The Complete Works of William Shakespeare In Plain and Simple English (Translated) (272 page)

That from his loins no hopeful branch may spring,

To cross me from the golden time I look for!

And yet, between my soul's desire and me--

The lustful Edward's title buried--

Is Clarence, Henry, and his son young Edward,

And all the unlook'd-for issue of their bodies,

To take their rooms ere I can place myself;

A cold premeditation for my purpose!

Why, then I do but dream on sovereignty,

Like one that stands upon a promontory,

And spies a far-off shore where he would tread,

Wishing his foot were equal with his eye,

And chides the sea that sunders him from thence,

Saying, he'll lade it dry to have his way.

So do I wish the crown, being so far off,

And so I chide the means that keeps me from it;

And so I say I'll cut the causes off,

Flattering me with impossibilities.--

My eye's too quick, my heart o'erweens too much,

Unless my hand and strength could equal them.

Well, say there is no kingdom then for Richard,

What other pleasure can the world afford?

I'll make my heaven in a lady's lap,

And deck my body in gay ornaments,

And witch sweet ladies with my words and looks.

O miserable thought! and more unlikely

Than to accomplish twenty golden crowns.

Why, love forswore me in my mother's womb;

And, for I should not deal in her soft laws,

She did corrupt frail nature with some bribe

To shrink mine arm up like a wither'd shrub;

To make an envious mountain on my back,

Where sits deformity to mock my body;

To shape my legs of an unequal size;

To disproportion me in every part,

Like to a chaos, or an unlick'd bear-whelp

That carries no impression like the dam.

And am I then a man to be belov'd?

O, monstrous fault, to harbour such a thought!

Then, since this earth affords no joy to me

But to command, to check, to o'erbear such

As are of better person than myself,

I'll make my heaven to dream upon the crown,

And, whiles I live, to account this world but hell

Until my mis-shap'd trunk that bear this head

Be round impaled with a glorious crown.

And yet I know not how to get the crown,

For many lives stand between me and home,

And I, like one lost in a thorny wood,

That rends the thorns, and is rent with the thorns,

Seeking a way, and straying from the way,

Not knowing how to find the open air,

But toiling desperately to find it out,

Torment myself to catch the English crown;

And from that torment I will free myself,

Or hew my way out with a bloody axe.

Why, I can smile, and murther while I smile,

And cry 'Content!' to that which grieves my heart,

And wet my cheeks with artificial tears,

And frame my face to all occasions.

I'll drown more sailors than the mermaid shall,

I'll slay more gazers than the basilisk;

I'll play the orator as well as Nestor,

Deceive more slyly than Ulysses could,

And like a Sinon take another Troy.

I can add colours to the chameleon,

Change shapes with Protheus for advantages,

And set the murtherous Machiavel to school.

Can I do this, and cannot get a crown?

Tut, were it farther off, I'll pluck it down.

Yes, Edward will use women well.

I wish he would shrivel up, marrow, bones and all,

so that no offspring can come from his loins

to block me from the golden time I'm looking forward to!

And yet, even once the lustful Edward is out of the way

there is Clarence, Henry, and his son young Edward,

and all their children yet unborn,

to take their places before I can get there;

a great block on my plans!

Why, I'm just dreaming about being King

like someone who stands on a cliff,

and sees a far off shore where he wants to go,

wishing his feet were in the same place as his eyes,

and is angry at the sea that keeps him from there,

saying that he would empty it to get where he wants to go.

That's how I desire the crown, it's so far away,

and I hate the reasons that keep me from it;

so I say I will destroy the obstacles,

imagining impossible things.

I'm too greedy, I want too much,

unless my strength and forces match my desire.

Well, what if Richard cannot be king,

what other pleasure can he have?

I'll find heaven in a lady's lap,

dress myself up in fine clothes,

and enchant sweet ladies with my words and looks.

What a miserable thought! And less likely to happen

than for me to win twenty golden crowns.

Why, love abandoned me in my mother's womb;

and, so that I would never enjoy her,

she bribed weak nature somehow

to shrivel up my arm like a withered twig;

to make a revolting hump on my back,

where deformity mocks my body;

to make my legs different sizes;

to make me so imperfect that I

am like Chaos, or a bear cub embryo,

that looks nothing like the mother.

