The Complete Works of William Shakespeare In Plain and Simple English (Translated)
Page 516
Three thousand confident, in act as many-
For three performers are the file when all
The rest do nothing- with this word 'Stand, stand!'
Accommodated by the place, more charming
With their own nobleness, which could have turn'd
A distaff to a lance, gilded pale looks,
Part shame, part spirit renew'd; that some turn'd coward
But by example- O, a sin in war
Damn'd in the first beginners!- gan to look
The way that they did and to grin like lions
Upon the pikes o' th' hunters. Then began
A stop i' th' chaser, a retire; anon
A rout, confusion thick. Forthwith they fly,
Chickens, the way which they stoop'd eagles; slaves,
The strides they victors made; and now our cowards,
Like fragments in hard voyages, became
The life o' th' need. Having found the back-door open
Of the unguarded hearts, heavens, how they wound!
Some slain before, some dying, some their friends
O'erborne i' th' former wave. Ten chas'd by one
Are now each one the slaughterman of twenty.
Those that would die or ere resist are grown
The mortal bugs o' th' field.
Close to the battle, sunken and lined with turf,
which gave a good position for an ancient soldier–
a good one, I think, who deserved
a life as long as his white beard showed he had had,
for his actions for his country. Across the lane
he, with two boys–lads more likely to play
children's games than to commit such slaughter;
their faces were as lovely as those of ladies, in fact better,
who wear masks to preserve their skin or for modesty–
secured the road, crying to those that ran,
‘The deer of Britain die running away, not our men.
The souls that run away will fly to hell! Stand;
or we will become Romans and give you that
which you run away from like animals; you can avoid that
if you just turn around and show defiance. Stand, stand!’ These three,
as brave as three thousand, worth as many in action–
for three men formed the whole army while all
the rest did nothing–calling ‘stand, stand!’
more by virtue of their own nobleness than
their situation, could have turned
a woman into a soldier, brought blood back to the cheeks.
Partly from shame, partly from renewed spirits, some who had
been cowardly just by copying others–a sin for which
even novices in war are condemned!–began to copy
their behaviour and to snarl like lions
faced with the spears of the hunters. Then
the retreat came to a halt; soon
there was a rout, with great confusion. The ones
who had attacked like eagles now fled like chickens:
they had walked like victors and now were slaves: and now
our cowards, like scraps of food on long voyages
began to save lives: having found the back door
of their enemies unguarded, heavens, how they wounded them!
Some who seemed dead before, some who seemed wounded, some
who abandoned their friends in the previous attack, ten running away from one,
now each one was the slaughterman of twenty:
those who were going to die or run away, became
the mortal terrors of the battle.
LORD.
This was strange chance:
A narrow lane, an old man, and two boys.
This was a strange business:
a narrow lane, an old man, and two boys.
POSTHUMUS.
Nay, do not wonder at it; you are made
Rather to wonder at the things you hear
Than to work any. Will you rhyme upon't,
And vent it for a mock'ry? Here is one:
'Two boys, an old man (twice a boy), a lane,
Preserv'd the Britons, was the Romans' bane.'
No, don't be amazed; you are the type
who is amazed by miracles you hear about
rather than performing any.Will you make a song of it,
and sing it in fun?Here's one:
'Two boys, an old man (twice a boy), a lane,
saved the Britons, were the Roman's bane.'
LORD.
Nay, be not angry, sir.
No, do not be angry, sir.
POSTHUMUS.
'Lack, to what end?
Who dares not stand his foe I'll be his friend;
For if he'll do as he is made to do,
I know he'll quickly fly my friendship too.
You have put me into rhyme.
Alas, why would I be?
Someone who flees the enemy is friend to me;
for if he acts as nature intended,
I know he'll soon leave me unfriended.
You have set me off rhyming.
LORD.
Farewell; you're angry.
Exit
Farewell; you're angry.
POSTHUMUS.
Still going? This is a lord! O noble misery,
To be i' th' field and ask 'What news?' of me!
To-day how many would have given their honours
To have sav'd their carcasses! took heel to do't,
And yet died too! I, in mine own woe charm'd,
Could not find death where I did hear him groan,
Nor feel him where he struck. Being an ugly monster,
'Tis strange he hides him in fresh cups, soft beds,
Sweet words; or hath moe ministers than we
That draw his knives i' th' war. Well, I will find him;
For being now a favourer to the Briton,
No more a Briton, I have resum'd again
The part I came in. Fight I will no more,
But yield me to the veriest hind that shall
Once touch my shoulder. Great the slaughter is
Here made by th' Roman; great the answer be
Britons must take. For me, my ransom's death;
On either side I come to spend my breath,
Which neither here I'll keep nor bear again,
But end it by some means for Imogen.
