The Complete Works of William Shakespeare In Plain and Simple English (Translated) (37 page)

KING RICHARD.

Should dying men flatter with those that live?

Should dying men flatter those who are still alive?

GAUNT.

No, no; men living flatter those that die.

No, no; living men flatter those who die.

KING RICHARD.

Thou, now a-dying, sayest thou flatterest me.

You, who are dying, say you are flattering me.

GAUNT.

O, no! thou diest, though I the sicker be.

Oh no! You are dying, although I am sicker.

KING RICHARD.

I am in health, I breathe, and see thee ill.

I am well, I'm breathing, and I see you ill.

GAUNT.

Now He that made me knows I see thee ill;

Ill in myself to see, and in thee seeing ill.

Thy death-bed is no lesser than thy land

Wherein thou liest in reputation sick;

And thou, too careless patient as thou art,

Commit'st thy anointed body to the cure

Of those physicians that first wounded thee:

A thousand flatterers sit within thy crown,

Whose compass is no bigger than thy head;

And yet, incaged in so small a verge,

The waste is no whit lesser than thy land.

O, had thy grandsire with a prophet's eye

Seen how his son's son should destroy his sons,

From forth thy reach he would have laid thy shame,

Deposing thee before thou wert possess'd,

Which art possess'd now to depose thyself.

Why, cousin, wert thou regent of the world,

It were a shame to let this land by lease;

But for thy world enjoying but this land,

Is it not more than shame to shame it so?

Landlord of England art thou now, not King.

Thy state of law is bondslave to the law;

And thou-

Now the one who made me knows I see you ill,

I have ill vision and also I can see illness within you.

Your deathbed is your whole country,

where your reputation is sick,

and you, being too careless a patient,

hand your holy body over to be cured

by those doctors that first wounded you:

a thousand flatterers sit within your crown,

whose circumference is no bigger than your head,

and yet, trapped within such small boundaries,

there is an evil no smaller than your whole land.

Oh, if your grandfather had been a prophet

and seen how his grandson would destroy his family,

he would have taken your opportunities out of your reach,

stopping you before you could assume the crown

which you are now madly going to throw away yourself.

Why, cousin, if you ruled the whole world,

it would be shameful to rent out this land;

but as this land is all you rule over,

isn't it more shameful to put this shame on it?

You are now the landlord of England, not its King,

your great office is mortgaged to the law,

and you–

KING RICHARD.

A lunatic lean-witted fool,

Presuming on an ague's privilege,

Darest with thy frozen admonition

Make pale our cheek, chasing the royal blood

With fury from his native residence.

Now by my seat's right royal majesty,

Wert thou not brother to great Edward's son,

This tongue that runs so roundly in thy head

Should run thy head from thy unreverent shoulders.

A crazy half witted fool,

taking advantage of the privileges of the sick,

who dares with your cold criticism

to make me turn pale, draining the royal blood

out of my face with anger.

I swear by my truly royal majestic throne

that if you weren't the brother of the son of great Edward

this tongue which you let run so freely

would become the axe which cuts off your disrespectful head.

GAUNT.

O, Spare me not, my brother Edward's son,

For that I was his father Edward's son;

That blood already, like the pelican,

Hast thou tapp'd out, and drunkenly carous'd.

My brother Gloucester, plain well-meaning soul-

Whom fair befall in heaven 'mongst happy souls!-

May be a precedent and witness good

That thou respect'st not spilling Edward's blood.

Join with the present sickness that I have;

And thy unkindness be like crooked age,

To crop at once a too long withered flower.

Live in thy shame, but die not shame with thee!

These words hereafter thy tormentors be!

Convey me to my bed, then to my grave.

Love they to live that love and honour have.

Oh, do not spare me, my brother Edward's son,

just because I was his father Edward's son;

you have already spilt that blood and

drunkenly swilled it like a pelican.

My brother Gloucester, a simple well-meaning soul,

whom I hope has got a good welcome in heaven,

can be a good witness to the fact

that you don't care about spilling Edward's blood.

Add yourself to my current illness,

let your unkindness be like a scythe,

chopping down at once an already dying flower.

Live with your shame, but your shame won't die with you!

May these words torture you forever!

Carry me to my bed, then to my grave–

love the ones who are living who still have love and honour.

