The Complete Works of William Shakespeare In Plain and Simple English (Translated) (828 page)

Which makes the true man kill'd and saves the thief;

Nay, sometime hangs both thief and true man. What

Can it not do and undo? I will make

One of her women lawyer to me, for

I yet not understand the case myself.

By your leave. [Knocks]

Enter a LADY

If she's up, I'll speak with her; if not

let her lie still and dream. Excuse me, hello!

I know she has her women with her; what

if I bribed one of them? It's gold

which buys entrance; it often does–yes and makes

Diana's gamekeepers false, so that they give up

their deer to the poacher; and its gold

which gets the honest man killed and saves the thief;

sometimes it gets them both hanged. What

is there it can't do or undo? I will make

one of her women my employee, for

I don't really understand the job myself.

Excuse me!

LADY.

Who's there that knocks?

Who's that knocking?

CLOTEN.

A gentleman.

A gentleman.

LADY.

No more?

Is that all?

CLOTEN.

Yes, and a gentlewoman's son.

A gentlewoman's son as well.

LADY.

That's more

Than some whose tailors are as dear as yours

Can justly boast of. What's your lordship's pleasure?

That's more

than some can say, even if they wear clothes which are

as expensive as yours. What can I do for your lordship?

CLOTEN.

Your lady's person; is she ready?

Is your lady up and dressed?

LADY.

Ay,

To keep her chamber.

Yes,

dressed for staying in her room.

CLOTEN.

There is gold for you; sell me your good report.

I have gold for you; sell me your good report.

LADY.

How? My good name? or to report of you

What I shall think is good? The Princess!

Enter IMOGEN

What's that? Sell the good report people give me,

or give you a good report? Here's the Princess!

CLOTEN.

Good morrow, fairest sister. Your sweet hand.

Exit LADY

Good morning, fairest sister. Give me your sweet hand.

IMOGEN.

Good morrow, sir. You lay out too much pains

For purchasing but trouble. The thanks I give

Is telling you that I am poor of thanks,

And scarce can spare them.

Good morning, sir. You are taking too much trouble

to only get trouble. All the thanks I can give

is to tell you that I don't have much thanks to give,

I can hardly spare any.

CLOTEN.

Still I swear I love you.

Still, I swear I love you.

IMOGEN.

If you but said so, 'twere as deep with me.

If you swear still, your recompense is still

That I regard it not.

If you just said so, instead of swearing, it would all be the same to me.

If you carry on swearing, your reward will still be

that I pay no attention.

CLOTEN.

This is no answer.

This is not an answer.

IMOGEN.

But that you shall not say I yield, being silent,

I would not speak. I pray you spare me. Faith,

I shall unfold equal discourtesy

To your best kindness; one of your great knowing

Should learn, being taught, forbearance.

I wouldn't say anything, if it wasn't for the fact that you

would take my silence as agreement. Please leave me alone.

I promise that I will be just as impolite

to anything you do; someone of your great knowledge

should see what's going on and learn to back off.

CLOTEN.

To leave you in your madness 'twere my sin;

I will not.

It would be a sin for me to leave you in this foolishness;

I will not.

IMOGEN.

Fools are not mad folks.

Fools are not mad men.

CLOTEN.

Do you call me fool?

Are you calling me a fool?

IMOGEN.

As I am mad, I do;

If you'll be patient, I'll no more be mad;

That cures us both. I am much sorry, sir,

You put me to forget a lady's manners

By being so verbal; and learn now, for all,

That I, which know my heart, do here pronounce,

By th' very truth of it, I care not for you,

And am so near the lack of charity

To accuse myself I hate you; which I had rather

You felt than make't my boast.

I do, because I'm mad;

if you wait a bit, I won't be mad any more;

then we'll both be cured. I'm very sorry, sir,

that you've made me forget the manners of a lady

through being so talkative; now, learn once and for all

what I'm going to say, I who knows what's in my heart:

the absolute truth is that I do not care for you

and in fact I could almost say

that I hate you; I'd rather

you had noticed it, so I wouldn't have to say it.

CLOTEN.

