The Complete Works of William Shakespeare In Plain and Simple English (Translated) (132 page)

You are too great for me to contradict you:

with your fine intuition you have guessed right.

NORTHUMBERLAND.

Yet, for all this, say not that Percy's dead.

I see a strange confession in thine eye;

Thou shakest thy head and hold'st it fear or sin

To speak a truth. If he be slain, say so;

The tongue offends not that reports his death:

And he doth sin that doth belie the dead,

Not he which says the dead is not alive.

Yet the first bringer of unwelcome news

Hath but a losing office, and his tongue

Sounds ever after as a sullen bell,

Remember'd tolling a departing friend.

Yet in spite of this, don't say that Percys is dead.

I can see some strange feeling in your eyes; you are

shaking your head and think it would be wrong

to tell me the truth. If he has been killed, say so;

there is no wrong in telling of his death:

it's a sin to try and cover up death,

not to say that the dead are no longer alive.

But it's a thankless task to be the first

bringer of unwelcome news, his voice

will always be remembered afterwards like the sound

of the funeral bell tolling for a lost friend.

LORD BARDOLPH.

I cannot think, my lord, your son is dead.

My lord, I cannot believe that your son is dead.

MORTON.

I am sorry I should force you to believe

That which I would to God I had not seen;

But these mine eyes saw him in bloody state,

Rendering faint quittance, wearied and outbreathed,

To Harry Monmouth; whose swift wrath beat down

The never-daunted Percy to the earth,

From whence with life he never more sprung up.

In few, his death, whose spirit lent a fire

Even to the dullest peasant in his camp,

Being bruited once, took fire and heat away

From the best-temper'd courage in his troops;

For from his metal was his party steel'd;

Which once in him abated, all the rest

Turn'd on themselves, like dull and heavy lead:

And as the thing that's heavy in itself,

Upon enforcement flies with greatest speed,

So did our men, heavy in Hotspur's loss,

Lend to this weight such lightness with their fear

That arrows fled not swifter toward their aim

Than did our soldiers, aiming at their safety,

Fly from the field. Then was that noble Worcester

Too soon ta'en prisoner; and that furious Scot,

The bloody Douglas, whose well-labouring sword

Had three times slain the appearance of the king,

'Gan vail his stomach and did grace the shame

Of those that turn'd their backs, and in his flight,

Stumbling in fear, was took. The sum of all

Is that the king hath won, and hath sent out

A speedy power to encounter you, my lord,

Under the conduct of young Lancaster

And Westmoreland. This is the news at full.

I am sorry to have to force you to believe

something which I wish to God I hadn't seen;

but I saw him covered in blood with my own eyes,

fighting weakly, exhausted and out of breath,

with Harry Monmouth, whose fierce anger smashed

the brave Percy down onto the ground,

from where he never got up alive.

To be brief, the death of the one whose spirit emboldened

even the dullest peasant in his army,

once it was spread around, took all the passion out of

even his most courageous troops:

his forces took their courage from him,

and once he was gone, all the rest

immediately lost that courage:

and when something becomes heavy with fear

the fear takes full control,

and so our men, heavy with the loss of Hotspur,

became so light with their fear

that arrows didn't fly quicker towards their target

than our soldiers, looking for safety,

ran from the battlefield. Then the noble Worcester

was quickly captured, and that furious Scot,

bloody Douglas, whose energetic sword

had killed three men who looked like the King,

began to lose his courage, and copied

those who were shamefully fleeing, and in his flight,

stumbling with fear, he was captured. To sum up,

the King has won, and has sent

 a swiftly moving force to fight you, my lord,

under the leadership of young Lancaster

and Westmorland. This is all the news.

NORTHUMBERLAND.

For this I shall have time enough to mourn.

In poison there is physic; and these news,

Having been well, that would have made me sick,

Being sick, have in some measure made me well:

And as the wretch, whose fever-weaken'd joints,

Like strengthless hinges, buckle under life,

Impatient of his fit, breaks like a fire

Out of his keeper's arms, even so my limbs,

Weaken'd with grief, being now enraged with grief,

Are thrice themselves. Hence, therefore, thou nice crutch!

A scaly gauntlet now with joints of steel

Must glove this hand:  and hence, thou sickly quoif!

Thou art a guard too wanton for the head

Which princes, flesh'd with conquest, aim to hit.

