Original
Modern English
The town is ta’en!
The town is taken!
’Twill be deliver’d back on good condition.
It will be given back on good terms.
Condition! I would I were a Roman; for I cannot, Being a Volsce, be that I am. Condition! What good condition can a treaty find I’ the part that is at mercy? Five times, Marcius, I have fought with thee: so often hast thou beat me, And wouldst do so, I think, should we encounter As often as we eat. By the elements, If e’er again I meet him beard to beard, He’s mine, or I am his: mine emulation Hath not that honour in’t it had; for where I thought to crush him in an equal force, True sword to sword, I’ll potch at him some way Or wrath or craft may get him.
Terms! I wish I were a Roman; because, as a Volsce, I can’t be what I want to be. Terms! What kind of terms can a peace agreement have When the other side is at mercy? Five times, Marcius, I’ve fought with you: so many times you’ve beaten me, And I think you would do the same if we fought As often as we ate. By the gods, If I meet him face to face again, He’s mine, or I’m his: my competition Doesn’t have the honor it once had; because where I thought to crush him with equal strength, True sword against sword, I’ll find another way Whether through anger or trickery to defeat him.
He’s the devil.
He’s the devil.
Bolder, though not so subtle. My valour’s poison’d With only suffering stain by him; for him Shall fly out of itself: nor sleep nor sanctuary, Being naked, sick, nor fane nor Capitol, The prayers of priests nor times of sacrifice, Embarquements all of fury, shall lift up Their rotten privilege and custom ’gainst My hate to Marcius: where I find him, were it At home, upon my brother’s guard, even there, Against the hospitable canon, would I Wash my fierce hand in’s heart. Go you to the city; Learn how ’tis held; and what they are that must Be hostages for Rome.
Bolder, though not as clever. My courage’s been poisoned Just by suffering under him; because of him I’ll soon break free from it: neither sleep nor safety, Whether I’m naked, sick, or in a sacred place, The prayers of priests nor any time of sacrifice, None of these things, full of rage, will be able to stop My hate for Marcius: wherever I find him, even If it’s at home, on my brother’s watch, even there, I’ll break the rules of hospitality and Wash my furious hands in his heart. Go to the city; Find out how it’s being held; and who must Be hostages for Rome.
Will not you go?
Won’t you go?
I am attended at the cypress grove: I pray you-- ’Tis south the city mills--bring me word thither How the world goes, that to the pace of it I may spur on my journey.
I’m meeting someone at the cypress grove: I ask you-- It’s south of the city mills--bring me word there How things are going, so I can keep pace With how things are moving.
I shall, sir.
I will, sir.