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Proceed, Solinus, to procure my fall And by the doom of death end woes and all.
Proceed, Solinus, to bring about my fall And by the sentence of death end all my misery.
Merchant of Syracuse, plead no more; I am not partial to infringe our laws: The enmity and discord which of late Sprung from the rancorous outrage of your duke To merchants, our well-dealing countrymen, Who wanting guilders to redeem their lives Have seal’d his rigorous statutes with their bloods, Excludes all pity from our threatening looks. For, since the mortal and intestine jars ’Twixt thy seditious countrymen and us, It hath in solemn synods been decreed Both by the Syracusians and ourselves, To admit no traffic to our adverse towns Nay, more, If any born at Ephesus be seen At any Syracusian marts and fairs; Again: if any Syracusian born Come to the bay of Ephesus, he dies, His goods confiscate to the duke’s dispose, Unless a thousand marks be levied, To quit the penalty and to ransom him. Thy substance, valued at the highest rate, Cannot amount unto a hundred marks; Therefore by law thou art condemned to die.
Merchant from Syracuse, stop pleading; I’m not biased enough to break our laws: The hostility and conflict that recently Came from your duke’s bitter hatred Towards merchants, our honest countrymen, Who, lacking money to buy back their lives Have sealed his harsh laws with their own blood, Takes all pity away from our threatening faces. For, since the deadly and internal conflicts Between your rebellious countrymen and us, It has been formally decided Both by the people of Syracuse and us, That no trade shall be allowed between our cities. Furthermore, If anyone from Ephesus is found At any market or fair in Syracuse; And if any Syracusian is found In the harbor of Ephesus, he must die, His goods will be taken by the duke, Unless a thousand marks are paid, To avoid the penalty and free him. Your wealth, valued at the highest price, Is not even worth a hundred marks; So by law, you are sentenced to die.
Yet this my comfort: when your words are done, My woes end likewise with the evening sun.
But here’s my comfort: when you finish speaking, My misery will end with the setting sun.
Well, Syracusian, say in brief the cause Why thou departed’st from thy native home And for what cause thou camest to Ephesus.
Well, Syracusian, briefly tell me the reason Why you left your homeland And why you came to Ephesus.
A heavier task could not have been imposed Than I to speak my griefs unspeakable: Yet, that the world may witness that my end Was wrought by nature, not by vile offence, I’ll utter what my sorrows give me leave. In Syracusa was I born, and wed Unto a woman, happy but for me, And by me, had not our hap been bad. With her I lived in joy; our wealth increased By prosperous voyages I often made To Epidamnum; till my factor’s death And the great care of goods at random left Drew me from kind embracements of my spouse: From whom my absence was not six months old Before herself, almost at fainting under The pleasing punishment that women bear, Had made provision for her following me And soon and safe arrived where I was. There had she not been long, but she became A joyful mother of two goodly sons; And, which was strange, the one so like the other, As could not be distinguish’d but by names. That very hour, and in the self-same inn, A meaner woman was delivered Of such a burden, male twins, both alike: Those,--for their parents were exceeding poor,-- I bought and brought up to attend my sons. My wife, not meanly proud of two such boys, Made daily motions for our home return: Unwilling I agreed. Alas! too soon, We came aboard. A league from Epidamnum had we sail’d, Before the always wind-obeying deep Gave any tragic instance of our harm: But longer did we not retain much hope; For what obscured light the heavens did grant Did but convey unto our fearful minds A doubtful warrant of immediate death; Which though myself would gladly have embraced, Yet the incessant weepings of my wife, Weeping before for what she saw must come, And piteous plainings of the pretty babes, That mourn’d for fashion, ignorant what to fear, Forced me to seek delays for them and me. And this it was, for other means was none: The sailors sought for safety by our boat, And left the ship, then sinking-ripe, to us: My wife, more careful for the latter-born, Had fasten’d him unto a small spare mast, Such as seafaring men provide for storms; To him one of the other twins was bound, Whilst I had been like heedful of the other: The children thus disposed, my wife and I, Fixing our eyes on whom our care was fix’d, Fasten’d ourselves at either end the mast; And floating straight, obedient to the stream, Was carried towards Corinth, as we thought. At length the sun, gazing upon the earth, Dispersed those vapours that offended us; And by the benefit of his wished light, The seas wax’d calm, and we discovered Two ships from far making amain to us, Of Corinth that, of Epidaurus this: But ere they came,--O, let me say no more! Gather the sequel by that went before.
No task could be harder than telling My unspeakable griefs: Yet, so the world knows that my fate Was caused by nature, not by any crime, I will speak as my sorrow allows. I was born in Syracuse, and married To a woman, happy except for me, And by me, since our misfortune was so great. With her, I lived in joy; our wealth grew From my successful journeys To Epidamnum; until my factor’s death And the great care of managing goods left Me apart from my wife’s loving embrace: I had been gone less than six months When she, almost fainting from The sweet burden that women carry, Had made plans for her to follow me And she soon and safely arrived where I was. She hadn’t been there long before she became A happy mother of two fine sons; And, what was strange, they looked exactly alike, So much so that they could only be told apart by their names. That very hour, and in the same inn, A poorer woman gave birth To the same kind of burden, male twins, both alike: Those, since their parents were very poor, I bought and raised to serve my sons. My wife, not at all ashamed of having two such boys, Constantly asked when we would return home: Reluctantly, I agreed. Alas! too soon, We boarded the ship. We had sailed a league from Epidamnum, Before the always wind-following sea Gave any sign of the danger we were in: But we didn’t keep much hope for long; For what little light the heavens provided Only brought more fear into our minds, A doubtful sign of imminent death; Which though I would have welcomed gladly, Yet the constant crying of my wife, Crying because she knew what was coming, And the pitiful wailing of the little babies, That mourned just because it was the thing to do, unaware of what to fear, Forced me to find ways to delay for all of us. And this was the only option, there were no others: The sailors sought safety by using our boat, And left the sinking ship to us: My wife, more concerned for the one born last, Had fastened him to a small spare mast, Like those that sailors use in storms; One of the other twins was tied to him, While I had been just as careful of the other: The children arranged like this, my wife and I, Fixing our attention on the one we were most worried about, Secured ourselves at either end of the mast; And floating straight, following the current, We were carried toward Corinth, or so we thought. Finally, the sun, shining down on the earth, Dispersed the clouds that had troubled us; And by the benefit of his wished-for light, The sea grew calm, and we saw Two ships from far away heading toward us, One from Corinth, the other from Epidaurus: But before they reached us,--Oh, let me not say more! Guess the rest from what I’ve already told you.