Now bind my brows with iron; and approach

The ragged'st hour that time and spite dare bring

To frown upon the enraged Northumberland!

Let heaven kiss earth! now let not Nature's hand

Keep the wild flood confined! let order die!

And let this world no longer be a stage

To feed contention in a lingering act;

But let one spirit of the first-born Cain

Reign in all bosoms, that, each heart being set

On bloody courses, the rude scene may end,

And darkness be the burier of the dead!

There will be time enough for me to mourn this.

There is medicine in poison; this news,

which would have made me sick if I was well,

as I'm sick, it has to some extent made me well.

Like the wretch whose joints have been weakened by illness,

so that they collapse under the strain like

feeble hinges,

who suddenly erupts like a fire out of

his nurse's arms, so my limbs,

weakened by grief, are now made furious with grief,

and have three times their strength. So away with you, unmanly crutch!

A gauntlet of mail with steel joints

must be the glove for this hand: off with you, invalid's nightcap!

You are too effeminate a protection for a head

which Princes, eager for conquest, want to hit.

Put a helmet on my head, and let's take on

this rough time that spitefulness brings

to bring sorrow to the angry Northumberland!

Let heaven fall down to earth! Don't let nature

hold back the wild flood! Let all order die!

Don't let this world remain as a stage

where disputes are long drawn out things;

let the spirit of Cain

live in all hearts, so that with everyone being

set on bloody actions the world can come to an end

and darkness will bury the dead!

TRAVERS.

This strained passion doth you wrong, my lord.

These hysterical outbursts show you're not yourself, my lord.

LORD BARDOLPH.

Sweet earl, divorce not wisdom from your honour.

Sweet  Earl, do not separate your wisdom and your honour.

MORTON.

The lives of all your loving complices

Lean on your health; the which, if you give o'er

To stormy passion, must perforce decay.

You cast the event of war, my noble lord,

And summ'd the account of chance, before you said

"Let us make head."  It was your presurmise,

That, in the dole of blows, your son might drop:

You knew he walk'd o'er perils, on an edge,

More likely to fall in than to get o'er;

You were advised his flesh was capable

Of wounds and scars and that his forward spirit

Would lift him where most trade of danger ranged:

Yet did you say "Go forth;" and none of this,

Though strongly apprehended, could restrain

The stiff-borne action: what hath then befallen,

Or what hath this bold enterprise brought forth,

More than that being which was like to be?

The lives of all your loving confederates

are depending on you; if you give in

to uncontrolled passion, you will become ill.

You weighed up the reasons for war, my noble lord,

and assessed what the chances were, before you said

“Let us begin.” You knew there was a chance

that in the battle your son might fall:

you knew he was walking through danger, on a knife edge,

more likely to fall than to succeed;

you knew that it was possible he would receive

wounds and scars and that his bravery

would place him in the most dangerous places.

But you still said, “Go on”; and none of your

fears, however strongly you felt them, could stop

you from ordering the action. So what has happened,

what have these events brought forth,

more than what you expected?

LORD BARDOLPH.

We all that are engaged to this loss

Knew that we ventured on such dangerous seas

That if we wrought out life 'twas ten to one;

And yet we ventured, for the gain proposed

Choked the respect of likely peril fear'd;

And since we are o'erset, venture again.

Come, we will put forth, body and goods.

We who participated in this loss

knew that we were taking such a great risk

that the odds of us surviving were ten to one;

and yet we still did it, for the possible gains

outweighed our fear of the likely dangers;

and since we have been beaten, let's try again.

Come, we'll set out again, risking our bodies and our wealth.

MORTON.

'Tis more than time: and, my most noble lord,

I hear for certain, and dare speak the truth:

The gentle Archbishop of York is up

With well-appointed powers:  he is a man

Who with a double surety binds his followers.

My lord your son had only but the corpse,

But shadows and the shows of men, to fight;

For that same word, rebellion, did divide

The action of their bodies from their souls;

And they did fight with queasiness, constrain'd,

As men drink potions, that their weapons only

Seem'd on our side; but, for their spirits and souls,

This word, rebellion, it had froze them up,

As fish are in a pond. But now the bishop

Turns insurrection to religion:

Supposed sincere and holy in his thoughts,

He 's follow'd both with body and with mind;

And doth enlarge his rising with the blood

Of fair King Richard, scraped from Pomfret stones;

Derives from heaven his quarrel and his cause;