Original
Modern English
Yonder comes news. A wager they have met.
Look, here comes news. I bet they’ve met.
My horse to yours, no.
I’ll bet my horse against yours, no.
’Tis done.
It’s a deal.
Agreed.
Agreed.
Say, has our general met the enemy?
Tell me, has our general come face to face with the enemy?
They lie in view; but have not spoke as yet.
They’re in sight, but haven’t spoken yet.
So, the good horse is mine.
So, the good horse is mine.
I’ll buy him of you.
I’ll buy him from you.
No, I’ll nor sell nor give him: lend you him I will For half a hundred years. Summon the town.
No, I won’t sell or give him to you, but I’ll lend him to you For fifty years. Summon the town.
How far off lie these armies?
How far away are these armies?
Within this mile and half.
Within a mile and a half.
Then shall we hear their ’larum, and they ours. Now, Mars, I prithee, make us quick in work, That we with smoking swords may march from hence, To help our fielded friends! Come, blow thy blast.
Then we’ll hear their battle cries, and they’ll hear ours. Now, Mars, I beg you, make us quick in action, So that we, with burning swords, can march from here, To help our comrades in the field! Come, sound your trumpet.
Tutus Aufidius, is he within your walls?
Is Aufidius inside your walls?
No, nor a man that fears you less than he, That’s lesser than a little.
No, nor anyone who fears you less than he does, Not even a little bit.
Hark! our drums Are bringing forth our youth. We’ll break our walls, Rather than they shall pound us up: our gates, Which yet seem shut, we, have but pinn’d with rushes; They’ll open of themselves.
Listen! Our drums Are bringing out our youth. We’ll break down our walls, Before we let them batter us down. Our gates, Which might seem closed, are really just pinned with rushes; They’ll open on their own.
Hark you. far off! There is Aufidius; list, what work he makes Amongst your cloven army.
Listen, over there! There’s Aufidius; listen to what he’s doing Among your divided army.
O, they are at it!
Oh, they’re at it!
Their noise be our instruction. Ladders, ho!
Their shouting will teach us what to do. Ladders, get ready!
They fear us not, but issue forth their city. Now put your shields before your hearts, and fight With hearts more proof than shields. Advance, brave Titus: They do disdain us much beyond our thoughts, Which makes me sweat with wrath. Come on, my fellows: He that retires I’ll take him for a Volsce, And he shall feel mine edge.
They don’t fear us, but they’re coming out of their city. Now, put your shields in front of your hearts and fight With hearts stronger than your shields. Move forward, brave Titus: They show us even more contempt than we thought, Which makes me furious. Let’s go, my friends: Anyone who runs, I’ll consider him a Volsce, And he’ll feel my sword.
All the contagion of the south light on you, You shames of Rome! you herd of--Boils and plagues Plaster you o’er, that you may be abhorr’d Further than seen and one infect another Against the wind a mile! You souls of geese, That bear the shapes of men, how have you run From slaves that apes would beat! Pluto and hell! All hurt behind; backs red, and faces pale With flight and agued fear! Mend and charge home, Or, by the fires of heaven, I’ll leave the foe And make my wars on you: look to’t: come on; If you’ll stand fast, we’ll beat them to their wives, As they us to our trenches followed.
All the diseases of the south fall on you, You disgrace of Rome! you pack of—Boils and plagues Cover you, so everyone hates you Even more than they already do, and you spread your infection Against the wind for a mile! You idiot souls, Who wear the shapes of men, how have you run From slaves that even animals would beat! Pluto and hell! All wounds behind; backs red, and faces pale With fear and running away! Fix yourselves and charge forward, Or, by the fires of heaven, I’ll leave the enemy And make my battle against you: watch out: come on; If you stand firm, we’ll push them back to their wives, Just as they followed us to our trenches.
So, now the gates are ope: now prove good seconds: ’Tis for the followers fortune widens them, Not for the fliers: mark me, and do the like.
Now the gates are open: now prove yourselves good followers: It’s the ones who follow who get the rewards, Not the ones who run: pay attention, and do as I do.
Fool-hardiness; not I.
Foolish bravery; not me.
Nor I.
Not me either.
See, they have shut him in.
Look, they’ve trapped him inside.
To the pot, I warrant him.
He’s done for, I bet.
What is become of Marcius?
What’s happened to Marcius?
Slain, sir, doubtless.
Slain, sir, no doubt about it.
Following the fliers at the very heels, With them he enters; who, upon the sudden, Clapp’d to their gates: he is himself alone, To answer all the city.
Following the ones who ran away, right on their heels, He enters with them; who, suddenly, Ran to their gates: he’s alone now, To face the whole city.
O noble fellow! Who sensibly outdares his senseless sword, And, when it bows, stands up. Thou art left, Marcius: A carbuncle entire, as big as thou art, Were not so rich a jewel. Thou wast a soldier Even to Cato’s wish, not fierce and terrible Only in strokes; but, with thy grim looks and The thunder-like percussion of thy sounds, Thou madst thine enemies shake, as if the world Were feverous and did tremble.
Oh, what a noble man! Who bravely challenges his dull sword, And, when it drops, stands tall again. You’re left behind, Marcius: A gem as big as you are, Wouldn’t be as valuable. You were a soldier Even to Cato’s liking, not just fierce and terrible In your strikes; but with your grim looks and The thunderous sounds you made, You made your enemies tremble, as if the world Was sick and shaking.
Look, sir.
Look, sir.
O,’tis Marcius! Let’s fetch him off, or make remain alike.
Oh, it’s Marcius! Let’s get him out of here, or stay and fight the same.