The Complete Works of William Shakespeare In Plain and Simple English (Translated) (57 page)

Which is the bell. So sighs, and tears, and groans,

Show minutes, times, and hours; but my time

Runs posting on in Bolingbroke's proud joy,

While I stand fooling here, his Jack of the clock.

This music mads me. Let it sound no more;

For though it have holp madmen to their wits,

In me it seems it will make wise men mad.

Yet blessing on his heart that gives it me!

For 'tis a sign of love; and love to Richard

Is a strange brooch in this all-hating world.

I have been thinking how I might compare

this prison where I live to the world;

and, because the world is full of people

and there is nobody here but myself,

I cannot do it. But I will puzzle it out.

My brain will be the female to my soul,

which will be the father, and these two will create

a generation of multiplying thoughts,

and the same thoughts will fill up this little world,

with temperaments like the people of this world;

for no thought is happy. The better sort,

like thoughts of heavenly things, are mixed up

with scruples, and set one thing

against another, such as

“Come, little ones"; and then again,

“It is as hard to come to me as for a camel

to go through the eye of a needle".

Ambitious thoughts, they yearn for

unlikely things: as if these plain weak nails

could tear a hole through the hard stone

of this hard world, these rough prison walls;

and as they cannot, they die in their prime.

Thoughts which lean towards happiness deceive themselves,

thinking that they are not the first ones to feel like this,

nor shall be the last–like foolish beggars

who, sitting in the stocks, consoled themselves

that many have and many will also sit there;

and this thought gives them a kind of comfort,

placing their own misfortunes on the back

of those who have suffered before them.

So in my one person I play many people,

and none of them are happy. Sometimes I am King,

then treason makes me wish that I was a beggar,

and so I am. Then crushing poverty

makes me think I was better when I was a king;

then I am the king again, and in a while

I remember that Bolingbroke has taken my kingship,

and straightaway I am nothing. But whatever I am,

not I, nor any man alive,

can be pleased with anything, until he is relieved

by being nothing.

Is that music I hear?

Hah, hah! Keep time–how sour sweet music is

when it doesn't keep to the beat!

That is what happens with the music of men's lives.

My situation gives me the sensitivity

to hear tunelessness and lack of rhythm;

if it wasn't for my current situation,

I wouldn't be able to hear the discord:

I wasted time, and now time is wasting me;

for time is now telling the time by me;

my thoughts are minutes, and with sighs they mark

their passing in my eyes, the outward sign,

to which my finger, like the hand of the dial,

is still pointing, wiping tears from them.

Now Sir, the sound which indicates the hour

is the clamorous groans that come from my heart,

which is the bell–so sighs, and tears, and groans,

indicate the minutes, the times, and the hours. But my time

is going on without me, Bolingbroke has it,

while I stand here fooling, a figure on his clock.

This music angers me. Don't let it play any more;

for though it has helped madmen recover their wits,

with me it seems it will make wise men mad.

Yet I bless the heart of the one who gives it to me,

for it is a sign of love; and love for Richard

is a rare jewel in this all hating world.

Enter a GROOM of the stable

GROOM.

Hail, royal Prince!

Greetings, royal Prince!

KING RICHARD.

Thanks, noble peer!

The cheapest of us is ten groats too dear.

What art thou? and how comest thou hither,

Where no man never comes but that sad dog

That brings me food to make misfortune live?

Thank you, noble peer!

The cheapest Prince is ten groats too dear.

Who are you? And why have you come here,

where no man ever comes but for that sad dog

who brings me food to keep misfortune alive?

GROOM.

I was a poor groom of thy stable, King,

When thou wert king; who, travelling towards York,

With much ado at length have gotten leave

To look upon my sometimes royal master's face.

O, how it ern'd my heart, when I beheld,

In London streets, that coronation-day,

When Bolingbroke rode on roan Barbary-

That horse that thou so often hast bestrid,

That horse that I so carefully have dress'd!

I was a poor groom in your stable, King,

when you were King; I was travelling to York

and, with much fuss, got permission

to look on the face of my one-time royal master.

