The Complete Works of William Shakespeare In Plain and Simple English (Translated) (732 page)

Her portion equal his.

Join your hands, it's a deal!

And, unknown friends, you will witness it:

I give my daughter to him, and will give her

a dowry to match his fortune.

FLORIZEL

O, that must be

I' the virtue of your daughter: one being dead,

I shall have more than you can dream of yet;

Enough then for your wonder. But, come on,

Contract us 'fore these witnesses.

Oh, the fortune must be

the virtues of your daughter: when one person is dead,

I shall have more than you can ever dream of;

but let's wait until that happens. But, come on,

join us in front of these witnesses.

Shepherd

Come, your hand;

And, daughter, yours.

Come, give me your hand;

and, daughter, yours.

POLIXENES

Soft, swain, awhile, beseech you;

Have you a father?

Please, lad, just a moment;

do you have a father?

FLORIZEL

I have: but what of him?

I have: but what about him?

POLIXENES

Knows he of this?

Does he know about this?

FLORIZEL

He neither does nor shall.

He doesn't and he won't.

POLIXENES

Methinks a father

Is at the nuptial of his son a guest

That best becomes the table. Pray you once more,

Is not your father grown incapable

Of reasonable affairs? is he not stupid

With age and altering rheums? can he speak? hear?

Know man from man? dispute his own estate?

Lies he not bed-rid? and again does nothing

But what he did being childish?

I think a father

is the most important guest

at his son's wedding. Let me ask you,

has your father become incapable

of behaving normally? Has he become

senile with age and changing health? Can he speak? Hear?

Distinguish one man from another? Run his own household?

Is he bedridden? Can he do nothing

but the things he did as a child?

FLORIZEL

No, good sir;

He has his health and ampler strength indeed

Than most have of his age.

No, good sir;

he has his health, and is in fact stronger

than most men of his age.

POLIXENES

By my white beard,

You offer him, if this be so, a wrong

Something unfilial: reason my son

Should choose himself a wife, but as good reason

The father, all whose joy is nothing else

But fair posterity, should hold some counsel

In such a business.

By my white beard,

if that's the case you are doing him a wrong

that a son should not: it is permissible

for a son to choose himself a wife, but just as much

the father, whose happiness is all to do with

his descendants, should have some say

in the matter.

FLORIZEL

I yield all this;

But for some other reasons, my grave sir,

Which 'tis not fit you know, I not acquaint

My father of this business.

I agree with everything you say;

but there are some other reasons, respected sir,

which I can't tell you about, for not telling

my father about this business.

POLIXENES

Let him know't.

Let him know about it.

FLORIZEL

He shall not.

He will not.

POLIXENES

Prithee, let him.

Please, let him.

FLORIZEL

No, he must not.

No, he must not know.

Shepherd

Let him, my son: he shall not need to grieve

At knowing of thy choice.

Let him know, my son: he'll have no reason

to object to your choice.

FLORIZEL

Come, come, he must not.

Mark our contract.

I'm telling you, he must not know.

Make the contract.

POLIXENES

Mark your divorce, young sir,

Discovering himself

Whom son I dare not call; thou art too base

To be acknowledged: thou a sceptre's heir,

That thus affect'st a sheep-hook! Thou old traitor,

I am sorry that by hanging thee I can

But shorten thy life one week. And thou, fresh piece

Of excellent witchcraft, who of force must know

The royal fool thou copest with,--

Make a divorce, young sir,

[taking off his disguise]

whom I dare not call my son; you are too low

to be acknowledged: you, heir to a kingdom,

dressed up as a shepherd! As for you, you old traitor,

I'm sorry that by hanging you I can

only shorten your life by week. And you, young

witch, who must certainly know

what a royal fool you're involved with–

Shepherd

O, my heart!

Oh, my heart!