You sin against

Obedience, which you owe your father. For

The contract you pretend with that base wretch,

One bred of alms and foster'd with cold dishes,

With scraps o' th' court- it is no contract, none.

And though it be allowed in meaner parties-

Yet who than he more mean?- to knit their souls-

On whom there is no more dependency

But brats and beggary- in self-figur'd knot,

Yet you are curb'd from that enlargement by

The consequence o' th' crown, and must not foil

The precious note of it with a base slave,

A hilding for a livery, a squire's cloth,

A pantler- not so eminent!

You are sinning against

obedience, which you owe to your father.

The marriage you claim you have with that low wretch–

a person brought up on charity and fed with cold dishes,

the scraps of the court–that is no marriage.

Although lower class people are allowed–

but who could be lower than him?–To join their souls–

 the only people who depend on them

are brats and beggars–and make their own choices,

you do not have that freedom of choice

because of your royal status, which you must not

soil with a low-down slave,

a worthless fellow who should wear a servant's uniform,

be a butler or a squire's valet–not even that!

IMOGEN.

Profane fellow!

Wert thou the son of Jupiter, and no more

But what thou art besides, thou wert too base

To be his groom. Thou wert dignified enough,

Even to the point of envy, if 'twere made

Comparative for your virtues to be styl'd

The under-hangman of his kingdom, and hated

For being preferr'd so well.

Vulgar fellow!

If you were the son of Jupiter, with none

of your bad qualities, you would be too low

to be his groom. You would be high enough,

even so people would be jealous of you,

if the gap between you was such that if he

was the King then you would be

the deputy hangman of his kingdom, and people

wouldhate you, thinking you were overpromoted.

CLOTEN.

The south fog rot him!

May the southern fog rot him!

IMOGEN.

He never can meet more mischance than come

To be but nam'd of thee. His mean'st garment

That ever hath but clipp'd his body is dearer

In my respect than all the hairs above thee,

Were they all made such men. How now, Pisanio!

Enter PISANIO

Nothing that can happen to him could be worse

than to be spoken of by you. His shabbiest garment,

that has ever just touched his body is dearer

to me than a million men like you.

Hello there, Pisanio!

CLOTEN.

'His garments'! Now the devil-

‘His garment’! Now the devil–

IMOGEN.

To Dorothy my woman hie thee presently.

Go at once to my woman Dorothy.

CLOTEN.

'His garment'!

‘His garment’!

IMOGEN.

I am sprited with a fool;

Frighted, and ang'red worse. Go bid my woman

Search for a jewel that too casually

Hath left mine arm. It was thy master's; shrew me,

If I would lose it for a revenue

Of any king's in Europe! I do think

I saw't this morning; confident I am

Last night 'twas on mine arm; I kiss'd it.

I hope it be not gone to tell my lord

That I kiss aught but he.

I am bothered by a fool;

he's making me angry, but more importantly I'm worried. Go and ask my woman

to search for a jewel that has fallen

too easily from my arm. It was your master's; by heaven,

I wouldn't exchange it for the income

of any king in Europe! I'm sure

I saw it this morning; I'm positive

it was on my arm last night; I kissed it.

I hope it hasn't gone to tell my lord

that I kiss anybody but him.

PISANIO.

'Twill not be lost.

It won't be lost.

IMOGEN.

I hope so. Go and search.

Exit PISANIO

I hope not. Go and look.

CLOTEN.

You have abus'd me.

'His meanest garment'!

You have abused me.

‘His lowest garment’!

IMOGEN.

Ay, I said so, sir.

If you will make 't an action, call witness to 't.

Yes, that's what I said, sir.

If you want to bring a lawsuit, call your witnesses.

CLOTEN.

I will inform your father.

I shall tell your father.

IMOGEN.

Your mother too.

She's my good lady and will conceive, I hope,

But the worst of me. So I leave you, sir,

To th' worst of discontent.

Exit

Tell your mother too.

She's a great friend of mine and will believe, I think,

the very worst of me. So I leave you, sir,

to suffer the worst of discontent.

CLOTEN.