or you, Jessica.
A tucket sounds
LORENZO
Your husband is at hand; I hear his trumpet:
We are no tell-tales, madam; fear you not.
Your husband is here—I hear his trumpet
We are not tattle-tales, madam, don’t worry.
PORTIA
This night methinks is but the daylight sick;
It looks a little paler: 'tis a day,
Such as the day is when the sun is hid.
I think this night looks like sick daylight.
It looks a little paler. It’s like a day
When the sun is hidden.
Enter BASSANIO, ANTONIO, GRATIANO, and their followers
BASSANIO
We should hold day with the Antipodes,
If you would walk in absence of the sun.
It is daylight on the other side of the world,
While you walk here at night.
PORTIA
Let me give light, but let me not be light;
For a light wife doth make a heavy husband,
And never be Bassanio so for me:
But God sort all! You are welcome home, my lord.
I will give light, as in joy, but I will not be light, as in promiscuous,
Since a wife who is light in that regard makes her husband heavy-hearted.
Bassanio will never feel that way because of me,
But God will sort it all out. Welcome home, my lord.
BASSANIO
I thank you, madam. Give welcome to my friend.
This is the man, this is Antonio,
To whom I am so infinitely bound.
Thank you, madam. Please welcome my friend.
This is Antonio, who I told you about—
The one I am forever indebted to.
PORTIA
You should in all sense be much bound to him.
For, as I hear, he was much bound for you.
You should in all senses of the word be indebted to him,
As I hear he was very much indebted to you.
ANTONIO
No more than I am well acquitted of.
I have been paid back for all of it very well.
PORTIA
Sir, you are very welcome to our house:
It must appear in other ways than words,
Therefore I scant this breathing courtesy.
Sir, you are very welcome in our house.
But what we see says more than words can,
So I will cut this polite talk short.
GRATIANO
[To NERISSA] By yonder moon I swear you do me wrong;
In faith, I gave it to the judge's clerk:
Would he were gelt that had it, for my part,
Since you do take it, love, so much at heart.
[To NERISSA] By the moon in the sky I swear you’ve got it wrong.
I really did give it to the judge’s clerk.
He should have been castrasted, as far as I’m concerned,
For as much as it is upsetting you.
PORTIA
A quarrel, ho, already! what's the matter?
An argument already! What is the matter?
GRATIANO
About a hoop of gold, a paltry ring
That she did give me, whose posy was
For all the world like cutler's poetry
Upon a knife, 'Love me, and leave me not.'
It’s about a hoop of gold, a trivial ring
That she gave to me that had a little inscription on it
That was nothing more that a knife-maker’s poem.
It said: ‘Love me and don’t leave me.’
NERISSA
What talk you of the posy or the value?
You swore to me, when I did give it you,
That you would wear it till your hour of death
And tha
t it should lie with you in your grave:
Though not for me, yet for your vehement oaths,
You should have been respective and have kept it.
Gave it a judge's clerk! no, God's my judge,
The clerk will ne'er wear hair on's face that had it.
Are you talking about the inscription or the value?
You swore to me, when I gave it to you.
That you would wear it until you died,
And that it would be buried with you in your grave.
If not for me, then for the vows you made,
You should have been respectful and kept it.
You gave it to a judge’s clerk! No, as God is my judge—
The ‘clerk’ you gave it to will never grow hair on their face.
GRATIANO
He will, an if he live to be a man.
He will if he lives to be a man.
NERISSA
Ay, if a woman live to be a man.
Right, if a woman lives to be a man.
GRATIANO
Now, by this hand, I gave it to a youth,
A kind of boy, a little scrubbed boy,
No higher than thyself; the judge's clerk,
A prating boy, that begg'd it as a fee:
I could not for my heart deny it him.
I swear by my hand, I gave it to a young man.
Almost a boy, a little stubby boy—
No taller than you—the judge’s clerk,
A boy who talked a lot and begged it as a fee.
I couldn’t find it in my heart to say no.
PORTIA
You were to blame, I must be plain with you,
To part so slightly with your wife's first gift: