The Complete Works of William Shakespeare In Plain and Simple English (Translated) (112 page)

PRINCE.

I do.

I do.

BARD.

What think you they portend?

What do you think they predict?

PRINCE.

Hot livers and cold purses.

Hot livers and empty purses.

BARD.

Choler, my lord, if rightly taken.

Anger, my lord, if correctly taken.

PRINCE.

No, if rightly taken, halter.--Here comes lean Jack, here comes

bare-bone.--

[Enter Falstaff.]

How now, my sweet creature of bombast! How long is't ago, Jack,

since thou saw'st thine own knee?

No, arrests, if you get properly taken.Here comes skinny Jack, here comes

the skeleton –

Hello there, my old pile of stuffing!How long ago is it, Jack,

since you saw your own knees?

FAL.

My own knee! when I was about thy years, Hal, I was not an eagle's

talon in the waist; I could have crept into any alderman's thumb-ring:

a plague of sighing and grief! it blows a man up like a bladder.

There's villanous news abroad:here was Sir John Bracy from your

father; you must to the Court in the morning.

That same mad fellow of the North, Percy; and he of Wales, that gave

Amaimon the bastinado, and swore the Devil his true liegeman upon the

cross of a Welsh hook,--what a plague call you him?

My own knees!When I was about your age, Hal, an eagle could have

got its claw round my waist; I could have crept in through an alderman’s thumb ring:

it’s all this sighing and grief! It blows a man up like a bladder.

There’s bad news outside: that was Sir John Bracy from your

father; you must go to court in the morning.

That madman in the North, Percy; he and that Welshman, who

gave a demon a beating, and swore the Devil was his ally on

a blasphemous Welsh cross – what the hell’s his name?

POINTZ.

O, Glendower.

Oh, Glendower.

FAL.

Owen, Owen,--the same; and his son-in-law Mortimer; and old

Northumberland; and that sprightly Scot of Scots, Douglas, that

runs o' horseback up a hill perpendicular,--

Owen, Owen, that’s the one; and his son-in-law Mortimer; and old

Northumberland; and that active Scot, Douglas, who

can ride his horse up a sheer hillside-

PRINCE.

He that rides at high speed and with his pistol kills a sparrow

flying.

The one who can kill a sparrow in flight with a pistol whilst

galloping at high speed.

FAL.

You have hit it.

You’ve hit it.

PRINCE.

So did he never the sparrow.

And he never hit the sparrow.

FAL.

Well, that rascal hath good metal in him; he will not run.

Well, that rascal has a good temperament; he won’t run.

PRINCE.

Why, what a rascal art thou, then, to praise him so for running!

Why, what a rascal you are, then, to praise him for running like that!

FAL.

O' horseback, ye cuckoo! but a-foot he will not budge a foot.

On horseback, you fool!But on the ground he won’t budge.

PRINCE.

Yes, Jack, upon instinct.

Yes Jack, on instinct.

FAL.

I grant ye, upon instinct. Well, he is there too, and one Mordake,

and a thousand blue-caps more:

Worcester is stolen away to-night; thy father's beard is turn'd

white with the news:you may buy land now as cheap as stinking

mackerel.

I’ll give you that, on instinct.Well, he’s there too, and someone called Mordrake,

and a thousand Scottish blue-bonnets as well:

Worcester sneaked away this evening; your father’s beard has turned

white with the news: you can buy land now as cheap as rotten mackrel.

PRINCE.

Why then, it is like if there came a hot June, and

this civil buffeting hold, we shall buy maidenheads

as they buy hobnails, by the hundreds.

Well then, it’s as if it’s a hot June, and if this

civil strife carries on none of the girls will

be able to resist us, they’ll be two a penny.

FAL.

But, tell me, Hal, art not thou horrible afeard? thou being

heir-apparent, could the world pick thee out three such enemies again

as that fiend Douglas, that spirit Percy, and that devil Glendower?

art thou not horribly afraid? doth not thy blood thrill at it?

But tell me, Hal, aren’t you terribly afraid?Being

heir-apparent, could you find three worse enemies in the world

as that demon Douglas, that ghost Percy, and that devil Glendower?

Aren’t you terribly afraid?Doesn’t it make your blood run cold?

PRINCE.

Not a whit, i'faith; I lack some of thy instinct.

Not at all, I swear; I don’t have your instinct.

FAL.

Well, thou wilt be horribly chid to-morrow when thou comest to

thy father.If thou love life, practise an answer.

Well, you’re going to get an awful telling off tomorrow when

you see your father.If you love life, have an answer ready.

PRINCE.

Do thou stand for my father and examine me upon the particulars

of my life.

You stand in for my father and question me about

my lifestyle.

FAL.

Shall I? content:this chair shall be my state, this dagger my

sceptre, and this cushion my crown.

Shall I?Alright: this chair is my throne, this dagger my sceptre,

and this cushion my crown.

PRINCE.

Thy state is taken for a joint-stool, thy golden sceptre for a

leaden dagger, and thy precious rich crown for a pitiful bald crown.

So we have a wooden stool for your throne, a lead dagger for your

golden sceptre, and a sad bald head for a golden crown.

FAL.

Well, an the fire of grace be not quite out of thee, now shalt

thou be moved.--

Give me a cup of sack, to make my eyes look red, that it may be

thought I have wept; for I must speak in passion, and I will do it

in King Cambyses' vein.

Well, if you have any grace left in you, you will

be moved.-

Give me a cup of sack, to make my eyes look red, so it looks

as if I’ve been weeping; for I must speak with passion, and I will

imitate King Cambyses.

PRINCE.

Well, here is my leg.

Well, I kneel to you.

FAL.

And here is my speech.--Stand aside, nobility.

And here’s what I say. – Stand back, noblemen.

HOST.

O Jesu, this is excellent sport, i faith!

Oh Jesus, I swear this is good fun!

FAL.

Weep not, sweet Queen; for trickling tears are vain.

Do not weep, sweet queen; trickling tears are useless.

HOST.

O, the Father, how he holds his countenance!

Oh, by God, how does he keep a straight face!

FAL.

For God's sake, lords, convey my tristful Queen;

For tears do stop the floodgates of her eyes.

For God’s sake, lords, take my sad Queen away;

tears are blocking the floodgates of her eyes.

HOST.

O Jesu, he doth it as like one of these harlotry players as ever

I see!

Oh Jesus, he’s as good as any of those rascal actors!

FAL.

Peace, good pint-pot; peace, good tickle-brain.--Harry, I do not

only marvel where thou spendest thy time, but also how thou art

accompanied:for though the camomile, the more it is trodden on,

the faster it grows, yet youth, the more it is wasted, the sooner

it wears. That thou art my son, I have partly thy mother's word,

partly my own opinion; but chiefly a villainous trick of thine eye,

and a foolish hanging of thy nether lip, that doth warrant me. If,

then, thou be son to me, here lies the point:Why, being son to me,

art thou so pointed at?

Shall the blessed Sun of heaven prove a micher, and eat blackberries?

a question not to be ask'd. Shall the son of England prove a thief,

and take purses? a question to be ask'd.

There is a thing, Harry, which thou hast often heard of, and it is

known to many in our land by the name of pitch:this pitch, as

ancient writers do report, doth defile; so doth the company thou

keepest:for, Harry, now I do not speak to thee in drink, but in

tears; not in pleasure, but in passion; not in words only,

but in woes also.And yet there is a virtuous man whom I have

often noted in thy company, but I know not his name.

Quiet, pint-pot, quiet, booze-brain.-

Harry, I don’t only wonder where you’ve been spending your time,

but also who you hang around with.For though

chamomile grows better the more you trample it,

the more you spend your youth the quicker you lose it.

I have partly your mother’s word that you are my son,

partly my own opinion, but mainly a villainous trick of your eye, and the foolish

droop of your lower lip, that gives me proof. If

then you are my son, here’s the point – why,

if you’re my son, do you get so pointed at?Shall the

blessed sun of heaven be a truant, off blackberrying?

It’s out of the question.Shall the

sun of England prove to be a thief, and steal purses? A

question we must ask.There’s a thing, Harry, which

you will often have heard of, and many in our country

call it pitch.This pitch ( as ancient writers tell us) defiles,

and so does the company you keep; for, Harry, I’m not

talking through drink, but through tears; not in happiness, but passion,

not only through my words but through my sorrow.

But there is a good man whom I have often seen

in your company, though I do not know his name.

PRINCE.

What manner of man, an it like your Majesty?

What sort of man, if you please, your Majesty?

FAL.

A goodly portly man, i'faith, and a corpulent; of a cheerful look,

a pleasing eye, and a most noble carriage; and, as I think, his age

some fifty, or, by'r Lady, inclining to threescore; and now I

remember me, his name is Falstaff:if that man should be lewdly given,

he deceiveth me; for, Harry, I see virtue in his looks.

If, then, the tree may be known by the fruit, as the fruit by the tree,

then, peremptorily I speak it, there is virtue in that Falstaff:him

keep with, the rest banish. And tell me now, thou naughty varlet, tell