The Complete Works of William Shakespeare In Plain and Simple English (Translated) (10 page)

Poictiers, and Anjou, these five provinces,

With her to thee; and this addition more,

Full thirty thousand marks of English coin.

Philip of France, if thou be pleas'd withal,

Command thy son and daughter to join hands.

Then I shall give Volquessen, Touraine, Maine,

Poitiers and Anjou, these five provinces,

to you along with her; and I shall also add

thirty thousand marks in English money.

Philip of France, if you agree to all that,

tell your son and daughter to join hands.

KING PHILIP.

It likes us well; young princes, close your hands.

I'm very pleased with it; young Princes, hold hands.

AUSTRIA.

And your lips too; for I am well assur'd

That I did so when I was first assur'd.

And touch lips too; I can certainly remember

that I did so when I was first engaged.

KING PHILIP.

Now, citizens of Angiers, ope your gates,

Let in that amity which you have made;

For at Saint Mary's chapel presently

The rites of marriage shall be solemniz'd.

Is not the Lady Constance in this troop?

I know she is not; for this match made up

Her presence would have interrupted much.

Where is she and her son? Tell me, who knows.

Now, citizens of Angiers, open your gates,

and let in the love which you have created;

we shall celebrate the marriage at once

in St Mary's Chapel.

Isn't Lady Constance in this gathering?

I know she is not; for she would have done her best

to interrupt this marriage.

Where are her and her son? If anyone knows, tell me.

LEWIS.

She is sad and passionate at your Highness' tent.

She is at your Highness' tent, deeply sad.

KING PHILIP.

And, by my faith, this league that we have made

Will give her sadness very little cure.

Brother of England, how may we content

This widow lady? In her right we came;

Which we, God knows, have turn'd another way,

To our own vantage.

And, I swear, this agreement we have made

will not make her any happier.

Brother of England, how can we make this widow

happy? We came here to fight for her;

but now, God knows, we have changed direction,

for our own good.

KING JOHN.

We will heal up all,

For we'll create young Arthur Duke of Britaine,

And Earl of Richmond; and this rich fair town

We make him lord of. Call the Lady Constance;

Some speedy messenger bid her repair

To our solemnity. I trust we shall,

If not fill up the measure of her will,

Yet in some measure satisfy her so

That we shall stop her exclamation.

Go we as well as haste will suffer us

To this unlook'd-for, unprepared pomp.

We will heal everything,

for we will make young Arthur Duke of Brittany,

and Earl of Richmond; and also Lord of

this rich fair town. Call Lady Constance;

let some speedy messenger summon her

to our presence. I hope we shall,

if we can't do everything she wants,

at least we can give her enough satisfaction

so we can stop her complaining.

Let's go as quickly as we can

to this unexpected, unprepared ceremony.

Exeunt all but the BASTARD

BASTARD.

Mad world! mad kings! mad composition!

John, to stop Arthur's tide in the whole,

Hath willingly departed with a part;

And France, whose armour conscience buckled on,

Whom zeal and charity brought to the field

As God's own soldier, rounded in the ear

With that same purpose-changer, that sly devil,

That broker that still breaks the pate of faith,

That daily break-vow, he that wins of all,

Of kings, of beggars, old men, young men, maids,

Who having no external thing to lose

But the word 'maid,' cheats the poor maid of that;

That smooth-fac'd gentleman, tickling commodity,

Commodity, the bias of the world-

The world, who of itself is peised well,

Made to run even upon even ground,

Till this advantage, this vile-drawing bias,

This sway of motion, this commodity,

Makes it take head from all indifferency,

From all direction, purpose, course, intent-

And this same bias, this commodity,

This bawd, this broker, this all-changing word,

Clapp'd on the outward eye of fickle France,

Hath drawn him from his own determin'd aid,

From a resolv'd and honourable war,

To a most base and vile-concluded peace.

And why rail I on this commodity?

But for because he hath not woo'd me yet;

Not that I have the power to clutch my hand

When his fair angels would salute my palm,

But for my hand, as unattempted yet,

Like a poor beggar raileth on the rich.

Well, whiles I am a beggar, I will rail

And say there is no sin but to be rich;

And being rich, my virtue then shall be

To say there is no vice but beggary.

Since kings break faith upon commodity,

Gain, be my lord, for I will worship thee.

Mad world! Mad kings! A mad arrangement!

John, to stop Arthur getting the whole thing

has willingly given up part of it:

and France, who was driven by conscience,

he came to the battlefield in pious charity

as a soldier of God, listened to the whispers

of that sly devil who makes men changeable,

that pimp who destroys all faith,

the daily promise breaker, who wins over everyone,

Kings, beggars, old men, young men, maids,

who, having nothing outside to lose

apart from the word “maid" cheats the poor maid out of that,

that deceitful gentleman, flattering self-interest,

self-interest, which unbalances the world,

the world, which is well-balanced in itself,

designed to run evenly along even ground,

until this bias comes in,

this changing motion, this self-interest,

which makes it run away from impartiality,

from all sense, purpose, and intentions:

this same bias, this self-interest,

this pimp, this broker, this always changing word,

has suddenly popped up in the eyes of fickle France,

and drawn him away from his own determined path,

from a settled and honourable war

to a dishonourable tawdry peace.

Why am I criticising this self-interest?

Because it hasn't come to offer me anything yet:

I don't have the power within my hands

which would make it worth his while;

and so my hand, yet to be tempted,

criticises the rich like a poor beggar.

Well, while I am a beggar, I will criticise

and say the only sin is to be rich;

once I'm rich, I shall then say

that the only evil thing is begging.

Since kings break their promises out of self-interest,

gain, be my Lord, for I will worship you!

Exit

France. The FRENCH KING'S camp

Enter CONSTANCE, ARTHUR, and SALISBURY

CONSTANCE.

Gone to be married! Gone to swear a peace!

False blood to false blood join'd! Gone to be friends!

Shall Lewis have Blanch, and Blanch those provinces?

It is not so; thou hast misspoke, misheard;

Be well advis'd, tell o'er thy tale again.

It cannot be; thou dost but say 'tis so;

I trust I may not trust thee, for thy word

Is but the vain breath of a common man:

Believe me I do not believe thee, man;

I have a king's oath to the contrary.

Thou shalt be punish'd for thus frighting me,

For I am sick and capable of fears,

Oppress'd with wrongs, and therefore full of fears;

A widow, husbandless, subject to fears;

A woman, naturally born to fears;

And though thou now confess thou didst but jest,

With my vex'd spirits I cannot take a truce,

But they will quake and tremble all this day.

What dost thou mean by shaking of thy head?

Why dost thou look so sadly on my son?

What means that hand upon that breast of thine?

Why holds thine eye that lamentable rheum,

Like a proud river peering o'er his bounds?

Be these sad signs confirmers of thy words?

Then speak again-not all thy former tale,

But this one word, whether thy tale be true.

Gone to be married! Gone to swear to a peace agreement!

Joining false blood with false blood! Gone to be friends!

Will Louis have Blanche, and Blanche have these provinces?

It isn't true; you've described it wrong, or misheard;

think about it, tell your story over again.

It cannot be; it's just that you say it's true.

I'm sure I can't trust you, for your words

are just the useless breath of a common man;

believe me, I do not believe you, man:

the King has sworn differently to me.

You shall be punished for frightening me like this,

for I am sick and liable to take fright,

crushed down by insults and so liable to take fright,