Oh, how it grieved my heart, when I saw,

in the streets of London, that coronation day,

when Bolingbrokerode on Barbary, the roan horse–

the horse that you rode so often,

the horse that I so carefully groomed!

KING RICHARD.

Rode he on Barbary? Tell me, gentle friend,

How went he under him?

Did he ride on Barbary? Tell me, sweet friend,

how did he perform?

GROOM.

So proudly as if he disdain'd the ground.

As proudly as if he didn't want to touch the ground.

KING RICHARD.

So proud that Bolingbroke was on his back!

That jade hath eat bread from my royal hand;

This hand hath made him proud with clapping him.

Would he not stumble? would he not fall down,

Since pride must have a fall, and break the neck

Of that proud man that did usurp his back?

Forgiveness, horse! Why do I rail on thee,

Since thou, created to be aw'd by man,

Wast born to bear? I was not made a horse;

And yet I bear a burden like an ass,

Spurr'd, gall'd, and tir'd, by jauncing Bolingbroke.

So proud that Bolingbroke was on his back!

That nag ate bread from my royal hand;

that hand made him proud by stroking him.

Couldn't he stumble? Couldn't he fall down,

since pride must have a fall, and break the neck

of the proud man who stole his position on his back?

I forgive you, horse! Why do I criticise you,

since you, created to be subservient to man,

were born to carry? I was not born a horse;

and yet I carry a burden like an ass,

spurred, whipped and exhausted by bouncing Bolingbroke.

Enter KEEPER with meat

KEEPER.

Fellow, give place; here is no longer stay.

Fellow, on your way; you can't stay here any longer.

KING RICHARD.

If thou love me, 'tis time thou wert away.

If you love me, it's time you went away.

GROOM.

My tongue dares not, that my heart shall say.

My tongue does not dare to say what my heart feels.

Exit

KEEPER.

My lord, will't please you to fall to?

My lord, will you please tuck in?

KING RICHARD.

Taste of it first as thou art wont to do.

Taste it first as you usually do.

KEEPER.

My lord, I dare not. Sir Pierce of Exton,

Who lately came from the King, commands the contrary.

My Lord, I don't dare. Sir Pierce of Exton,

who arrived recently from the King, orders me not to.

KING RICHARD.

The devil take Henry of Lancaster and thee!

Patience is stale, and I am weary of it.

Made the devil take Henry of Lancaster and you!

I am sick of being patient.

[Beats the KEEPER]

KEEPER.

Help, help, help!

Help, help, help!

The murderers, EXTON and servants, rush in, armed

KING RICHARD.

How now! What means death in this rude assault?

Villain, thy own hand yields thy death's instrument.

[Snatching a weapon and killing one]

Go thou and fill another room in hell.

[He kills another, then EXTON strikes him down]

That hand shall burn in never-quenching fire

That staggers thus my person. Exton, thy fierce hand

Hath with the King's blood stain'd the King's own land.

Mount, mount, my soul! thy seat is up on high;

Whilst my gross flesh sinks downward, here to die.

 [Dies]

What's this! Why is death attacking me in this rough manner?

Villain, you are carrying the means of your own death.

Go and fill another room in hell.

The hand that strikes me down like that shall burn

in eternal fire. Exton, your fierce hand

has stained the King's own land with the King's blood.

Climb, climb, my soul! Your seat is in heaven;

while my heavy body falls down, to die here.

EXTON.

As full of valour as of royal blood.

Both have I spill'd. O, would the deed were good!

For now the devil, that told me I did well,

Says that this deed is chronicled in hell.

This dead King to the living King I'll bear.

Take hence the rest, and give them burial here.

As full of bravery as of royal blood.

I have spilled both. Oh, I hope this is a good deed!

For now the devil, who told me I was doing the right thing,

says that this deed has been noted in hell.

I'll take this dead king to the living king.

Take the others out, and bury them here.

Exeunt

Windsor Castle

Flourish. Enter BOLINGBROKE, the DUKE OF YORK, With other LORDS