The Complete Works of William Shakespeare In Plain and Simple English (Translated) (40 page)

Now comes the sick hour that his surfeit made;

Now shall he try his friends that flatter'd him.

If I did, I would be being dishonest.

Hope is in heaven; and we are on earth,

where there is nothing but treachery, care and sorrow.

Your husband has gone to save his far-off lands

while others come to take his lands at home.

Here am I, left to prop up his country,

who, weak with age, cannot even support myself.

This is the sickness brought on by his excesses;

now he'll see what those friends who flattered him are like.

 Enter a SERVINGMAN

SERVINGMAN.

My lord, your son was gone before I came.

My lord, your son had gone before I came.

YORK.

He was-why so go all which way it will!

The nobles they are fled, the commons they are cold

And will, I fear, revolt on Hereford's side.

Sirrah, get thee to Plashy, to my sister Gloucester;

Bid her send me presently a thousand pound.

Hold, take my ring.

Had he–well then whatever happens, happens!

The nobles have fled, the common people are unsympathetic

and will, I fear, fight for Hereford.

Sir, go to Plashy, to my sister Gloucester;

tell her to send me a thousand pounds at once.

Wait, take my ring.

SERVINGMAN.

My lord, I had forgot to tell your lordship,

To-day, as I came by, I called there-

But I shall grieve you to report the rest.

My Lord, I had forgotten to tell your lordship,

today, as I passed by, I called in there–

but the rest will upset you.

YORK.

What is't, knave?

What is it, scoundrel?

SERVINGMAN.

An hour before I came, the Duchess died.

The Duchess had died an hour before I arrived.

YORK.

God for his mercy! what a tide of woes

Comes rushing on this woeful land at once!

I know not what to do. I would to God,

So my untruth had not provok'd him to it,

The King had cut off my head with my brother's.

What, are there no posts dispatch'd for Ireland?

How shall we do for money for these wars?

Come, sister-cousin, I would say-pray, pardon me.

Go, fellow, get thee home, provide some carts,

And bring away the armour that is there.

 Exit SERVINGMAN

Gentlemen, will you go muster men?

If I know how or which way to order these affairs

Thus disorderly thrust into my hands,

Never believe me. Both are my kinsmen.

T'one is my sovereign, whom both my oath

And duty bids defend; t'other again

Is my kinsman, whom the King hath wrong'd,

Whom conscience and my kindred bids to right.

Well, somewhat we must do.-Come, cousin,

I'll dispose of you. Gentlemen, go muster up your men

And meet me presently at Berkeley.

I should to Plashy too,

But time will not permit. All is uneven,

And everything is left at six and seven.

May God have mercy, what a tide of sorrow

comes rushing over this sad land at once!

I don't know what to do, I wish to God,

as long as it wasn't because of any disloyalty,

that the King had cut my head off with my brother's.

What, has nobody sent messages to Ireland?

How shall we pay for these wars?

Come, sister–cousin, I should say, please excuse me.

Go, fellow, go home, get some carts

and bring the armour which is there.

Gentlemen, will you go and gather your forces?

If I say I know how to deal with this business

which has been thrust so chaotically into my hands,

don't believe me. They are both my kinsmen:

one is my king, who I am bound by oath and

duty to defend; but then the other

is my kinsman, whom the king has wronged,

and my conscience and my kinship with him tells me to side with him.

Well, we must do something. Come, cousin,

I'll see you safe. Gentleman, go and gather your forces,

and meet me at once at Berkeley.

I should go to Plashy too,

but there isn’t time. Everything is disordered,

it's all at sixes and sevens.

Exeunt YORK and QUEEN

BUSHY.

The wind sits fair for news to go to Ireland.

But none returns. For us to levy power

Proportionable to the enemy

Is all unpossible.

It's a good wind to take news to Ireland,

but none comes back. It's completely impossible

for us to raise forces which could

match the enemy.

GREEN.

Besides, our nearness to the King in love

Is near the hate of those love not the King.

