Original
Modern English
An ante-chamber adjoining Imogen’s apartments.
An ante-chamber adjoining Imogen’s apartments.
Your lordship is the most patient man in loss, the most coldest that ever turned up ace.
My lord, you’re the most patient man when you lose, and the coldest person to ever get a lucky break.
It would make any man cold to lose.
Losing would make anyone cold.
But not every man patient after the noble temper of your lordship. You are most hot and furious when you win.
But not everyone is as patient as you are when it comes to losing. You get fiery and furious when you win.
Winning will put any man into courage. If I could get this foolish Imogen, I should have gold enough. It’s almost morning, is’t not?
Winning gives anyone confidence. If I could get this silly Imogen, I’d have enough gold. It’s almost morning, isn’t it?
Day, my lord.
Yes, my lord, it’s daybreak.
I would this music would come: I am advised to give her music o’ mornings; they say it will penetrate.
I wish this music would hurry up: I’ve been told to play her music in the mornings; they say it’ll get through to her.
Come on; tune: if you can penetrate her with your fingering, so; we’ll try with tongue too: if none will do, let her remain; but I’ll never give o’er. First, a very excellent good-conceited thing; after, a wonderful sweet air, with admirable rich words to it: and then let her consider.
Play on; tune up: if you can reach her with your playing, fine; we’ll try with words too: if neither works, let her be— but I won’t give up. First, play something very clever and impressive; then, a beautiful tune with lovely, rich words to go with it: and after that, let her think about it.
Hark, hark! the lark at heaven’s gate sings, And Phoebus ’gins arise, His steeds to water at those springs On chaliced flowers that lies; And winking Mary-buds begin To ope their golden eyes: With every thing that pretty is, My lady sweet, arise: Arise, arise.
Listen, listen! The lark sings at heaven’s gate, And Phoebus (the sun) begins to rise, His horses drink from those springs That grow on chaliced flowers; And the shy Mary-buds start to open Their golden eyes: With everything that’s beautiful, My sweet lady, rise: Rise, rise.
So, get you gone. If this penetrate, I will consider your music the better: if it do not, it is a vice in her ears, which horse-hairs and calves’-guts, nor the voice of unpaved eunuch to boot, can never amend.
That’s enough, go now. If this music works, I’ll think more highly of your playing; if it doesn’t, it’s just noise to her, which neither horsehair nor cow’s intestines, nor the voice of an untrained eunuch, could ever fix.
Here comes the king.
Here comes the king.
I am glad I was up so late; for that’s the reason I was up so early: he cannot choose but take this service I have done fatherly.
I’m glad I stayed up so late, because that’s why I woke up so early: he can’t help but think this service I’ve done is a good, fatherly thing.
Good morrow to your majesty and to my gracious mother.
Good morning to you, your majesty, and to my gracious mother.
Attend you here the door of our stern daughter? Will she not forth?
Are you waiting here by the door of our stubborn daughter? Won’t she come out?
I have assailed her with music, but she vouchsafes no notice.
I’ve tried to win her over with music, but she won’t even acknowledge it.
The exile of her minion is too new; She hath not yet forgot him: some more time Must wear the print of his remembrance out, And then she’s yours.
Her favorite’s exile is still too recent; She hasn’t forgotten him yet. Give it some more time and his memory will fade, and then she’ll be yours.
You are most bound to the king, Who lets go by no vantages that may Prefer you to his daughter. Frame yourself To orderly soliciting, and be friended With aptness of the season; make denials Increase your services; so seem as if You were inspired to do those duties which You tender to her; that you in all obey her, Save when command to your dismission tends, And therein you are senseless.
You owe the king a lot, Who takes every opportunity to Bring you closer to his daughter. Prepare yourself to ask for her properly, and make sure you’re acting in line with the season; let refusals only make your efforts seem greater; act as if you were inspired to do everything you offer her; obey her in everything, except when she orders you to leave her, and in that case, you’ll be acting thoughtlessly.
Senseless! not so.
Thoughtless! Not at all.
So like you, sir, ambassadors from Rome; The one is Caius Lucius.
You’re just like the ambassadors from Rome, sir; One of them is Caius Lucius.
A worthy fellow, Albeit he comes on angry purpose now; But that’s no fault of his: we must receive him According to the honour of his sender; And towards himself, his goodness forespent on us, We must extend our notice. Our dear son, When you have given good morning to your mistress, Attend the queen and us; we shall have need To employ you towards this Roman. Come, our queen.
A worthy man, even though he’s here with angry intentions; But that’s not his fault: we must treat him with the respect his sender deserves; And for his part, given the good he’s done for us, we must acknowledge him. Our dear son, After you’ve greeted your lady, come join the queen and me; we’ll need you to help us with this Roman. Come, queen.
If she be up, I’ll speak with her; if not, Let her lie still and dream.