Exit, borne out by his attendants

KING RICHARD.

And let them die that age and sullens have;

For both hast thou, and both become the grave.

And let the ones who are old and sullen die;

you are both, and both are suitable for the grave.

YORK.

I do beseech your Majesty impute his words

To wayward sickliness and age in him.

He loves you, on my life, and holds you dear

As Harry Duke of Hereford, were he here.

I beg your Majesty to regard his words as

the product of his illness and his age.

He loves you, I swear, and you’re as dear to him

as Harry Duke of Hereford, if he were here.

KING RICHARD.

Right, you say true: as Hereford's love, so his;

As theirs, so mine; and all be as it is.

Right, you are right: Hereford's love is like his;

mine is like theirs; that's how everything is.

Enter NORTHUMBERLAND

NORTHUMBERLAND.

My liege, old Gaunt commends him to your

Majesty.

My lord, old Gaunt sends your Majesty his compliments.

KING RICHARD.

What says he?

What does he say?

NORTHUMBERLAND.

Nay, nothing; all is said.

His tongue is now a stringless instrument;

Words, life, and all, old Lancaster hath spent.

No, nothing; all has been said.

His tongue is now mute;

old Lancaster has spent his words, his life and all.

YORK.

Be York the next that must be bankrupt so!

Though death be poor, it ends a mortal woe.

Let York be the next man to be so bankrupt!

Though death is poor, it ends the pain of life.

KING RICHARD.

The ripest fruit first falls, and so doth he;

His time is spent, our pilgrimage must be.

So much for that. Now for our Irish wars.

We must supplant those rough rug-headed kerns,

Which live like venom where no venom else

But only they have privilege to live.

And for these great affairs do ask some charge,

Towards our assistance we do seize to us

The plate, coin, revenues, and moveables,

Whereof our uncle Gaunt did stand possess'd.

The ripest fruit falls first, and so he does;

his time is up, and so is our pilgrimage.

So much for that. Now for the Irish wars.

We must overthrow those shaggy headed fighters,

who are a poison in a place where no other

apart from them is allowed to survive.

As this great business must be paid for,

to help us we shall take possession of

the plate, money, revenues, and goods

which our uncle Gaunt owned.

YORK.

How long shall I be patient? Ah, how long

Shall tender duty make me suffer wrong?

Not Gloucester's death, nor Hereford's banishment,

Nor Gaunt's rebukes, nor England's private wrongs,

Nor the prevention of poor Bolingbroke

About his marriage, nor my own disgrace,

Have ever made me sour my patient cheek

Or bend one wrinkle on my sovereign's face.

I am the last of noble Edward's sons,

Of whom thy father, Prince of Wales, was first.

In war was never lion rag'd more fierce,

In peace was never gentle lamb more mild,

Than was that young and princely gentleman.

His face thou hast, for even so look'd he,

Accomplish'd with the number of thy hours;

But when he frown'd, it was against the French

And not against his friends. His noble hand

Did win what he did spend, and spent not that

Which his triumphant father's hand had won.

His hands were guilty of no kindred blood,

But bloody with the enemies of his kin.

O Richard! York is too far gone with grief,

Or else he never would compare between-

How long will I put up with this? Ah, how long

shall my sense of duty make me endure evil?

Neither Gloucester's death, nor Hereford's exile,

nor Gaunt's criticisms, nor England's suffering,

nor the blocking of poor Bolingbroke's

marriage, nor my own disgrace,

have ever made me shed a tear,

or frown once in the face of my king.

I am the last son of noble Edward,

of whom your father, the Prince of Wales, was the first.

There was never a fiercer lion in battle,

never a gentler lamb in peace,

than that young and regal gentleman.

You have his face, that's how he looked,

when he was the same age as you;

when he fought it was with the French,

and not with his friends; his noble hand

only spent what he had won, and didn't spend

what his triumphant father had won;

he did not have any family blood on his hands,

they were bloody with that of his family's enemies.

Oh Richard! York has gone mad in his grief,

otherwise he would never compare–

KING RICHARD.

Why, uncle, what's the matter?

Why, uncle, what's the matter?

YORK.

O my liege,

Pardon me, if you please; if not, I, pleas'd

Not to be pardoned, am content withal.

Seek you to seize and gripe into your hands

The royalties and rights of banish'd Hereford?