Enter two BRITISH CAPTAINS and soldiers
Still running?What a lord this is!What shame,
to be on the battlefield but have to ask me what happened!
How many today tried to sacrifice their honour
to save their skins!They fled to try it,
but they still died!I, lucky in my own sorrow,
couldn't find death where I heard his groans,
nor feel him where he struck others.Being an ugly monster,
it's strange that he should hide in fresh cups, soft beds,
sweet words; and that there are others who serve him apart
from we who draw our knives in war.Well, I will find him;
having fought for the Britons,
I'm a Briton no more, I've put the clothes I came in
back on.I shall fight no more,
but surrender to the weakest man who lays
his hand on my shoulder.The Romans have made
a great slaughter here; the Britons must take
great revenge.I want to pay the price of death;
I'll die here for either side,
I won't save my life or carry it away,
I'll die as payment for Imogen.
FIRST CAPTAIN.
Great Jupiter be prais'd! Lucius is taken.
'Tis thought the old man and his sons were angels.
Great Jupiter be praised!Lucius has been captured.
It's thought the old man and his sons were angels.
SECOND CAPTAIN.
There was a fourth man,
in a silly habit,
That gave th' affront with them.
There was a fourth man, in peasant's clothes,
who stood with them.
FIRST CAPTAIN.
So 'tis reported;
But none of 'em can be found. Stand! who's there?
So it's said;
but none of them can be found.Stop!Who goes there?
POSTHUMUS.
A Roman,
Who had not now been drooping here if seconds
Had answer'd him.
A Roman, who wouldn't be slumped here if his supporters
had done as he said.
SECOND CAPTAIN.
Lay hands on him; a dog,
A leg of Rome shall not return to tell
What crows have peck'd them here. He brags his service,
As if he were of note. Bring him to th' King.
Enter CYMBELINE, BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, ARVIRAGUS, PISANIO, and
Roman captives. The CAPTAINS present POSTHUMUS to CYMBELINE, who
delivers him over to a gaoler. Exeunt omnes
Seize him; a dog,
not even a leg of one, of Rome shall not return
to tell them how their army was routed.He talks as if
he's an important person.Bring him to the King.
Enter POSTHUMUS and two GAOLERS
FIRST GAOLER.
You shall not now be stol'n, you have locks upon
you;
So graze as you find pasture.
You can't be stolen now you've been chained,
so eat what you can find.
SECOND GAOLER.
Ay, or a stomach.
Exeunt GAOLERS
Yes, if you've a stomach for it.
POSTHUMUS.
Most welcome, bondage! for thou art a way,
I think, to liberty. Yet am I better
Than one that's sick o' th' gout, since he had rather
Groan so in perpetuity than be cur'd
By th' sure physician death, who is the key
T' unbar these locks. My conscience, thou art fetter'd
More than my shanks and wrists; you good gods, give me
The penitent instrument to pick that bolt,
Then, free for ever! Is't enough I am sorry?
So children temporal fathers do appease;
Gods are more full of mercy. Must I repent,
I cannot do it better than in gyves,
Desir'd more than constrain'd. To satisfy,
If of my freedom 'tis the main part, take
No stricter render of me than my all.
I know you are more clement than vile men,
Who of their broken debtors take a third,
A sixth, a tenth, letting them thrive again
On their abatement; that's not my desire.
For Imogen's dear life take mine; and though
'Tis not so dear, yet 'tis a life; you coin'd it.
'Tween man and man they weigh not every stamp;
Though light, take pieces for the figure's sake;
You rather mine, being yours. And so, great pow'rs,
If you will take this audit, take this life,
And cancel these cold bonds. O Imogen!
I'll speak to thee in silence. [Sleeps]
Solemn music. Enter, as in an apparition, SICILIUS
LEONATUS, father to POSTHUMUS, an old man attired
like a warrior; leading in his hand an ancient
matron, his WIFE, and mother to POSTHUMUS, with
music before them. Then, after other music, follows
the two young LEONATI, brothers to POSTHUMUS,
with wounds, as they died in the wars.
