The Complete Works of William Shakespeare In Plain and Simple English (Translated) (1098 page)

Fortune 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

he was going to fly. He always smiles in welcome,

and sighs at those who leave. No, there's no point in virtue

wanting credit for the things it has done;

for beauty, wit, high birth, bodily strength, good service,

love, friendship, charity, they are all

gobbled up by jealous and slandering Time.

There is one human weakness that everybody has,

which is that everybody praises newly minted things,

even if they are made and moulded by past events,

and they give more praise to trivial things that glitter

than solid gold which has a little dust on it.

The most recent eye praises the most recent object.

So don't be surprised, you great and accomplished man,

that all the Greeks have begun to worship Ajax,

since things which are moving catch the eye better

than things which are still. They once gave you their praise,

and they might even now, yes, again,

if you wouldn't bury yourself alive

and imprison your reputation in your tent,

one whose glorious deeds on this battlefield just recently

made even the gods join in the war,

and even great Mars took a side.

ACHILLES.

Of this my privacy

I have strong reasons.

I have good reason

for my isolation.

ULYSSES.

But 'gainst your privacy

The reasons are more potent and heroical.

'Tis known, Achilles, that you are in love

With one of Priam's daughters.

But against your isolation

there are more powerful and heroic reasons.

It's known, Achilles, that you're in love

with one of Priam's daughters.

ACHILLES.

Ha! known!

Ha! known!