The Complete Works of William Shakespeare In Plain and Simple English (Translated) (39 page)

a bay in Brittany, news that

Harry Duke of Hereford, Rainold Lord Cobham,

who recently deserted the Duke of Exeter,

his brother, recently Archbishop of Canterbury,

Sir Thomas Erpingham, Sir John Ramston,

Sir John Norbery, Sir Robert Waterton, and Francis Quoint–

these men have been well equipped by the Duke of Brittany

with eight warships, three thousand soldiers,

who are coming here as quickly as they can,

and intend to land soon on our northern shores.

Maybe they would have come before, but they have been waiting

for the king to leave for Ireland.

Ifyou want to throw off our slavish burdens,

repair the broken wing of our limping country,

take the dishonoured crown back out of pawn,

wipe off the dust which is hiding the gold of the sceptre,

and restore the dignity of the throne,

then hurry away with me to Ravenspurgh;

but if you are fainthearted and don't dare to do so,

stay here, don't say anything, and I will go alone.

ROSS.

To horse, to horse! Urge doubts to them that fear.

Get the horses! Only the fainthearted will doubt.

WILLOUGHBY.

Hold out my horse, and I will first be there.

If my horse holds out, I'll be first there.

Exeunt

Windsor Castle

Enter QUEEN, BUSHY, and BAGOT

BUSHY.

Madam, your Majesty is too much sad.

You promis'd, when you parted with the King,

To lay aside life-harming heaviness

And entertain a cheerful disposition.

Madam, your Majesty is much too sad.

When you parted from the king you promised

that you would set aside harmful depression

and keep your spirits up.

QUEEN.

To please the King, I did; to please myself

I cannot do it; yet I know no cause

Why I should welcome such a guest as grief,

Save bidding farewell to so sweet a guest

As my sweet Richard. Yet again methinks

Some unborn sorrow, ripe in fortune's womb,

Is coming towards me, and my inward soul

With nothing trembles. At some thing it grieves

More than with parting from my lord the King.

I said that to please the King; I can't do it

to please myself; however I don't know why

I have become quite so depressed

apart from the fact that I've had to say farewell

to someone as sweet as my Richard. But I have a feeling

that's there is a bad time brewing,

coming towards me, and I am disturbed

for no reason. Something is upsetting me

more than just my parting from my lord the King.

BUSHY.

Each substance of a grief hath twenty shadows,

Which shows like grief itself, but is not so;

For sorrow's eye, glazed with blinding tears,

Divides one thing entire to many objects,

Like perspectives which, rightly gaz'd upon,

Show nothing but confusion-ey'd awry,

Distinguish form. So your sweet Majesty,

Looking awry upon your lord's departure,

Find shapes of grief more than himself to wail;

Which, look'd on as it is, is nought but shadows

Of what it is not. Then, thrice-gracious Queen,

More than your lord's departure weep not-more is not seen;

Or if it be, 'tis with false sorrow's eye,

Which for things true weeps things imaginary.

Every real sorrow has twenty shadows,

which look like sorrow but are not;

the sorrowing eye, covered with blinding tears,

splits one thing into many objects,

like a perspective picture which, observed face on,

shows nothing but confusion–looked at from an angle,

you can see the shape. So your sweet Majesty,

looking slantwise at your lord's departure,

finds more things than that to worry about;

if you look at it clearly those are nothing but

shadows that don't exist. So, most gracious Queen,

don't weep for more than your lord's departure–there is nothing more;

or if there is, it's just created by your sorrow,

which real sadness makes you weep for imaginary things.

QUEEN.

It may be so; but yet my inward soul

Persuades me it is otherwise. Howe'er it be,

I cannot but be sad; so heavy sad

As-though, on thinking, on no thought I think-

Makes me with heavy nothing faint and shrink.

You may be right, but deep down

I feel differently. Whatever the case,

I can't help being depressed; so deeply depressed

that even though I try not to think

I end up feeling crushed under the weight of nothingness.

BUSHY.

'Tis nothing but conceit, my gracious lady.

That's just your imagination, my gracious lady.

QUEEN.

