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The Florentines and Senoys are by the ears; Have fought with equal fortune and continue A braving war.
The Florentines and Senoys are at odds; They’ve fought with equal luck and continue Their bold war.
So ’tis reported, sir.
It’s been reported, sir.
Nay, ’tis most credible; we here received it A certainty, vouch’d from our cousin Austria, With caution that the Florentine will move us For speedy aid; wherein our dearest friend Prejudicates the business and would seem To have us make denial.
No, it’s completely believable; we’ve received it As certain, confirmed by our cousin Austria, With a warning that the Florentine will ask us For quick help; where our dear friend Seems to misunderstand the situation and would appear To want us to refuse.
His love and wisdom, Approved so to your majesty, may plead For amplest credence.
His love and wisdom, Approved to your majesty, should earn The fullest trust.
He hath arm’d our answer, And Florence is denied before he comes: Yet, for our gentlemen that mean to see The Tuscan service, freely have they leave To stand on either part.
He has prepared our response, And Florence is turned down before he arrives: But for our men who want to join The Tuscan army, they are free to choose Either side.
It well may serve A nursery to our gentry, who are sick For breathing and exploit.
It could be good For training our young men, who are eager For action and adventure.
What’s he comes here?
Who’s this coming here?
It is the Count Rousillon, my good lord, Young Bertram.
It’s the Count of Rousillon, my lord, Young Bertram.
Youth, thou bear’st thy father’s face; Frank nature, rather curious than in haste, Hath well composed thee. Thy father’s moral parts Mayst thou inherit too! Welcome to Paris.
Youth, you have your father’s look; Natural and open, more thoughtful than rushed, You’ve been well shaped. May you inherit your father’s Good qualities too! Welcome to Paris.
My thanks and duty are your majesty’s.
My thanks and loyalty are yours, my lord.
I would I had that corporal soundness now, As when thy father and myself in friendship First tried our soldiership! He did look far Into the service of the time and was Discipled of the bravest: he lasted long; But on us both did haggish age steal on And wore us out of act. It much repairs me To talk of your good father. In his youth He had the wit which I can well observe To-day in our young lords; but they may jest Till their own scorn return to them unnoted Ere they can hide their levity in honour; So like a courtier, contempt nor bitterness Were in his pride or sharpness; if they were, His equal had awaked them, and his honour, Clock to itself, knew the true minute when Exception bid him speak, and at this time His tongue obey’d his hand: who were below him He used as creatures of another place And bow’d his eminent top to their low ranks, Making them proud of his humility, In their poor praise he humbled. Such a man Might be a copy to these younger times; Which, follow’d well, would demonstrate them now But goers backward.
I wish I had the strength I had back then, When your father and I first tested our skills As soldiers! He had a clear vision Of the challenges of his time and was A disciple of the bravest: he lasted long; But age slowly stole on both of us And wore us out. It greatly pleases me To speak of your good father. In his youth He had the wisdom I see today In our young lords; but they may joke Until their own arrogance comes back to haunt them Before they can disguise their shallowness with honour; Like a true courtier, neither contempt nor bitterness Was in his pride or sharpness; if they were, His equal would have brought them out, and his honour, A clock to itself, knew the right moment when A challenge required him to speak, and at that time His words matched his actions: those beneath him He treated as beings from another world And lowered his proud head to their low ranks, Making them proud of his humility, While he humbled himself in their poor praise. Such a man Could be an example for these younger times; Which, if followed well, would show them now As going backwards.
His good remembrance, sir, Lies richer in your thoughts than on his tomb; So in approof lives not his epitaph As in your royal speech.
His good memory, sir, Lives richer in your thoughts than on his grave; His epitaph doesn’t live as well As your royal speech does.
Would I were with him! He would always say-- Methinks I hear him now; his plausive words He scatter’d not in ears, but grafted them, To grow there and to bear,--’Let me not live,’-- This his good melancholy oft began, On the catastrophe and heel of pastime, When it was out,--’Let me not live,’ quoth he, ’After my flame lacks oil, to be the snuff Of younger spirits, whose apprehensive senses All but new things disdain; whose judgments are Mere fathers of their garments; whose constancies Expire before their fashions.’ This he wish’d; I after him do after him wish too, Since I nor wax nor honey can bring home, I quickly were dissolved from my hive, To give some labourers room.
I wish I were with him! He used to always say-- I think I can hear him now; his kind words Didn’t just fall on ears, but took root, To grow there and bear fruit,--’Let me not live,’-- His melancholy often started like this, After a good time had ended, When it was over,--’Let me not live,’ he’d say, ’When my flame runs out of fuel, to become the fading light Of younger spirits, who dislike anything old; Who judge only by appearances, and whose constancy Dies before their fashion does.’ This was his wish; I too wish after him, Since I cannot produce new ideas or energy, I’d rather quickly be gone, To give space to others.
You are loved, sir: They that least lend it you shall lack you first.
You are loved, sir: Those who least give you love will be the first to miss you.
I fill a place, I know’t. How long is’t, count, Since the physician at your father’s died? He was much famed.
I know I have a place here. How long has it been, count, Since the doctor who treated your father died? He was well known.
Some six months since, my lord.
About six months ago, my lord.
If he were living, I would try him yet. Lend me an arm; the rest have worn me out With several applications; nature and sickness Debate it at their leisure. Welcome, count; My son’s no dearer.
If he were still alive, I would try him again. Help me up; the others have worn me out With all their requests; nature and sickness Can argue it out at their own pace. Welcome, count; My son’s no more important than you.
Thank your majesty.
Thank you, your majesty.