Original
Modern English
You do not meet a man but frowns: our bloods No more obey the heavens than our courtiers Still seem as does the king.
Everywhere you go, you see frowning men: our emotions No longer follow the stars, just like our courtiers Who always act as the king does.
But what’s the matter?
What’s going on?
His daughter, and the heir of’s kingdom, whom He purposed to his wife’s sole son--a widow That late he married--hath referr’d herself Unto a poor but worthy gentleman: she’s wedded; Her husband banish’d; she imprison’d: all Is outward sorrow; though I think the king Be touch’d at very heart.
His daughter, the heir to his kingdom, whom He intended to marry to his wife’s only son--a widow He just married--has chosen to marry A poor but good man: she’s married now; Her husband’s been banished; she’s locked up: everything Appears to be sorrow, though I believe the king Is deeply affected inside.
None but the king?
Is the king the only one affected?
He that hath lost her too; so is the queen, That most desired the match; but not a courtier, Although they wear their faces to the bent Of the king’s look’s, hath a heart that is not Glad at the thing they scowl at.
The king who lost her, yes; and also the queen, Who was the most eager for the match; but no one in the court, Even though they try to act like they are supporting the king, Has a heart that isn’t secretly pleased by what they’re frowning at.
And why so?
And why is that?
He that hath miss’d the princess is a thing Too bad for bad report: and he that hath her-- I mean, that married her, alack, good man! And therefore banish’d--is a creature such As, to seek through the regions of the earth For one his like, there would be something failing In him that should compare. I do not think So fair an outward and such stuff within Endows a man but he.
Whoever missed out on marrying the princess is someone Too pathetic for even bad gossip: and the man who married her-- I mean, the one who’s now banished--is a person so rare That if you searched the entire world for someone like him, You’d find that something would be missing in anyone who could compare. I don’t believe Anyone else could have such an outward appearance and such qualities inside.
You speak him far.
You’re praising him a lot.
I do extend him, sir, within himself, Crush him together rather than unfold His measure duly.
I’m just trying to explain him, sir, from his own perspective, Condensing him into one person rather than giving his full measure.
What’s his name and birth?
What’s his name and background?
I cannot delve him to the root: his father Was call’d Sicilius, who did join his honour Against the Romans with Cassibelan, But had his titles by Tenantius whom He served with glory and admired success, So gain’d the sur-addition Leonatus; And had, besides this gentleman in question, Two other sons, who in the wars o’ the time Died with their swords in hand; for which their father, Then old and fond of issue, took such sorrow That he quit being, and his gentle lady, Big of this gentleman our theme, deceased As he was born. The king he takes the babe To his protection, calls him Posthumus Leonatus, Breeds him and makes him of his bed-chamber, Puts to him all the learnings that his time Could make him the receiver of; which he took, As we do air, fast as ’twas minister’d, And in’s spring became a harvest, lived in court-- Which rare it is to do--most praised, most loved, A sample to the youngest, to the more mature A glass that feated them, and to the graver A child that guided dotards; to his mistress, For whom he now is banish’d, her own price Proclaims how she esteem’d him and his virtue; By her election may be truly read What kind of man he is.
I can’t trace his family back to its roots: his father Was called Sicilius, who fought against the Romans With Cassibelan, but got his titles from Tenantius, whom He served with honor and great success, And so earned the addition of Leonatus to his name; And besides this gentleman we’re talking about, He had two other sons, who died in battle, Each with a sword in his hand; for which Their father, then old and eager for heirs, grieved so much That he died, and his kind wife, Pregnant with this gentleman, died The same way he was born. The king took the baby Into his care, named him Posthumus Leonatus, Raised him and made him one of his attendants, Taught him all the skills his time could offer, Which he absorbed as easily as we breathe air, And as he grew, he thrived, lived in court-- Which is rare--most praised, most loved, A model for the young, a mirror for the older, A guide for the wise; and to his mistress, For whom he is now exiled, her own actions Show how much she valued him and his virtues; By her choice, you can clearly see What kind of man he is.
I honour him Even out of your report. But, pray you, tell me, Is she sole child to the king?
I respect him Even based on what you’ve told me. But, please, tell me, Is she the only child of the king?
His only child. He had two sons: if this be worth your hearing, Mark it: the eldest of them at three years old, I’ the swathing-clothes the other, from their nursery Were stol’n, and to this hour no guess in knowledge Which way they went.
His only child. He had two sons: if you care to hear more, Pay attention: the oldest of them, at three years old, Was taken, along with the other, from their nursery And no one knows where they went.
How long is this ago?
How long ago did this happen?
Some twenty years.
About twenty years.
