Original
Modern English
This will I carry to Rome.
I’ll take this to Rome.
And I this.
And I’ll take this.
A murrain on’t! I took this for silver.
Damn it! I thought this was silver.
See here these movers that do prize their hours At a crack’d drachm! Cushions, leaden spoons, Irons of a doit, doublets that hangmen would Bury with those that wore them, these base slaves, Ere yet the fight be done, pack up: down with them! And hark, what noise the general makes! To him! There is the man of my soul’s hate, Aufidius, Piercing our Romans: then, valiant Titus, take Convenient numbers to make good the city; Whilst I, with those that have the spirit, will haste To help Cominius.
Look at these people who think their time is worth A broken coin! Cushions, lead spoons, Worthless iron, doublets that criminals would Be buried in, these lowlifes, Before the battle is even over, packing up their things: down with them! And listen to what the general is doing! To him! There’s the man I hate more than anyone, Aufidius, Piercing our Romans: then, brave Titus, take The right number of men to secure the city; While I, with those who still have spirit, will hurry To help Cominius.
Worthy sir, thou bleed’st; Thy exercise hath been too violent for A second course of fight.
Worthy sir, you’re bleeding; You’ve been fighting too hard for A second round of battle.
Sir, praise me not; My work hath yet not warm’d me: fare you well: The blood I drop is rather physical Than dangerous to me: to Aufidius thus I will appear, and fight.
Sir, don’t praise me; I haven’t even caught my breath yet: goodbye: The blood I’ve lost is more physical Than life-threatening: I’ll face Aufidius like this And fight.
Now the fair goddess, Fortune, Fall deep in love with thee; and her great charms Misguide thy opposers’ swords! Bold gentleman, Prosperity be thy page!
Now may the good goddess, Fortune, Fall deeply in love with you; and may her great powers Lead your enemies’ swords astray! Bold man, May success be your servant!
Thy friend no less Than those she placeth highest! So, farewell.
Your friend no less Than those she favors most! So, goodbye.
Thou worthiest Marcius!
You most deserving Marcius!
Go, sound thy trumpet in the market-place; Call thither all the officers o’ the town, Where they shall know our mind: away!
Go, sound your trumpet in the marketplace; Call all the town officials together, So they can hear our plans: go!