The Complete Works of William Shakespeare In Plain and Simple English (Translated) (824 page)

‘He is a very noble man, to whom I am deeply

indebted for his kindness. Treat him

accordingly, as you value our vows. Leonatus.’

That's all I will read aloud;

but the deepest places of my heart

are warmed by the rest and are grateful for it
.

You are as very welcome, sir, as much as I

have words to express it; you will find the same

in all my actions.

IACHIMO.

Thanks, fairest lady.

What, are men mad? Hath nature given them eyes

To see this vaulted arch and the rich crop

Of sea and land, which can distinguish 'twixt

The fiery orbs above and the twinn'd stones

Upon the number'd beach, and can we not

Partition make with spectacles so precious

'Twixt fair and foul?

Thank you, sweetest lady.

What, are men mad? Has nature given them eyes

with which they can see the sky and the rich harvest

of sea and land, that can distinguish between

the stars above and the pebbles

thronging on the beach, and can't we tell

the difference between fair and foul

when we see such wonderful things?

IMOGEN.

What makes your admiration?

What causes you such wonder?

IACHIMO.

It cannot be i' th' eye, for apes and monkeys,

'Twixt two such she's, would chatter this way and

Contemn with mows the other; nor i' th' judgment,

For idiots in this case of favour would

Be wisely definite; nor i' th' appetite;

Sluttery, to such neat excellence opposed,

Should make desire vomit emptiness,

Not so allured to feed.

It can't be a problem with his eye, for apes and monkeys,

given one fair and one foul, would lean this way

and pull faces at the other; it can't be in his judgement,

for even idiots would be able to make their minds up

in this case; it can't be in his desires;

the desire for sluts would turn to loathing

when contrasted with such pretty excellence,

it wouldn't want to be satisfied.

IMOGEN.

What is the matter, trow?

Please, what is the matter?

IACHIMO.

The cloyed will-

That satiate yet unsatisfied desire, that tub

Both fill'd and running- ravening first the lamb,

Longs after for the garbage.

These perverted desires–

passions which never have enough, always

wanting more, they make no distinction between purity

and rubbish.

IMOGEN.

What, dear sir,

Thus raps you? Are you well?

What is it, dear sir,

that upsets you? Are you well?

IACHIMO.

Thanks, madam; well.- Beseech you, sir,

Desire my man's abode where I did leave him.

He's strange and peevish.

Thank you, madam, I am well. Please, sir,

ask my man to wait where I left him.

He is a foreigner and easily upset.

PISANIO.

I was going, sir,

To give him welcome.

Exit

I was just going, sir,

to welcome him.

IMOGEN.

Continues well my lord? His health, beseech you?

Is my lord still well? Please tell me, is he in good health?

IACHIMO. Well, madam.

He's well, madam.

IMOGEN.

Is he disposed to mirth? I hope he is.

Is he happy? I hope he is.

IACHIMO.

Exceeding pleasant; none a stranger there

So merry and so gamesome. He is called

the Briton reveller.

He's very happy; there's no other foreigner there

so jolly and full of fun. They call him

the British partier.

IMOGEN.

When he was here

he did incline to sadness, and oft-times

Not knowing why.

When he was here

he was often depressed, often

without knowing why.

IACHIMO.

I never saw him sad.

There is a Frenchman his companion, one

An eminent monsieur that, it seems, much loves

A Gallian girl at home. He furnaces

The thick sighs from him; whiles the jolly Briton-

Your lord, I mean- laughs from's free lungs, cries 'O,

Can my sides hold, to think that man- who knows

By history, report, or his own proof,

What woman is, yea, what she cannot choose

But must be- will's free hours languish for

Assured bondage?'

I never saw him unhappy.

He has a Frenchman as his friend, an

eminent gentleman who, it seems, is very much in love

with a French girl at home. He burns

with great sighs; while the jolly Briton–

your lord, I mean–splits his sides laughing, cries

‘oh, can my sides hold, to think that a man–who knows

through history, report, or his own evidence,

what women are like, who can't help being

that way–will waste his bachelor freedom

pining after the slavery of marriage?’

