The Complete Works of William Shakespeare In Plain and Simple English (Translated) (332 page)

PAROLLES

A most harsh one, and not to be understood without

bloody succeeding. My master!

A very harsh one, which can't be understood without

bloodshed following. My master!

LAFEU

Are you companion to the Count Rousillon?

Aren't you a friend of the Count Rousillon?

PAROLLES

To any count, to all counts, to what is man.

I'm a friend to any counts, to all counts, to any man.

LAFEU

To what is count's man: count's master is of

another style.

A count's man is one thing: a count's master is

quite another.

PAROLLES

You are too old, sir; let it satisfy you, you are too old.

You are too old to fight, sir; you should be glad of that, you are too old.

LAFEU

I must tell thee, sirrah, I write man; to which

title age cannot bring thee.

I must tell you, sir, that I am a man; you won't

get that title through age.

PAROLLES

What I dare too well do, I dare not do.

I dare not do what I would really like to.

LAFEU

I did think thee, for two ordinaries, to be a pretty

wise fellow; thou didst make tolerable vent of thy

travel; it might pass: yet the scarfs and the

bannerets about thee did manifoldly dissuade me from

believing thee a vessel of too great a burthen. I

have now found thee; when I lose thee again, I care

not: yet art thou good for nothing but taking up; and

that thou't scarce worth.

I did think, for a little while, that you were a pretty

wise chap; you told a good story of your

travels; it was passable: but the scarves and

decorations on you certainly made me think

that you were pretty shallow. And I've

found out I was right; if I don't see you again

I wouldn't care: you're good for nothing but idle chatter

and hardly much good at that.

PAROLLES

Hadst thou not the privilege of antiquity upon thee,--

If you didn't have the privilege of age–

LAFEU

Do not plunge thyself too far in anger, lest thou

hasten thy trial; which if--Lord have mercy on thee

for a hen! So, my good window of lattice, fare thee

well: thy casement I need not open, for I look

through thee. Give me thy hand.

Don't let your anger run on to far, in case

you have to back it up with action, if you do–may the Lord

pity you for your suffering! So, you lattice window,

farewell: I don't need to open your frame, I can

see through you. Give me your hand.

PAROLLES

My lord, you give me most egregious indignity.

My lord, you have given me a serious insult.

LAFEU

Ay, with all my heart; and thou art worthy of it.

Yes, with all my heart; and you deserve it.

PAROLLES

I have not, my lord, deserved it.

I have not deserved it, my lord.

LAFEU

Yes, good faith, every dram of it; and I will not

bate thee a scruple.

You have indeed, every ounce of it; and I will not

lessen it by one drop.

PAROLLES

Well, I shall be wiser.

Well, I shall be wiser.

LAFEU

Even as soon as thou canst, for thou hast to pull at

a smack o' the contrary. If ever thou be'st bound

in thy scarf and beaten, thou shalt find what it is

to be proud of thy bondage. I have a desire to hold

my acquaintance with thee, or rather my knowledge,

that I may say in the default, he is a man I know.

You should become so as soon as you can, for you

are the opposite at the moment. If you're ever tied up

in your scarf and beaten, you will find out what it means

to be proud of your slavery. I would like to keep

my acquaintance with you, or rather my knowledge of you,

so that I can say when the time comes, I know that man.

PAROLLES

My lord, you do me most insupportable vexation.

My lord, you are being a great pain.

LAFEU

I would it were hell-pains for thy sake, and my poor

doing eternal: for doing I am past: as I will by

thee, in what motion age will give me leave.

Exit

I wish for your sake they were the pains of hell, and

that my poor efforts would last forever: I am beyond action,

and I will be beyond you, with whatever speed my age has left me.

PAROLLES

Well, thou hast a son shall take this disgrace off

me; scurvy, old, filthy, scurvy lord! Well, I must

be patient; there is no fettering of authority.

I'll beat him, by my life, if I can meet him with

any convenience, an he were double and double a

lord. I'll have no more pity of his age than I

would of--I'll beat him, an if I could but meet him again.

Re-enter LAFEU

Well, if you have a son I'll challenge him instead;

vile, old, filthy, vile lord! Well, I must

be patient; I will have my rights.