Nay, forward, old man; do not break off so; For we may pity, though not pardon thee.
No, continue, old man; don’t stop now; For we may pity you, though we cannot forgive you.
O, had the gods done so, I had not now Worthily term’d them merciless to us! For, ere the ships could meet by twice five leagues, We were encounterd by a mighty rock; Which being violently borne upon, Our helpful ship was splitted in the midst; So that, in this unjust divorce of us, Fortune had left to both of us alike What to delight in, what to sorrow for. Her part, poor soul! seeming as burdened With lesser weight but not with lesser woe, Was carried with more speed before the wind; And in our sight they three were taken up By fishermen of Corinth, as we thought. At length, another ship had seized on us; And, knowing whom it was their hap to save, Gave healthful welcome to their shipwreck’d guests; And would have reft the fishers of their prey, Had not their bark been very slow of sail; And therefore homeward did they bend their course. Thus have you heard me sever’d from my bliss; That by misfortunes was my life prolong’d, To tell sad stories of my own mishaps.
Oh, if the gods had only done that, I wouldn’t now Rightly call them merciless to us! For, before the ships could meet by twice five leagues, We were struck by a mighty rock; And as we were violently thrown against it, Our helpful ship split right down the middle; So that, in this unfair separation of us, Fortune had left us both with the same Things to delight in and things to sorrow for. Her part, poor soul! seemed burdened With a lesser weight but no less pain, Was carried away faster by the wind; And in our sight, the three of them were picked up By fishermen from Corinth, as we thought. Eventually, another ship captured us; And knowing who they were rescuing, They welcomed their shipwrecked guests with kindness; And would have taken the fishers’ catch from them, Had not their ship been very slow to sail; And so they set their course for home. So you’ve heard how I was separated from my happiness; That by misfortunes, my life was extended, To tell sad stories of my own disasters.
And for the sake of them thou sorrowest for, Do me the favour to dilate at full What hath befall’n of them and thee till now.
And for the sake of those you mourn for, Do me the favor of telling me everything That has happened to you and them until now.
My youngest boy, and yet my eldest care, At eighteen years became inquisitive After his brother: and importuned me That his attendant--so his case was like, Reft of his brother, but retain’d his name-- Might bear him company in the quest of him: Whom whilst I labour’d of a love to see, I hazarded the loss of whom I loved. Five summers have I spent in furthest Greece, Roaming clean through the bounds of Asia, And, coasting homeward, came to Ephesus; Hopeless to find, yet loath to leave unsought Or that or any place that harbours men. But here must end the story of my life; And happy were I in my timely death, Could all my travels warrant me they live.
My youngest son, and yet my greatest concern, At eighteen years became curious About his brother: and asked me again and again That his companion--since his situation was like, Lost his brother, but kept his name-- Might join him in the search for him: Whom, while I longed to see with love, I risked losing the one I loved. I spent five summers in far-off Greece, Roaming through all of Asia, And, on my way home, came to Ephesus; It seems hopeless to find, but I’m reluctant to leave any place unexplored Or anywhere that might be home to people. But here must end the story of my life; And I’d be happy to die now, If all my travels could prove that they still live.
Hapless AEgeon, whom the fates have mark’d To bear the extremity of dire mishap! Now, trust me, were it not against our laws, Against my crown, my oath, my dignity, Which princes, would they, may not disannul, My soul would sue as advocate for thee. But, though thou art adjudged to the death And passed sentence may not be recall’d But to our honour’s great disparagement, Yet I will favour thee in what I can. Therefore, merchant, I’ll limit thee this day To seek thy life by beneficial help: Try all the friends thou hast in Ephesus; Beg thou, or borrow, to make up the sum, And live; if no, then thou art doom’d to die. Gaoler, take him to thy custody.
Poor AEgeon, whom the fates have cursed To face the worst of terrible misfortune! Now, trust me, if it weren’t against our laws, Against my crown, my oath, my dignity, Things which no prince may break, My soul would act as your lawyer. But, even though you’ve been sentenced to die And the sentence cannot be undone Without seriously damaging our honor, I’ll still help you in any way I can. So, merchant, I’ll give you this day To try and save your life with some help: Ask around among all your friends in Ephesus; Beg or borrow to raise the money, And live; if not, then you’re doomed to die. Gaoler, take him into custody.
I will, my lord.
I will, my lord.
Hopeless and helpless doth AEgeon wend, But to procrastinate his lifeless end.
Hopeless and helpless, AEgeon walks on, Just delaying his inevitable death.