'Tis nothing less: conceit is still deriv'd

From some forefather grief; mine is not so,

For nothing hath begot my something grief,

Or something hath the nothing that I grieve;

'Tis in reversion that I do possess-

But what it is that is not yet known what,

I cannot name; 'tis nameless woe, I wot.

It's anything but: imagination still springs

from some previous sorrow; this isn't the case,

for nothing created my current grief,

or someone else's suffering it at the moment;

I will get it when they have finished with it–

but what this unknown thing could be,

I can't say; I suppose you would call it a nameless dread.

Enter GREEN

GREEN.

God save your Majesty! and well met, gentlemen.

I hope the King is not yet shipp'd for Ireland.

God save your Majesty! Good to see you, gentlemen.

I hope the King has not set sail for Ireland yet.

QUEEN.

Why hopest thou so? 'Tis better hope he is;

For his designs crave haste, his haste good hope.

Then wherefore dost thou hope he is not shipp'd?

Why do you hope that? You should be hoping he has;

his plans demand speed, the quicker he is the better chance.

So why do you hope he's not sailed?

GREEN.

That he, our hope, might have retir'd his power

And driven into despair an enemy's hope

Who strongly hath set footing in this land.

The banish'd Bolingbroke repeals himself,

And with uplifted arms is safe arriv'd

At Ravenspurgh.

So that he, our hope, might have recalled his forces

and destroyed the hopes of our enemies

who have got a strong foothold in this country.

The exiled Bolingbroke has forgiven himself,

and has arrived safely, looking for battle,

at Ravenspurgh.

QUEEN.

Now God in heaven forbid!

God forbid that this is true!

GREEN.

Ah, madam, 'tis too true; and that is worse,

The Lord Northumberland, his son young Henry Percy,

The Lords of Ross, Beaumond, and Willoughby,

With all their powerful friends, are fled to him.

Ah, madam, it's too true; and what's worse,

Lord Northumberland, his son young Henry Percy,

the Lords of Ross, Beaumon, and Willoughby,

with all their powerful friends, have joined him.

BUSHY.

Why have you not proclaim'd Northumberland

And all the rest revolted faction traitors?

Why have you not declared Northumberland

and all the rest of the rebels as traitors?

GREEN.

We have; whereupon the Earl of Worcester

Hath broken his staff, resign'd his stewardship,

And all the household servants fled with him

To Bolingbroke.

We have; which made the Earl of Worcester

break his staff, resign his stewardship,

and he has fled with all the household servants

to Bolingbroke.

QUEEN.

So, Green, thou art the midwife to my woe,

And Bolingbroke my sorrow's dismal heir.

Now hath my soul brought forth her prodigy;

And I, a gasping new-deliver'd mother,

Have woe to woe, sorrow to sorrow join'd.

So, Green, you are the midwife of my sorrow,

and Bolingbroke is the miserable birth of it.

Now my suspicions have been confirmed,

and, gasping like a mother who's just given birth,

I suffer woe on woe, sorrow on sorrow.

BUSHY.

Despair not, madam.

Do not despair, madam.

QUEEN.

Who shall hinder me?

I will despair, and be at enmity

With cozening hope-he is a flatterer,

A parasite, a keeper-back of death,

Who gently would dissolve the bands of life,

Which false hope lingers in extremity.

Who's going to stop me?

I will despair, and fight against

cheating hope–he is a flatterer,

a parasite, he postpones death,

which can gently remove the burden of life,

while false hope makes us suffer it to the end.

Enter YORK

GREEN.

Here comes the Duke of York.

Here comes the Duke of York.

QUEEN.

With signs of war about his aged neck.

O, full of careful business are his looks!

Uncle, for God's sake, speak comfortable words.

With his arm around his old neck.

He looks anxious and preoccupied!

Uncle, for God's sake, say something hopeful.

YORK.

Should I do so, I should belie my thoughts.

Comfort's in heaven; and we are on the earth,

Where nothing lives but crosses, cares, and grief.

Your husband, he is gone to save far off,

Whilst others come to make him lose at home.

Here am I left to underprop his land,

Who, weak with age, cannot support myself.