So am I a man who will be loved?

It's ridiculous to even think of such a thing!

So, since this earth offers me no other pleasure

than to rule, to order, to push about those

who are better people than me,

I shall take my pleasure by dreaming about the crown,

and, throughout my life, I will think this world is hell

until the misshapen body that carries this head

is also carrying a glorious crown.

And yet I don't know how to get the crown,

for there are many people standing between me and my target,

and I am like someone lost in a thorny wood,

who tears at the thorns, and is torn by the thorns,

looking for a path, and losing the path,

not knowing how to find the clear spaces,

but fighting desperately to find them,

I am torturing myself to get the throne of England;

and I will free myself from that torture,

or cut my way out with a bloody axe.

Why, I can smile, and while I'm smiling commit murder,

and pretend to agree to things I hate,

and wet my cheeks with fake tears,

and make suitable expressions for all occasions.

I shall drown more sailors than a mermaid,

I'll kill more onlookers than a basilisk;

I shall speak as cunningly as Nestor,

be more slyly deceptive than Ulysses,

and like Sinon I shall capture another Troy.

I have more colours than a chameleon,

I can assume more different shapes than Protheus,

and I could teach trickery to Machiavelli.

With all these advantages, can I not get the crown?

Tut, if it were farther away, I would still get it.

[Exit.]

[Flourish. Enter LEWIS, the French King, and LADY BONA, attended:

the King takes his state. Then enter QUEEN MARGARET, PRINCE

EDWARD, and the EARL OF OXFORD; LEWIS rising as she enters.]

KING LEWIS.

Fair Queen of England, worthy Margaret,

Sit down with us; it ill befits thy state

And birth that thou shouldst stand while Lewis doth sit.

Fair Queen of England, good Margaret,

sit down with me; your position and your

ancestry make it wrong for you to stand while Louis sits.

QUEEN MARGARET.

No, mighty King of France; now Margaret

Must strike her sail and learn a while to serve

Where kings command. I was, I must confess,

Great Albion's queen in former golden days;

But now mischance hath trod my title down

And with dishonour laid me on the ground,

Where I must take like seat unto my fortune,

And to my humble seat conform myself.

No, great King of France; now Margaret

must humble herself and learn to do

what kings order. I was, I must admit,

the Queen of great England in the golden days of the past;

but now misfortune has stripped away my title

and thrown me to the ground with dishonour,

and so I must take a position which matches my fortune,

and accept my humble place.

KING LEWIS.

Why, say, fair queen, whence springs this deep

despair?

Tell me, fair Queen, where does this great

despair come from?

QUEEN MARGARET.

From such a cause as fills mine eyes with tears

And stops my tongue, while heart is drown'd in cares.

From a reason which fills my eyes with tears

and stops me speaking, while my heart is suffocating with troubles.

KING LEWIS.

Whate'er it be, be thou still like thyself,

And sit thee by our side; yield not thy neck

[Seats her by him.]

To fortune's yoke, but let thy dauntless mind

Still ride in triumph over all mischance.

Be plain, Queen Margaret, and tell thy grief;

It shall be eas'd if France can yield relief.

Whatever it is, still be who you are,

and sit by my side; don't let yourself

become the slave of Fortune, let your indomitable

mind triumph over all bad luck.

Queen Margaret, openly tell me what grieves you;

you shall be helped if there is anything I can do.

QUEEN MARGARET.

Those gracious words revive my drooping

thoughts,

And give my tongue-tied sorrows leave to speak.

Now, therefore, be it known to noble Lewis

That Henry, sole possessor of my love,

Is of a king become a banish'd man

And forc'd to live in Scotland a forlorn,

While proud ambitious Edward, Duke of York,

Usurps the regal title and the seat

Of England's true-anointed lawful king.

This is the cause that I, poor Margaret,

With this my son, Prince Edward, Henry's heir,

Am come to crave thy just and lawful aid;

And if thou fail us, all our hope is done.

Scotland hath will to help, but cannot help;