That a king’s children should be so convey’d, So slackly guarded, and the search so slow, That could not trace them!
That royal children could be taken like that, So poorly guarded, and the search so slow, That they couldn’t find them!
Howsoe’er ’tis strange, Or that the negligence may well be laugh’d at, Yet is it true, sir.
However strange it may seem, Or that the negligence might deserve to be laughed at, It’s still true, sir.
I do well believe you.
I believe you.
We must forbear: here comes the gentleman, The queen, and princess.
We should stop talking now: here comes the gentleman, The queen, and the princess.
No, be assured you shall not find me, daughter, After the slander of most stepmothers, Evil-eyed unto you: you’re my prisoner, but Your gaoler shall deliver you the keys That lock up your restraint. For you, Posthumus, So soon as I can win the offended king, I will be known your advocate: marry, yet The fire of rage is in him, and ’twere good You lean’d unto his sentence with what patience Your wisdom may inform you.
No, be sure you won’t find me, daughter, Like most stepmothers, with evil eyes towards you: you’re my prisoner, but Your jailer will give you the keys That unlock your confinement. As for you, Posthumus, As soon as I can win over the angry king, I’ll be known as your supporter: but for now His rage is still strong, so it’s best That you accept his sentence with whatever patience Your wisdom tells you to have.
Please your highness, I will from hence to-day.
Your highness, please, I will leave today.
You know the peril. I’ll fetch a turn about the garden, pitying The pangs of barr’d affections, though the king Hath charged you should not speak together.
You know the danger. I’ll take a walk around the garden, pitying The pain of forbidden love, even though the king Has ordered that you shouldn’t speak to each other.
O Dissembling courtesy! How fine this tyrant Can tickle where she wounds! My dearest husband, I something fear my father’s wrath; but nothing-- Always reserved my holy duty--what His rage can do on me: you must be gone; And I shall here abide the hourly shot Of angry eyes, not comforted to live, But that there is this jewel in the world That I may see again.
Oh Pretend politeness! How cleverly this tyrant Can hide her cruelty with false kindness! My dearest husband, I’m somewhat afraid of my father’s anger; but I don’t fear-- Always mindful of my duty--what His rage might do to me: you must go; And I’ll stay here, enduring the daily glares Of angry eyes, not comforted by living, Except for the fact that there’s this one treasure in the world That I might see again.
My queen! my mistress! O lady, weep no more, lest I give cause To be suspected of more tenderness Than doth become a man. I will remain The loyal’st husband that did e’er plight troth: My residence in Rome at one Philario’s, Who to my father was a friend, to me Known but by letter: thither write, my queen, And with mine eyes I’ll drink the words you send, Though ink be made of gall.
My queen! my love! Oh lady, stop crying, or I’ll seem too soft And be thought less of as a man. I’ll stay The truest husband that ever swore an oath: I’ll be living in Rome with one Philario, Who was a friend to my father, and to me Known only by letter: write there, my queen, And I’ll read your words with my own eyes, Even if the ink is bitter.
Be brief, I pray you: If the king come, I shall incur I know not How much of his displeasure.
Be quick, please: If the king arrives, I’ll face I don’t know How much of his anger.
Yet I’ll move him To walk this way: I never do him wrong, But he does buy my injuries, to be friends; Pays dear for my offences.
But I’ll make him Walk this way: I never wrong him, But he always buys my offenses, just to be friends; He pays dearly for my mistakes.
Should we be taking leave As long a term as yet we have to live, The loathness to depart would grow. Adieu!
If we were to say goodbye For as long as we’re meant to live, The unwillingness to part would grow. Goodbye!
Nay, stay a little: Were you but riding forth to air yourself, Such parting were too petty. Look here, love; This diamond was my mother’s: take it, heart; But keep it till you woo another wife, When Imogen is dead.
No, stay a little: If you were just going out for some fresh air, Such a farewell would be too small. Look, love; This diamond was my mother’s: take it, dear; But keep it until you find another wife, After Imogen is gone.
How, how! another? You gentle gods, give me but this I have, And sear up my embracements from a next With bonds of death!
What, what! another? You gods, give me only what I have, And seal my embrace from another woman With death’s bonds!
Remain, remain thou here While sense can keep it on. And, sweetest, fairest, As I my poor self did exchange for you, To your so infinite loss, so in our trifles I still win of you: for my sake wear this; It is a manacle of love; I’ll place it Upon this fairest prisoner.
Stay, stay here As long as my senses can hold it. And, sweetest, fairest, As I gave myself to you, at your great loss, So in these small things I still win from you: for my sake wear this; It’s a token of love; I’ll place it On this fairest prisoner.
