Original
Modern English
He calls me boy; and chides, as he had power To beat me out of Egypt; my messenger He hath whipp’d with rods; dares me to personal combat, Caesar to Antony: let the old ruffian know I have many other ways to die; meantime Laugh at his challenge.
He calls me a boy; and scolds at me, as if he had the power To drive me out of Egypt; my messenger He’s beaten with rods; he dares me to fight him one-on-one, Caesar to Antony: let the old thug know I have plenty of ways to die; meanwhile I’ll laugh at his challenge.
Caesar must think, When one so great begins to rage, he’s hunted Even to falling. Give him no breath, but now Make boot of his distraction: never anger Made good guard for itself.
Caesar must think, When someone so important starts to lose control, he’s being driven To the point of falling. Don’t give him time to recover, just now Take advantage of his distraction: anger never makes a good defense.
Let our best heads Know, that to-morrow the last of many battles We mean to fight: within our files there are, Of those that served Mark Antony but late, Enough to fetch him in. See it done: And feast the army; we have store to do’t, And they have earn’d the waste. Poor Antony!
Let our best men Know that tomorrow we plan to fight the last of many battles: Among our ranks, there are enough Who once served Mark Antony to bring him in. Get it done: And treat the army to a feast; we have plenty to do it, And they’ve earned the reward. Poor Antony!