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

by William Shakespeare

  In most accepted pain.

  You have a Trojan prisoner called Antenor,

  captured yesterday; Troy values him very highly.

  You have frequently–and so I have frequently thanked you–

  asked to exchange some great prisoner for my Cressida,

  but Troy has always refused; but this Antenor,

  I know, is so important to their business

  that all their plans will go astray

  if he's not there to manage them; and they would almost

  give us a blood Prince, a son of Priam,

  in exchange for him. Send him to them, great Princes,

  and that will get my daughter; and having her here

  will pay in full for all the trouble I have taken

  on your behalf.

  AGAMEMNON.

  Let Diomedes bear him,

  And bring us Cressid hither. Calchas shall have

  What he requests of us. Good Diomed,

  Furnish you fairly for this interchange;

  Withal, bring word if Hector will to-morrow

  Be answer'd in his challenge. Ajax is ready.

  Let Diomedes take him there,

  and bring Cressida here to us. Calchas shall have

  what he asks for. Good Diomedes,

  get everything ready for this the exchange;

  also, bring news of whether Hector will

  accept an answer to his challenge tomorrow. Ajax is ready.

  DIOMEDES.

  This shall I undertake; and 'tis a burden

  Which I am proud to bear.

  I shall do this; and I'm proud

  to carry out the task.

  Exeunt DIOMEDES and CALCHAS

  ACHILLES and PATROCLUS stand in their tent

  ULYSSES.

  Achilles stands i' th' entrance of his tent.

  Please it our general pass strangely by him,

  As if he were forgot; and, Princes all,

  Lay negligent and loose regard upon him.

  I will come last. 'Tis like he'll question me

  Why such unplausive eyes are bent, why turn'd on him?

  If so, I have derision med'cinable

  To use between your strangeness and his pride,

  Which his own will shall have desire to drink.

  It may do good. Pride hath no other glass

  To show itself but pride; for supple knees

  Feed arrogance and are the proud man's fees.

  Achilles is standing at the entrance of his tent.

  I think our general should ignore him as he passes,

  as if he had forgotten about him; and, all you princes,

  show that you don't pay him any mind.

  I'll bring up the rear. He'll probably ask me

  why he is getting such disapproving looks.

  If he does I'll be able to tell him

  the reason for it,

  and he'll be so keen to hear about himself that he will listen.

  It may do good. If he sees his own pride

  reflected in you it might make him think; bowing the knee to him

  will only feed his arrogance, it's what proud men like.

  AGAMEMNON.

  We'll execute your purpose, and put on

  A form of strangeness as we pass along.

  So do each lord; and either greet him not,

  Or else disdainfully, which shall shake him more

  Than if not look'd on. I will lead the way.

  We'll carry out your plan, and pretend

  not to see him as we pass by.

  All of you do this; either don't greet him,

  or greet him scornfully, which will disturb him more

  than being ignored. I will lead the way.

  ACHILLES.

  What comes the general to speak with me?

  You know my mind. I'll fight no more 'gainst Troy.

  Why has the general come to speak to me?

  You know what I think. I won't fight against Troy any more.

  AGAMEMNON.

  What says Achilles? Would he aught with us?

  What's Achilles saying? Does he want something?

  NESTOR.

  Would you, my lord, aught with the general?

  Is there something you want, my lord, with the general?

  ACHILLES.

  No.

  No.

  NESTOR.

  Nothing, my lord.

  Nothing, my lord.

  AGAMEMNON.

  The better.

  That's good then.

  Exeunt AGAMEMNON and NESTOR

  ACHILLES.

  Good day, good day.

  Good day, good day.

  MENELAUS.

  How do you? How do you?

  How are you? How are you?

  Exit

  ACHILLES.

  What, does the cuckold scorn me?

  What, is that cuckold scorning me?

  AJAX.

  How now, Patroclus?

  How are you, Patroclus?

  ACHILLES.

  Good morrow, Ajax.

  Good day, Ajax.

  AJAX.

  Ha?

  Hmm?

  ACHILLES.

  Good morrow.

  Good day.

  AJAX.

  Ay, and good next day too.

  Yes, I expect tomorrow will be a good day as well.

  Exit

  ACHILLES.

  What mean these fellows? Know they not Achilles?

  What are these fellows up to? Don't they recognise Achilles?

  PATROCLUS.

  They pass by strangely. They were us'd to bend,

  To send their smiles before them to Achilles,

  To come as humbly as they us'd to creep

  To holy altars.

