Original
Modern English
We have beat him to his camp: run one before, And let the queen know of our gests. To-morrow, Before the sun shall see ’s, we’ll spill the blood That has to-day escaped. I thank you all; For doughty-handed are you, and have fought Not as you served the cause, but as ’t had been Each man’s like mine; you have shown all Hectors. Enter the city, clip your wives, your friends, Tell them your feats; whilst they with joyful tears Wash the congealment from your wounds, and kiss The honour’d gashes whole.
We’ve driven him back to his camp: send someone ahead, And let the queen know what we’ve done. Tomorrow, Before the sun rises, we’ll shed the blood That’s been spared today. I thank you all; For you’ve fought bravely, not just for the cause, but as if Each of you had fought as I would; you’ve shown true courage. Go into the city, hug your wives, your friends, Tell them what you’ve done; while they, with happy tears, Clean your wounds, and kiss your honored scars.
Give me thy hand
Give me your hand
To this great fairy I’ll commend thy acts, Make her thanks bless thee.
I’ll tell this great lady all you’ve done, May her thanks bless you.
O thou day o’ the world, Chain mine arm’d neck; leap thou, attire and all, Through proof of harness to my heart, and there Ride on the pants triumphing!
Oh, you are the light of the world, Bind my armored neck; jump, you and all your dress, Through the test of armor to my heart, and there Ride on the pants, victorious!
Lord of lords! O infinite virtue, comest thou smiling from The world’s great snare uncaught?
Lord of all lords! Oh, endless goodness, do you come smiling from The world’s great trap, yet untouched?
My nightingale, We have beat them to their beds. What, girl! though grey Do something mingle with our younger brown, yet ha’ we A brain that nourishes our nerves, and can Get goal for goal of youth. Behold this man; Commend unto his lips thy favouring hand: Kiss it, my warrior: he hath fought to-day As if a god, in hate of mankind, had Destroy’d in such a shape.
My nightingale, We’ve beaten them back to their beds. What, girl! Even though grey May mix with our younger brown, we still have A mind that strengthens our body, and we can Match youth’s energy. Look at this man; Give him a kiss, your hand of favor: Kiss it, my warrior: he has fought today As though a god, in hatred of mankind, had Destroyed in this form.
I’ll give thee, friend, An armour all of gold; it was a king’s.
I’ll give you, my friend, A suit of armor made of gold; it belonged to a king.
He has deserved it, were it carbuncled Like holy Phoebus’ car. Give me thy hand: Through Alexandria make a jolly march; Bear our hack’d targets like the men that owe them: Had our great palace the capacity To camp this host, we all would sup together, And drink carouses to the next day’s fate, Which promises royal peril. Trumpeters, With brazen din blast you the city’s ear; Make mingle with rattling tabourines; That heaven and earth may strike their sounds together, Applauding our approach.
He deserves it, even if it were decorated Like the chariot of the sun god, Phoebus. Give me your hand: Let’s make a joyful march through Alexandria; Carry our scarred shields like the men who earned them: If our grand palace could hold This whole army, we’d all feast together, And drink toasts to the next day’s destiny, Which promises royal danger. Trumpeters, Blast the city’s ears with loud sounds; Mix it with the beating of drums; So that heaven and earth may join in their noise, Applauding our arrival.