They circle POSTHUMUS round as he lies sleeping
You chains are most welcome!You are my path,
I think, to freedom.I am better off
than someone sick with gout, since he
will groan in pain forever without being cured
by the great doctor, death, who is the one
who will free me from these chains.My conscience
is more in chains than my arms and legs; you good gods,
give me death as the key to ease that pain,
then I can be free forever!Is it enough to say I'm sorry?
That's the way children appease their earthly fathers.
Gods are more merciful.If I must repent,
I can't do it better than by accepting these
chains, which are more welcome than a punishment.
If I can choose the way I make my payment,
take nothing more from me than my life.
I know you are kinder than vile men,
who take a third, a sixth, a tenth from their
poor debtors, letting them live again
when they've paid; that's not what I want.
Take my life in payment for Imogen's dear one; and though
it's not worth as much, it's still a life; you made it.
Not every man is made worth the same;
though I'm not much, take me as a man;
more so as you made me.And so, great powers,
if you accept my deal, take my life,
and throw off these cold chains.Oh Imogen!
I'll commune with you in silence.
SICILIUS.
No more, thou thunder-master, show
Thy spite on mortal flies.
With Mars fall out, with Juno chide,
That thy adulteries
Rates and revenges.
Hath my poor boy done aught but well,
Whose face I never saw?
I died whilst in the womb he stay'd
Attending nature's law;
Whose father then, as men report
Thou orphans' father art,
Thou shouldst have been, and shielded him
From this earth-vexing smart.
You master of the thunder, no longer
take out your anger on lowly mortals.
Leave Mars, reprove Juno,
so your interventions
put a stop to the slaughter.
Has my poor boy, whose
face I never saw, done anything but good?
I died while he was in the womb,
waiting for the end of his term;
men say that you are
the father to orphans,
and you should have been a father to him,
and protected him from this terrible injury.
MOTHER.
Lucina lent not me her aid,
But took me in my throes,
That from me was Posthumus ripp'd,
Came crying 'mongst his foes,
A thing of pity.
Lucina did not help me,
but took me in my labour,
so that Posthumus was torn from me,
crying amongst his enemies,
a thing of pity.
SICILIUS.
Great Nature like his ancestry
Moulded the stuff so fair
That he deserv'd the praise o' th' world
As great Sicilius' heir.
Great nature shaped him so well,
copying his ancestors,
that he deserved to be praised by the world
as the heir of great Sicilius.
FIRST BROTHER.
When once he was mature for man,
In Britain where was he
That could stand up his parallel,
Or fruitful object be
In eye of Imogen, that best
Could deem his dignity?
Once he became a man,
who was there in Britain
that could be called his equal,
or be as desirable
in Imogen's eyes,
who could match him?
MOTHER.
With marriage wherefore was he mock'd,
To be exil'd and thrown
From Leonati seat and cast
From her his dearest one,
Sweet Imogen?
&n
bsp; Why was he treated so badly in his marriage,
exiled and thrown out
from the home of the Leonati
and taken away from his dear love,
sweet Imogen.
SICILIUS.
Why did you suffer Iachimo,
Slight thing of Italy,
To taint his nobler heart and brain
With needless jealousy,
And to become the geck and scorn
O' th' other's villainy?
Why did you allow Iachimo,
an insignificant Italian,
to stain his nobler heart and mind
with needless jealousy,
making him the dupe and mockery
of the other's villainy?
SECOND BROTHER.
For this from stiller seats we came,
Our parents and us twain,
That, striking in our country's cause,
Fell bravely and were slain,
Our fealty and Tenantius' right
With honour to maintain.
We came from quieter places for this,
our parents and we two,
who, fighting for our country,
fell and were killed nobly,
to uphold with honour
our loyalty and Tenatius' rights.
FIRST BROTHER.
Like hardiment Posthumus hath
To Cymbeline perform'd.
Then, Jupiter, thou king of gods,
Why hast thou thus adjourn'd
The graces for his merits due,
Being all to dolours turn'd?
Posthumus has done similar
service for Cymbeline.
So, Jupiter, you king of gods,
why have you witheld
the rewards his merits deserve,
giving nothing but sorrow?
SICILIUS.
Thy crystal window ope; look out;
No longer exercise
Upon a valiant race thy harsh
And potent injuries.
Look down from your home in the sky;
stop inflicting these harsh
and powerful injuries
upon a brave race.
MOTHER.
Since, Jupiter, our son is good,
Take off his miseries.
Jupiter, as our son is good,