I'll beat him, I swear, if I can get him

in a convenient place, if he were a lord four times over.

I'll have no more pity for his age than I would

for–I'll beat him, if I could just see him again.

LAFEU

Sirrah, your lord and master's married; there's news

for you: you have a new mistress.

Sir, your lord and master is married; there's some news

for you: you have a new mistress.

PAROLLES

I most unfeignedly beseech your lordship to make

some reservation of your wrongs: he is my good

lord: whom I serve above is my master.

I must openly ask your lordship to correct

what you have just said: he is my good

lord: the one above, whom I serve, is my master.

LAFEU

Who? God?

Who? God?

PAROLLES

Ay, sir.

Yes, sir.

LAFEU

The devil it is that's thy master. Why dost thou

garter up thy arms o' this fashion? dost make hose of

sleeves? do other servants so? Thou wert best set

thy lower part where thy nose stands. By mine

honour, if I were but two hours younger, I'ld beat

thee: methinks, thou art a general offence, and

every man should beat thee: I think thou wast

created for men to breathe themselves upon thee.

It's the devil who is your master. Why do you

gather up your sleeves in this way? Do you

have stockings for sleeves? Do other servants? You would be best

knocked head over heels. On my word, if I were just two hours younger,

I would beat you: I think you are a public nuisance, and

every man should beat you: I think you were

created for men to use you as a punchbag.

PAROLLES

This is hard and undeserved measure, my lord.

These are harsh words, my lord, and undeserved.

LAFEU

Go to, sir; you were beaten in Italy for picking a

kernel out of a pomegranate; you are a vagabond and

no true traveller: you are more saucy with lords

and honourable personages than the commission of your

birth and virtue gives you heraldry. You are not

worth another word, else I'ld call you knave. I leave you.

Get lost, sir; you were beaten in Italy for stealing

pomegranate seeds; you are a tramp, not

a true traveller: you are more cheeky with lords

and noble men than the position of your birth

gives you any right to be. You are not

worth another word, if you were I'd call you a knave. I leave you.

Exit

PAROLLES

Good, very good; it is so then: good, very good;

let it be concealed awhile.

Re-enter BERTRAM

Good, very good; that's the way it is: good, very good;

we'll let it lie a while.

BERTRAM

Undone, and forfeited to cares for ever!

Ruined, condemned to misery forever!

PAROLLES

What's the matter, sweet-heart?

What's the matter, dear boy?

BERTRAM

Although before the solemn priest I have sworn,

I will not bed her.

Although I have made my promise before the solemn priest,

I won't sleep with her.

PAROLLES

What, what, sweet-heart?

What's all this, dear boy?

BERTRAM

O my Parolles, they have married me!

I'll to the Tuscan wars, and never bed her.

Oh my dear Parolles, they have married me!

I'll go to the war in Tuscany, and never sleep with her.

PAROLLES

France is a dog-hole, and it no more merits

The tread of a man's foot: to the wars!

France is a pit, and it's not worth

staying in: let's go to the war!

BERTRAM

There's letters from my mother: what the import is,

I know not yet.

Here are letters from my mother: what she has to say

I don't yet know.

PAROLLES

Ay, that would be known. To the wars, my boy, to the wars!

He wears his honour in a box unseen,

That hugs his kicky-wicky here at home,

Spending his manly marrow in her arms,

Which should sustain the bound and high curvet

Of Mars's fiery steed. To other regions

France is a stable; we that dwell in't jades;

Therefore, to the war!

Yes, we'll find out. To the war, my boy, to the war!

A man cannot show his honor

who sits at home cuddling his mistress,

wasting his manly essence in her arms,

which he should be using to urge on

the fiery horse of Mars. Compared to other regions

France is a stable; we who stay here are useless nags;

so, let's go to the war!

BERTRAM

It shall be so: I'll send her to my house,

Acquaint my mother with my hate to her,

And wherefore I am fled; write to the king

That which I durst not speak; his present gift

Shall furnish me to those Italian fields,

Where noble fellows strike: war is no strife

To the dark house and the detested wife.

That's what we'll do: I'll send her to my house,