POLIXENES

I'll have thy beauty scratch'd with briers, and made

More homely than thy state. For thee, fond boy,

If I may ever know thou dost but sigh

That thou no more shalt see this knack, as never

I mean thou shalt, we'll bar thee from succession;

Not hold thee of our blood, no, not our kin,

Far than Deucalion off: mark thou my words:

Follow us to the court. Thou churl, for this time,

Though full of our displeasure, yet we free thee

From the dead blow of it. And you, enchantment.--

Worthy enough a herdsman: yea, him too,

That makes himself, but for our honour therein,

Unworthy thee,--if ever henceforth thou

These rural latches to his entrance open,

Or hoop his body more with thy embraces,

I will devise a death as cruel for thee

As thou art tender to't.

Exit

I'll have your beauty torn with brambles, and made

even more unattractive than your position. As for you, stupid boy,

if I ever hear that you utter a single sigh

because you will never again see this slut, as

I intend you never shall, I'll strip you of your inheritance;

you would no longer be of my blood, no, no relation,

further off than Noah: you mark my words!

Follow me to the court. You, peasant, for the moment,

though you have incurred my displeasure, I'll excuse you

from its mortal blow. And you, you witch–

good enough for a shepherd; yes, for him too,

who has put himself so low down that if it wasn't for my royal blood

he would be beneath you. If you ever

open your door to him again, or take him in your arms,

I shall invent as cruel a method of execution for you

as you can stand.

PERDITA

Even here undone

I was not much afeard; for once or twice

I was about to speak and tell him plainly,

The selfsame sun that shines upon his court

Hides not his visage from our cottage but

Looks on alike. Will't please you, sir, be gone?

I told you what would come of this: beseech you,

Of your own state take care: this dream of mine,--

Being now awake, I'll queen it no inch farther,

But milk my ewes and weep.

Even in this downfall

I was not very frightened; once or twice

I was about to speak and tell him straight

that the same sun that shines on his court

does not hide its face from our cottage

that shines down just the same. Will you please go, sir?

I told you that this would happen: please

look after yourself: this dream I had–

now I'm awake, I shan't step an inch closer to being a queen,

I shall just milk my ewes, and weep.

CAMILLO

Why, how now, father!

Speak ere thou diest.

What's to do, father!

Speak before you die.

Shepherd

I cannot speak, nor think

Nor dare to know that which I know. O sir!

You have undone a man of fourscore three,

That thought to fill his grave in quiet, yea,

To die upon the bed my father died,

To lie close by his honest bones: but now

Some hangman must put on my shroud and lay me

Where no priest shovels in dust. O cursed wretch,

That knew'st this was the prince,

and wouldst adventure

To mingle faith with him! Undone! undone!

If I might die within this hour, I have lived

To die when I desire.

Exit

I cannot speak, nor think,

or dare to know the things I know. O sir!

You have brought down a man of eighty-three,

that thought he was headed for a peaceful grave;

to die on the bed my father died on,

to be buried next to his honest bones: but now

some hangman will prepare my corpse and bury me

in the unhallowed ground. O you cursed wretch,

who knew this was the prince, and still tried

to have a relationship with him! This is the end!

If I can die within the hour, I have lived

as long as I want to.

FLORIZEL

Why look you so upon me?

I am but sorry, not afeard; delay'd,

But nothing alter'd: what I was, I am;

More straining on for plucking back, not following

My leash unwillingly.

Why'd you look at me like this?

I am sorry, but not afraid; delayed,

but not blocked: I'm still the same person;

this setback makes me more keen to proceed,

I don't need any persuading.

CAMILLO

Gracious my lord,

You know your father's temper: at this time

He will allow no speech, which I do guess

You do not purpose to him; and as hardly

Will he endure your sight as yet, I fear:

Then, till the fury of his highness settle,

Come not before him.

My gracious lord,

you know what your father's temper is like: at the moment

he won't let anyone talk to him, which I assume

you won't try; for now I fear

he would hardly put up with the sight of you:

so, until the anger of his Highness has abated,

don't see him.

FLORIZEL

I not purpose it.

I think, Camillo?

I don't intend to.

I think–Camillo?