  They pass by in a strange way. They used to bow,

  to put on a smile as they approached Achilles,

  to come as humbly as if they were approaching

  a holy altar.

  ACHILLES.

  What, am I poor of late?

  'Tis certain, greatness, once fall'n out with fortune,

  Must fall out with men too. What the declin'd is,

  He shall as soon read in the eyes of others

  As feel in his own fall; for men, like butterflies,

  Show not their mealy wings but to the summer;

  And not a man for being simply man

  Hath any honour, but honour for those honours

  That are without him, as place, riches, and favour,

  Prizes of accident, as oft as merit;

  Which when they fall, as being slippery standers,

  The love that lean'd on them as slippery too,

  Doth one pluck down another, and together

  Die in the fall. But 'tis not so with me:

  Fortune and I are friends; I do enjoy

  At ample point all that I did possess

  Save these men's looks; who do, methinks, find out

  Something not worth in me such rich beholding

  As they have often given. Here is Ulysses.

  I'll interrupt his reading.

  How now, Ulysses!

  What, have I become a poor man?

  It's certain that when a great man is out of luck

  his friends soon desert him. When a man has fallen

  he will know it as much from looking in the eyes of others

  as he will from his own feelings; for men are like butterflies,

  they don't show their powdered wings except in summer;

  and no man gets any honour just for being a man,

  he only gets honour for those honours which are

  visible, like rank, riches and favour,

  which are got by luck as often as by merit;

  when they fall, for they have weak foundations,

  the love that depended on them proves just as weak,

  they both fall together, and they both

  die in the fall. But I'm not like that:

  Fortu
ne favours me; I still have all

  the great things that I had before,

  apart from these men's glances; I think they

  think that there is something about me which makes me

  not as worth acknowledging as previously. Here is Ulysses.

  I'll interrupt his reading.

  Hello there, Ulysses!

  ULYSSES.

  Now, great Thetis' son!

  Well then, great son of Thetis!

  ACHILLES.

  What are you reading?

  What are you reading?

  ULYSSES.

  A strange fellow here

  Writes me that man-how dearly ever parted,

  How much in having, or without or in-

  Cannot make boast to have that which he hath,

  Nor feels not what he owes, but by reflection;

  As when his virtues shining upon others

  Heat them, and they retort that heat again

  To the first giver.

  This strange fellow

  writes that a man–however good his attributes,

  however much he has, inside or out–

  can only measure what he has,

  or enjoy what he owns, in the reflection of others;

  his virtue shines on others

  and heats them, and they give that heat back again

  to the one who first gave it.

  ACHILLES.

  This is not strange, Ulysses.

  The beauty that is borne here in the face

  The bearer knows not, but commends itself

  To others' eyes; nor doth the eye itself-

  That most pure spirit of sense-behold itself,

  Not going from itself; but eye to eye opposed

  Salutes each other with each other's form;

  For speculation turns not to itself

  Till it hath travell'd, and is mirror'd there

  Where it may see itself. This is not strange at all.

  That's not strange, Ulysses.

  A man cannot know the beauty

  of his own face, he sees it

  through the eyes of others; nor can the eye itself–

  the most perfect all the senses–see itself,

  it can't turn in on itself; but eyes that look at each other

  greet each other with their own beauty;

  sight cannot see itself

  until it has gone out and found a mirror

  where it can be reflected. This is not strange at all.

  ULYSSES.

  I do not strain at the position-

  It is familiar-but at the author's drift;

  Who, in his circumstance, expressly proves

  That no man is the lord of anything,

  Though in and of him there be much consisting,

  Till he communicate his parts to others;

  Nor doth he of himself know them for aught

  Till he behold them formed in th' applause

  Where th' are extended; who, like an arch, reverb'rate

  The voice again; or, like a gate of steel

  Fronting the sun, receives and renders back

  His figure and his heat. I was much rapt in this;

  And apprehended here immediately

  Th' unknown Ajax. Heavens, what a man is there!

  A very horse that has he knows not what!

  Nature, what things there are

  Most abject in regard and dear in use!

  What things again most dear in the esteem

  And poor in worth! Now shall we see to-morrow-

  An act that very chance doth throw upon him-

  Ajax renown'd. O heavens, what some men do,

  While some men leave to do!

  How some men creep in skittish Fortune's-hall,

  Whiles others play the idiots in her eyes!

  How one man eats into another's pride,

  While pride is fasting in his wantonness!

  To see these Grecian lords!-why, even already

  They clap the lubber Ajax on the shoulder,

  As if his foot were on brave Hector's breast,

  And great Troy shrinking.