O the gods! When shall we see again?
Oh gods! When will we meet again?
Alack, the king!
Oh no, the king!
Thou basest thing, avoid! hence, from my sight! If after this command thou fraught the court With thy unworthiness, thou diest: away! Thou’rt poison to my blood.
You lowest of men, get out! Away, from my sight! If you bring your unworthiness to the court again You’ll die: go away! You’re poison to my blood.
The gods protect you! And bless the good remainders of the court! I am gone.
May the gods protect you! And bless the good people left in the court! I am leaving.
There cannot be a pinch in death More sharp than this is.
There can’t be anything worse in death Than what I’m feeling now.
O disloyal thing, That shouldst repair my youth, thou heap’st A year’s age on me.
Oh, treacherous woman, You were supposed to make my youth better, but instead You’ve added a year to my age.
I beseech you, sir, Harm not yourself with your vexation I am senseless of your wrath; a touch more rare Subdues all pangs, all fears.
Please, sir, Don’t hurt yourself because you’re angry. I don’t even feel your anger; just one more gentle touch Takes away all my pain, all my fears.
Past grace? obedience?
Lost your grace? Lost your obedience?
Past hope, and in despair; that way, past grace.
Lost all hope, and in despair; that’s how I’ve lost my grace.
That mightst have had the sole son of my queen!
You could have had the one true son of my queen!
O blest, that I might not! I chose an eagle, And did avoid a puttock.
Oh, thank goodness I didn’t! I chose an eagle, And avoided a buzzard.
Thou took’st a beggar; wouldst have made my throne A seat for baseness.
You chose a beggar; you would’ve turned my throne Into a seat for lowliness.
No; I rather added A lustre to it.
No; I actually made it shine Even more.
O thou vile one!
Oh, you wicked woman!
Sir, It is your fault that I have loved Posthumus: You bred him as my playfellow, and he is A man worth any woman, overbuys me Almost the sum he pays.
Sir, It’s your fault I loved Posthumus: You raised him as my childhood friend, and he is A man worth any woman, and he pays me More than what he owes.
What, art thou mad?
What, are you mad?
Almost, sir: heaven restore me! Would I were A neat-herd’s daughter, and my Leonatus Our neighbour shepherd’s son!
Almost, sir: heaven help me! I wish I were A herder’s daughter, and my Leonatus Was just the neighbor’s son!
Thou foolish thing!
You foolish woman!
They were again together: you have done Not after our command. Away with her, And pen her up.
They were together again: you didn’t follow Our orders. Take her away, And lock her up.
Beseech your patience. Peace, Dear lady daughter, peace! Sweet sovereign, Leave us to ourselves; and make yourself some comfort Out of your best advice.
Please be patient. Calm down, Dear lady daughter, calm down! Sweet ruler, Leave us alone; and find some comfort for yourself From your best advice.
Nay, let her languish A drop of blood a day; and, being aged, Die of this folly!
No, let her suffer A drop of blood each day; and, growing old, Let her die from this foolishness!
Fie! you must give way.
Ugh! you must give in.
Here is your servant. How now, sir! What news?
Here’s your servant. How are you, sir? What’s the news?
My lord your son drew on my master.
My lord your son attacked my master.
Ha! No harm, I trust, is done?
What! No harm, I hope?
There might have been, But that my master rather play’d than fought And had no help of anger: they were parted By gentlemen at hand.
There could have been, But my master fought more in play than anger, And didn’t need any help: they were separated By some gentlemen nearby.
I am very glad on’t.
I’m very glad to hear that.
Your son’s my father’s friend; he takes his part. To draw upon an exile! O brave sir! I would they were in Afric both together; Myself by with a needle, that I might prick The goer-back. Why came you from your master?
Your son is my father’s friend; he’s on his side. To attack an exile! Oh, brave man! I wish they were both in Africa together; I’d follow with a needle, so I could prick The one who backs down. Why did you leave your master?
On his command: he would not suffer me To bring him to the haven; left these notes Of what commands I should be subject to, When ’t pleased you to employ me.
On his orders: he wouldn’t let me Bring him to the port; he left these notes Explaining the tasks I should follow, Whenever you choose to assign me a job.
This hath been Your faithful servant: I dare lay mine honour He will remain so.
He’s been Your loyal servant: I can confidently say, He will stay that way.
I humbly thank your highness.
I humbly thank your highness.
Pray, walk awhile.
Please, walk for a bit.
About some half-hour hence, I pray you, speak with me: you shall at least Go see my lord aboard: for this time leave me.
In about half an hour, please talk to me: at least go see my husband on board: leave me alone for now.