Besides, our love for the King is pretty much equal

to the hatred of those who do not love him.

BAGOT.

And that is the wavering commons; for their love

Lies in their purses; and whoso empties them,

By so much fills their hearts with deadly hate.

And those are the changeable common people; their love

depends on their purses; anyone who empties them

puts the same amount of hate in their hearts.

BUSHY.

Wherein the King stands generally condemn'd.

And so the king is widely condemned for that.

BAGOT.

If judgment lie in them, then so do we,

Because we ever have been near the King.

If judgement depends on them, we are condemned too,

because of our closeness to the King.

GREEN.

Well, I will for refuge straight to Bristow Castle.

The Earl of Wiltshire is already there.

Well, I will seek refuge at once in Bristow Castle.

The Earl of Wiltshire is already there.

BUSHY.

Thither will I with you; for little office

Will the hateful commons perform for us,

Except like curs to tear us all to pieces.

Will you go along with us?

I'll go there with you; we won't get

any favours from the common people,

they'll just tear us to pieces like dogs.

Will you come along with us?

BAGOT.

No; I will to Ireland to his Majesty.

Farewell. If heart's presages be not vain,

We three here part that ne'er shall meet again.

No; I will go to the king in Ireland.

Farewell. If my suspicions are correct,

we three shall never meet again.

BUSHY.

That's as York thrives to beat back Bolingbroke.

That depends on whether York manages to defeat Bolingbroke.

GREEN.

Alas, poor Duke! the task he undertakes

Is numb'ring sands and drinking oceans dry.

Where one on his side fights, thousands will fly.

Farewell at once-for once, for all, and ever.

Alas, poor Duke! He might as well try

to count the sand and drink the oceans dry.

For every one who fights on his side, thousands will desert.

Farewell at once–for once, for all, and for ever.

BUSHY.

Well, we may meet again.

Well, we may meet again.

BAGOT.

I fear me, never.

I fear we never will.

Exeunt

Gloucestershire

Enter BOLINGBROKE and NORTHUMBERLAND, forces

BOLINGBROKE.

How far is it, my lord, to Berkeley now?

How far is it, my lord, to Berkeley now?

NORTHUMBERLAND.

Believe me, noble lord,

I am a stranger here in Gloucestershire.

These high wild hills and rough uneven ways

Draws out our miles, and makes them wearisome;

And yet your fair discourse hath been as sugar,

Making the hard way sweet and delectable.

But I bethink me what a weary way

From Ravenspurgh to Cotswold will be found

In Ross and Willoughby, wanting your company,

Which, I protest, hath very much beguil'd

The tediousness and process of my travel.

But theirs is sweet'ned with the hope to have

The present benefit which I possess;

And hope to joy is little less in joy

Than hope enjoy'd. By this the weary lords

Shall make their way seem short, as mine hath done

By sight of what I have, your noble company.

Believe me, noble Lord,

I am a stranger here in Gloucestershire.

These wild high hills and rough uneven roads

make our journey seem longer and more tiring,

and yet your fair speech has been like sugar,

making this hard journey sweet and delightful.

But I think about what a weary journey

it will be from Ravenspurgh to the Cotswolds

for Ross and Willoughby, without your company,

which I must say has very much compensated for

the tedious process of my travels.

But their journey is sweetened with the hope of gaining

the benefits which I now have,

and to hope for happiness is almost as good

as having it. This will make the journey seem

shorter for the weary lords, as your noble company

has done for me.

BOLINGBROKE.

Of much less value is my company

Than your good words. But who comes here?

Your kind words are worth much more

than my company. But who is this?

Enter HARRY PERCY

NORTHUMBERLAND.

It is my son, young Harry Percy,

Sent from my brother Worcester, whencesoever.

Harry, how fares your uncle?

It is my son, young Harry Percy,

sent from my brother Worcester, wherever he is.

Harry, how is your uncle getting on?

PERCY.

I had thought, my lord, to have learn'd his health of