  I'm not arguing with the point–

  it's well known–but with the author's conclusions,

  because in his explanation he clearly argues

  that no man is the lord of anything,

  however good he is in and of himself,

  until he has shown his good qualities to others;

  nor can he himself value them

  until he sees them applauded

  when he uses them–it's like an arch

  echoing with your voice, or like a steel gate

  facing the sun, which receives and sends back

  his light and heat. I was very taken with this,

  and saw immediately that it applied

  to the unknown Ajax. Heavens, what a man he is!

  He's like a horse that doesn't know his own strength.

  Nature, how many things there are

  that are thought of as worthless but are valuable in practice!

  And how many things are there that people value

  which are actually worthless! Now tomorrow we shall see

  something happening that chance has thrown his way.

  Ajax famous? O heavens, look at what some men do,

  while others don't do what they should!

  Some men go to beg changeable fortune,

  while others throw away what she has given!

  Look how one man can steal another's glory,

  while the proud man is starving himself of it through arrogance!

  Look at these Greek lords! Why, even now

  they clap the idiot lout Ajax on the shoulder,

  as if he had already got brave Hector under his heel,

  and all of great Troy was terrified.

  ACHILLES.

  I do believe it; for they pass'd by me

  As misers do by beggars-neither gave to me

  Good word nor look. What, are my deeds forgot?

  I can believe it; for they passed me by

  like misers walking past beggars–they didn't give me either

  good words or kind looks. What, have my deeds been forgotten?

  ULYSSES.

  Time hath, my lord, a wallet at his back,

  Wherein he puts alms for oblivion,

  A great-siz'd monster of ingratitudes.

  Those scraps are good deeds past, which are devour'd

  As fast as they are made, forgot as soon

  As done. Perseverance, dear my lord,

  Keeps honour bright. To have done is to hang

  Quite out of fashion, like a rusty mail

  In monumental mock'ry. Take the instant way;

  For honour travels in a strait so narrow -

  Where one but goes abreast. Keep then the path,

  For emulation hath a thousand sons

  That one by one pursue; if you give way,

  Or hedge aside from the direct forthright,

  Like to an ent'red tide they all rush by

  And leave you hindmost;

  Or, like a gallant horse fall'n in first rank,

  Lie there for pavement to the abject rear,

  O'er-run and trampled on. Then what they do in present,

  Though less than yours in past, must o'ertop yours;

  For Time is like a fashionable host,

  That slightly shakes his parting guest by th' hand;

  And with his arms out-stretch'd, as he would fly,

  Grasps in the corner. The welcome ever smiles,

  And farewell goes out sighing. O, let not virtue seek

  Remuneration for the thing it was;

  For beauty, wit,

  High birth, vigour of bone, desert in service,

  Love, friendship, charity, are subjects all

  To envious and calumniating Time.

  One touch of nature makes the whole world kin-

  That all with one consent praise new-born gawds,

/>   Though they are made and moulded of things past,

  And give to dust that is a little gilt

  More laud than gilt o'er-dusted.

  The present eye praises the present object.

  Then marvel not, thou great and complete man,

  That all the Greeks begin to worship Ajax,

  Since things in motion sooner catch the eye

  Than what stirs not. The cry went once on thee,

  And still it might, and yet it may again,

  If thou wouldst not entomb thyself alive

  And case thy reputation in thy tent,

  Whose glorious deeds but in these fields of late

  Made emulous missions 'mongst the gods themselves,

  And drave great Mars to faction.

  Time, my lord, has a bag on his back,

  in which he puts gifts for forgetfulness,

  which is a huge ungrateful monster.

  These scraps are the good deeds of the past, which are devoured

  as quickly as they are made, forgotten as soon

  as they are done. Perseverance, my dear lord,

  is what keeps honour bright. To have done something makes you

  most unfashionable, like a rusty suit of armour,

  a forgotten trophy. Keep marching onwards;

  glory goes along such a narrow path

  that only one can walk itat a time. So stick to the path,

  because jealous rivalry has a thousand sons,

  following in single file; if you give way,

  or step aside from the straight path,

  they'll rush by you like a tide

  and leave you in last place;

  or, like a brave horse that fell in the front rank,

  you'll lie there as a stepping stone for the cowardly followers,

  overrun and trampled on. Then what they do in the present,

  though it's less than what you did in the past, beats you;

  for time is like a fashionable host

  who gives his parting guest a quick handshake,

  and hugs the newcomer with his arms outstretched as if