The Complete Works of William Shakespeare In Plain and Simple English (Translated) (181 page)

Indeed, the French may bet twenty one they will beat us, but we will cut them down alongside the king tomorrow.

Exit soldiers.

I swear, let us lay our lives, our souls, our debts, our wives, our children, and our sins on the king! I must bear it all. What a hard life to live, born with greatness and subject to every fool. What a king must bear, that a private man enjoys! What’s the difference between a king and a common man. Just general ceremony? What kind of god suffers more than mortals? What is the payment? What’s it all worth? What makes a soul more worthy of adoration? Place and position in life to create fear in other men, while you are more unhappy being feared than the ones who are actually fearful? What good is useless flattery instead of sincere love? I am sick of all the ceremony. Give me a cure! Do you think a title gives so much credit men are eager to bend their knee? It’s all a vain dream. I understand you, ceremony. I am a king, and I know nothing will help the king sleep like the common man, with an empty mind and full belly rests peacefully. He never wakes in the night, tormented like a child of hell. After years of labor he goes to his grave and rests in peace. He is better off than a king. He enjoys peace in his country without worrying about how to maintain it.

Enter Erpingham

Erpingham

My lord, your nobles, jealous of your absence,


Seek through your camp to find you.

My lord, your nobles are looking for you throughout the camp.

King

Good old knight,


Collect them all together at my tent.


I'll be before thee.

Good old knight, get them all together at my tent. I’ll be right there.

Erpingham

I shall do't, my lord.

I’ll do it, my lord.

Exit.

King

O God of battles! steel my soldiers' hearts.


Possess them not with fear. Take from them now


The sense of reckoning, if the opposed numbers


Pluck their hearts from them. Not to-day, O Lord,


O, not to-day, think not upon the fault


My father made in compassing the crown!


I Richard's body have interred new,


And on it have bestow'd more contrite tears


Than from it issued forced drops of blood.


Five hundred poor I have in yearly pay,


Who twice a day their wither'd hands hold up


Toward heaven, to pardon blood; and I have built


Two chantries, where the sad and solemn priests


Sing still for Richard's soul. More will I do;


Though all that I can do is nothing worth,


Since that my penitence comes after all,


Imploring pardon.

Oh God of battles! Make my soldiers’ hearts steel. Take away their fear and their sense of revenge, if the enemy is too great. Oh Lord, don’t think about the way my father took the crown today. Oh not today! I have cried more tears over Richard’s body than he drew from this world. I employ five hundred people to pray for my absolution twice a day, and I’ve built two churches to house priests who sing continually for Richard’s soul. I will do more, but nothing is worth your pardon.

Enter Gloucester

Gloucester

My liege!

My liege!

King

My brother Gloucester's voice? Ay;


I know thy errand, I will go with thee.


The day, my friends, and all things stay for me.

Is that you, Gloucester? Yes, I know why you’re here. I will go with you. Today, my friends and everything wait upon me.

Exit.

Enter the Dauphin, Orleans, Rambures, and others.

Orleans

The sun doth gild our armour; up, my lords!

The sun is shining upon our armor. Get up, my lords!

Dauphin

Montez a cheval! My horse, varlet! lackey! ha!

Get on your horse. Get my horse! Ha!

Orleans

O brave spirit!

Oh, brave spirit!

Dauphin

Via! les eaux et la terre.

I will ride him through floods and fields.

Orleans

Rien puis? L'air et le feu.

What about through air and fire?

Dauphin

Ciel, cousin Orleans.

Just the heavens, cousin Orleans.

Enter Constable.

Now, my Lord Constable!

Hello, my lord, Constable!

Constable

Hark, how our steeds for present service neigh!

Hey, are our horses ready to serve us?

Dauphin

Mount them, and make incision in their hides,


That their hot blood may spin in English eyes,


And dout them with superfluous courage, ha!

When you mount them, cut them in their hides so the blood may spin out into the eyes of the English. Give them any extra courage you have, ha!

Rambures

What, will you have them weep our horses' blood?


How shall we, then, behold their natural tears?

Do you want them to weep blood from our horses? How will we see their natural tears?

Enter Messenger.

Messenger

The English are embattl'd, you French peers.

The English are ready, my French lords.

Constable

To horse, you gallant princes! straight to horse!


Do but behold yon poor and starved band,


And your fair show shall suck away their souls,


Leaving them but the shales and husks of men.


There is not work enough for all our hands;


Scarce blood enough in all their sickly veins


To give each naked curtle-axe a stain,


That our French gallants shall to-day draw out,


And sheathe for lack of sport. Let us but blow on them,


The vapour of our valour will o'erturn them.


'Tis positive 'gainst all exceptions, lords,


That our superfluous lackeys and our peasants,


Who in unnecessary action swarm


About our squares of battle, were enow


To purge this field of such a hilding foe,


Though we upon this mountain's basis by


Took stand for idle speculation,


But that our honours must not. What's to say?


A very little little let us do,


And all is done. Then let the trumpets sound


The tucket sonance and the note to mount;


For our approach shall so much dare the field


That England shall crouch down in fear and yield.

To your horses, you gallant princes! Straight to your horses! Look upon the poor and starved band of men. Your appearance will suck away their souls, leaving them just empty shells of men. There isn’t enough work for all of us or enough blood in all their veins to stain one of our axes. Let’s just blow on them and watch our breath knock them down. It’s true our peasants and servants are enough to purge the battlefield of our enemy. We stand here for them to see, but that doesn’t honor us. So, let’s do the little that must be done. Then let the trumpets play to announce our approach and watch England crouch down in fear and give up.

Enter Grandpre.

Grandpre

Why do you stay so long, my lords of France?


Yond island carrions, desperate of their bones,


Ill-favouredly become the morning field.


Their ragged curtains poorly are let loose,


And our air shakes them passing scornfully.


Big Mars seems bankrupt in their beggar'd host,


And faintly through a rusty beaver peeps;


The horsemen sit like fixed candlesticks


With torch-staves in their hand; and their poor jades


Lob down their heads, drooping the hides and hips,


The gum down-roping from their pale-dead eyes,


And in their pale dull mouths the gimmal bit


Lies foul with chew'd grass, still, and motionless;


And their executors, the knavish crows,


Fly o'er them, all impatient for their hour.


Description cannot suit itself in words


To demonstrate the life of such a battle,


In life so lifeless as it shows itself.

Why are you still here, my lords? The poor English are already on the field. Their ragged flags are flying as French air blows them about scornfully. Mars, the god of war, will not spend much on this battle. The horsemen look through their rusty helmets like frozen sticks. With torches in their hands, they sit on horses whose heads hang low showing the bones of their hips as they tug at the grass. The crows are flying high impatiently waiting their deaths. There aren’t any words in life to describe this lifeless battle.

Constable

They have said their prayers, and they stay for death.

They have said their prayers and they are ready for death.

Dauphin

Shall we go send them dinners and fresh suits


And give their fasting horses provender,


And after fight with them?

Should we send them food and new armor, or give their horses provisions before we fight them?

Constable

I stay but for my guard; on to the field!


I will the banner from a trumpet take,


And use it for my haste. Come, come, away!


The sun is high, and we outwear the day.

I’m waiting on my banner man, but never mind. To the field! I will take the banner from a trumpeter. Let’s hurry. Come on! The sun is high and we are wasting daylight.

Exit.