IMOGEN.

Will my lord say so?

Is that what my lord says?

IACHIMO.

Ay, madam, with his eyes in flood with laughter.

It is a recreation to be by

And hear him mock the Frenchman. But heavens know

Some men are much to blame.

Yes, madam, crying with laughter.

It's good fun to stand by

and hear him mock the Frenchman
.
But heaven knows

some men are pretty bad.

IMOGEN.

Not he, I hope.

Not him, I hope.

IACHIMO.

Not he; but yet heaven's bounty towards him might

Be us'd more thankfully. In himself, 'tis much;

In you, which I account his, beyond all talents.

Whilst I am bound to wonder, I am bound

To pity too.

Not him; but still he might be more grateful for what

Heaven has given him. He has been given much in himself;

being given you, whom I count as his,
is beyond price.

Whilst I am amazed, I have to pity as well.

IMOGEN.

What do you pity, sir?

What do you pity, sir?

IACHIMO.

Two creatures heartily.

Two creatures, sincerely.

IMOGEN.

Am I one, sir?

You look on me: what wreck discern you in me

Deserves your pity?

Am I one of them, sir?

You look at me; what misfortune do you see in me

that deserves your pity?

IACHIMO.

Lamentable! What,

To hide me from the radiant sun and solace

I' th' dungeon by a snuff?

Terrible!What,

do I have to hide from the warm sun and console

myself in a dungeon with a stub of candle?

IMOGEN.

I pray you, sir,

Deliver with more openness your answers

To my demands. Why do you pity me?

Please, sir,

answer my questions more clearly.

Why do you pity me?

IACHIMO.

That others do,

I was about to say, enjoy your- But

It is an office of the gods to venge it,

Not mine to speak on't.

That's what others do,

I was about to say, enjoy your- but

it is the job of the gods to punish it,

not for me to speak of it.

IMOGEN.

You do seem to know

Something of me, or what concerns me; pray you-

Since doubting things go ill often hurts more

Than to be sure they do; for certainties

Either are past remedies, or, timely knowing,

The remedy then born- discover to me

What both you spur and stop.

You seem to know

something about me, or my business; please-

since fearing things are wrong is often worse

than being certain that they are; for things that are certain

are either beyond cure, or if discovered in time

they can then be remedied - tell me

what you're wavering over.

IACHIMO.

Had I this cheek

To bathe my lips upon; this hand, whose touch,

Whose every touch, would force the feeler's soul

To th' oath of loyalty; this object, which

Takes prisoner the wild motion of mine eye,

Fixing it only here; should I, damn'd then,

Slaver with lips as common as the stairs

That mount the Capitol; join gripes with hands

Made hard with hourly falsehood- falsehood as

With labour; then by-peeping in an eye

Base and illustrious as the smoky light

That's fed with stinking tallow- it were fit

That all the plagues of hell should at one time

Encounter such revolt.

If I had this cheek

to place my lips on; this hand, whose touch,

whose every touch, would force the one who felt it

to swear to be loyal; this thing, which

captures my roving eye,

fixing it there; if I then, damned,

kissed tarts who were as open to all as

the steps of the Capitol; held hands with hands

made as hard by their lying as by their

labour; then giving sidelong looks with an eye

as low and lacklustre as a smoky light

fed by stinking candles - then I'd deserve

to be punished by suffering all

the plagues of hell at once.

IMOGEN.

My lord, I fear,

Has forgot Britain.

I fear my lord has forgotten about Britain.

IACHIMO.

And himself. Not I

Inclin'd to this intelligence pronounce

The beggary of his change; but 'tis your graces

That from my mutest conscience to my tongue

Charms this report out.

And forgotten himself. I'm not

inclined to tell tales about his

disgraceful behaviour, but your beauty

has charmed my tongue into telling

when my conscience would have stayed silent.

IMOGEN.

Let me hear no more.

I don't want to hear any more.

IACHIMO.

O dearest soul, your cause doth strike my heart

With pity that doth make me sick! A lady

So fair, and fasten'd to an empery,

Would make the great'st king double, to be partner'd