The Complete Works of William Shakespeare In Plain and Simple English (Translated) (238 page)

I'll call him at once, my noble Lord.

[Exit.]

KING.

Lords, take your places; and, I pray you all,

Proceed no straiter 'gainst our uncle Gloster

Than from true evidence of good esteem

He be approv'd in practice culpable.

Lords, take your places; and, I beg you,

do not take action against my uncle Gloucester

except for anything which he can be proved

on good evidence to have done.

QUEEN.

God forbid any malice should prevail

That faultless may condemn a nobleman!

Pray God he may acquit him of suspicion!

God forbid that there should be any malice

which would condemn an innocent nobleman!

I pray to God that he will be acquitted!

KING.

I thank thee, Meg; these words content me much.--

[Re-enter SUFFOLK.]

How now! why look'st thou pale? why tremblest thou?

Where is our uncle? what's the matter, Suffolk?

Thank you, Meg; these words make me very happy–

what's this! Why do you look pale? Why are you trembling?

Where is my uncle? What's the matter, Suffolk?

SUFFOLK.

Dead in his bed, my lord; Gloster is dead.

Dead in his bed, my lord; Gloucester is dead.

QUEEN.

Marry, God forfend!

Why, heaven forfend!

CARDINAL.

God's secret judgment!--I did dream to-night

The duke was dumb and could not speak a word.

That's the secret judgement of God! I had a dream tonight

that the Duke was dumb and wouldn't say a word.

[The King swoons.]

QUEEN.

How fares my lord?--Help, lords! the king is dead.

How are you my lord? Help, lords! The king is dead.

SOMERSET.

Rear up his body; wring him by the nose.

Lift up his body; twist his nose.

QUEEN.

Run, go, help, help!--O Henry, ope thine eyes!

Run, go and get help! O Henry, open your eyes!

SUFFOLK.

He doth revive again.--Madam, be patient.

He's coming round. Madam, calm yourself.

KING.

O heavenly God!

O God in heaven!

QUEEN.

How fares my gracious lord?

How are you my gracious lord?

SUFFOLK.

Comfort, my sovereign! gracious Henry, comfort!

Be easy, my sovereign! Gracious Henry, be easy!

KING.

What, doth my Lord of Suffolk comfort me?

Came he right now to sing a raven's note

Whose dismal tune bereft my vital powers,

And thinks he that the chirping of a wren,

By crying comfort from a hollow breast,

Can chase away the first-conceived sound?

Hide not thy poison with such sugar'd words;

Lay not thy hands on me; forbear, I say!

Their touch affrights me as a serpent's sting.

Thou baleful messenger, out of my sight!

Upon thy eye-balls murtherous tyranny

Sits in grim majesty, to fright the world.

Look not upon me, for thine eyes are wounding.

Yet do not go away; come, basilisk,

And kill the innocent gazer with thy sight,

For in the shade of death I shall find joy,

In life but double death, now Gloster's dead.

What, is my Lord of Suffolk comforting me?

He came just now singing like a raven

whose horrible tune stripped me of my consciousness,

and he thinks that chirping like a wren,

telling me from his empty heart to be easy,

will chase away what I heard first?

Don't hide your poison with such sweet words;

don't put your hands on me; get off, I say!

Your touch is as horrid as the bite of a snake.

You evil messenger, get out of my sight!

I can see murderous tyranny in your eyes,

grimly ruling there, to terrify the world.

Don't look at me, for your eyes are like weapons.

But do not go away; come, basilisk,

and kill the innocent onlooker with your eyes,

for I will find happiness in the shadow of death,

for life is worse than death, now that Gloucester is dead.

QUEEN.

Why do you rate my Lord of Suffolk thus?

Although the duke was enemy to him,

Yet he most Christian-like laments his death;

And for myself, foe as he was to me,

Might liquid tears or heart-offending groans

Or blood-consuming sighs recall his life,

I would be blind with weeping, sick with groans,

Look pale as primrose with blood-drinking sighs,

And all to have the noble duke alive.

What know I how the world may deem of me?

For it is known we were but hollow friends.

It may be judg'd I made the duke away;

So shall my name with slander's tongue be wounded

And princes' courts be fill'd with my reproach.

This get I by his death. Ay me, unhappy!

To be a queen, and crown'd with infamy!

Why you attacking my Lord Suffolk like this?

Although the Duke fought against him,

he is sorrowing for his death like a Christian;

and for myself, even though he was my enemy,

if tears or heartfelt groans

or the deepest sighs could bring him back to life,

I would be blind with weeping, sick with groans,

spend all my blood on great sighs,

to bring the noble duke back to life.

What will the world say about me?

It's known that we weren't true friends.

People may say that I killed the Duke;

so my name will be wounded by slander,

and the courts of Princes will be filled with criticism of me.

This is what his death brings to me. Alas, poor me!

To be a queen, and have a bad reputation as my crown!

KING.

Ah, woe is me for Gloster, wretched man!

Ah, I sorrow for Gloucester, wretched man!

QUEEN.

Be woe for me, more wretched than he is.

What, dost thou turn away and hide thy face?

I am no loathsome leper; look on me.

What! art thou, like the adder, waxen deaf?

Be poisonous too and kill thy forlorn queen.

Is all thy comfort shut in Gloster's tomb?

Why, then, dame Margaret was ne'er thy joy.

Erect his statue and worship it,

And make my image but an alehouse sign.

Was I for this nigh wrack'd upon the sea,

And twice by awkward wind from England's bank

Drove back again unto my native clime?

What boded this but well forewarning wind

Did seem to say 'Seek not a scorpion's nest,

Nor set no footing on this unkind shore?'

What did I then, but curs'd the gentle gusts

And he that loos'd them forth their brazen caves,

And bid them blow towards England's blessed shore,

Or turn our stern upon a dreadful rock?

Yet Aeolus would not be a murtherer,

But left that hateful office unto thee.

The pretty-vaulting sea refus'd to drown me,

Knowing that thou wouldst have me drown'd on shore,

With tears as salt as sea, through thy unkindness.

The splitting rocks cower'd in the sinking sands

And would not dash me with their ragged sides,

Because thy flinty heart, more hard than they,

Might in thy palace perish Margaret.

As far as I could ken thy chalky cliffs,

When from thy shore the tempest beat us back,

I stood upon the hatches in the storm,

And when the dusky sky began to rob

My earnest-gaping sight of thy land's view,

I took a costly jewel from my neck--

A heart it was, bound in with diamonds--

And threw it towards thy land; the sea receiv'd it,

And so I wish'd thy body might my heart.

And even with this I lost fair England's view,

And bid mine eyes be packing with my heart,

And call'd them blind and dusky spectacles,

For losing ken of Albion's wished coast.

How often have I tempted Suffolk's tongue,

The agent of thy foul inconstancy,

To sit and witch me, as Ascanius did

When he to madding Dido would unfold

His father's acts commenc'd in burning Troy!

Am I not witch'd like her? or thou not false like him?

Ay me, I can no more! die, Margaret!

For Henry weeps that thou dost live so long.

Be sorry for me, who is more wretched than him.

What, do you turn away and hide your face?

I am not some horrible leper; look at me.

What! Have you become deaf like an adder?

Then be poisonous as well and kill your lost Queen.

Has all your sympathy been shut up in the tomb of Gloucester?

Why then, you never loved Lady Margaret.

Put up his statue and worship it,

and make an inn sign out of my picture.

Was this what I was almost killed in a shipwreck for,

and twice driven back from the shores of England

by ill winds to my native land?

What was happening but the forewarning winds

were saying “Don't put your hand in a scorpion's nest,

don't set foot on this unkind shore"?

And what did I do, I cursed those kind winds,

and the one who set them free from their loud caves,

and told them to blow towards the blessed shore of England,

or break our stern upon a dreadful rock?

But the god of winds would not be a murderer,

he left that horrible job to you.

The leaping sea refused to drown me,

knowing that you would have me drowned on shore,

in tears as salt as the sea, duty or unkindness.

The splitting rocks hid in the quicksand,

and would not smash me against their ragged sides,

because they knew that Margaret would die smashed against

your flinty heart, harder than them, in your palace.

For as long as I could see your chalky cliffs,

when the storm drove us back from your shore,

I stood up on the deck in the storm,

and when the dark sky began to take away

the sight of your land from my straining vision,

I took an expensive jewel from around my neck–

it was a heart, surrounded with diamonds–

and threw it towards your country; the sea swallowed it,

and so I wish that your body might swallow my heart.

And even as I did it I lost sight of fair England,

and told my eyes to follow my heart,

and called them blind and filthy spectacles,

for losing sight of the longed for coast of Albion.

How often I asked Suffolk, the agent

of your foul unfaithfulness, to sit and bewitch me

as Ascanius did, when he would tell

besotted Dido the tales of what his father

did in burning Troy!