If she’s awake, I’ll talk to her; if not, Let her stay in bed and dream.
By your leave, ho! I Know her women are about her: what If I do line one of their hands? ’Tis gold Which buys admittance; oft it doth; yea, and makes Diana’s rangers false themselves, yield up Their deer to the stand o’ the stealer; and ’tis gold Which makes the true man kill’d and saves the thief; Nay, sometime hangs both thief and true man: what Can it not do and undo? I will make One of her women lawyer to me, for I yet not understand the case myself.
Excuse me! I know her maids are around her: what if I bribe one of them? It’s gold that gets you in; it often works, and even makes Diana’s hunters betray themselves, give up their deer to the thief; and it’s gold that gets the honest man killed and lets the thief go free; sometimes it even hangs both the thief and the innocent man. What can’t gold do or undo? I’ll make one of her maids my lawyer, because I still don’t fully understand this situation myself.
By your leave.
Excuse me.
Who’s there that knocks?
Who’s there knocking?
A gentleman.
A gentleman.
No more?
Just a gentleman? Nothing more?
Yes, and a gentlewoman’s son.
Yes, and the son of a gentlewoman.
That’s more Than some, whose tailors are as dear as yours, Can justly boast of. What’s your lordship’s pleasure?
That’s more Than some people can say, even though their tailors cost as much as yours, And they can’t truly boast of it. What does your lordship want?
Your lady’s person: is she ready?
I want to speak with your lady. Is she ready?
Ay, To keep her chamber.
Yes, She’s staying in her room.
There is gold for you; Sell me your good report.
Here’s some gold for you; Sell me a good opinion of her.
How! my good name? or to report of you What I shall think is good?--The princess!
What? My good name? Or are you asking me to speak well of you Based on what I think is good? -- The princess!
Good morrow, fairest: sister, your sweet hand.
Good morning, fairest: sister, your sweet hand.
Good morrow, sir. You lay out too much pains For purchasing but trouble; the thanks I give Is telling you that I am poor of thanks And scarce can spare them.
Good morning, sir. You’re going to a lot of trouble Just to cause me trouble in return; the thanks I give Are to tell you that I have very little to offer, And can barely spare anything.
Still, I swear I love you.
I still swear that I love you.
If you but said so, ’twere as deep with me: If you swear still, your recompense is still That I regard it not.
If you just said it, it would mean as much to me: If you keep swearing, the result is still That I don’t care.
This is no answer.
That’s not an answer.
But that you shall not say I yield being silent, I would not speak. I pray you, spare me: ’faith, I shall unfold equal discourtesy To your best kindness: one of your great knowing Should learn, being taught, forbearance.
But since you won’t say I gave in by staying quiet, I won’t speak. Please, spare me: honestly, I’ll just be rude back To your kindness: someone as wise as you Should learn, once taught, to be patient.
To leave you in your madness, ’twere my sin: I will not.
Leaving you in your madness would be my fault: I won’t do it.
Fools are not mad folks.
Fools aren’t crazy people.
Do you call me fool?
Are you calling me a fool?
As I am mad, I do: If you’ll be patient, I’ll no more be mad; That cures us both. I am much sorry, sir, You put me to forget a lady’s manners, By being so verbal: and learn now, for all, That I, which know my heart, do here pronounce, By the very truth of it, I care not for you, And am so near the lack of charity-- To accuse myself--I hate you; which I had rather You felt than make’t my boast.
As crazy as I am, I do: If you’re patient, I won’t be crazy anymore; That will fix both of us. I’m very sorry, sir, You made me forget proper manners, By talking so much: and now, for everything, I, who know my own heart, declare here, By the truth of it, I don’t care about you, And I’m so close to being cruel-- To accuse myself--I hate you; which I’d rather You felt than for me to boast about it.
You sin against Obedience, which you owe your father. For The contract you pretend with that base wretch, One bred of alms and foster’d with cold dishes, With scraps o’ the court, it is no contract, none: And though it be allow’d in meaner parties-- Yet who than he more mean?--to knit their souls, On whom there is no more dependency But brats and beggary, in self-figured knot; Yet you are curb’d from that enlargement by The consequence o’ the crown, and must not soil The precious note of it with a base slave. A hilding for a livery, a squire’s cloth, A pantler, not so eminent.
You’re sinning against Obedience, which you owe to your father. For The relationship you claim with that lowborn man, One born of charity and raised on scraps, With bits from the court, it’s no relationship, none: And though it’s allowed for lesser people-- Yet who’s more low than him?--to bind their souls, With nothing more to rely on Than beggars and poverty, in a self-made bond; Yet you are held back from that by The king’s position, and can’t tarnish The honor of it with a low servant. A servant for a uniform, a squire’s clothes, A servant, not so important.
Profane fellow Wert thou the son of Jupiter and no more But what thou art besides, thou wert too base To be his groom: thou wert dignified enough, Even to the point of envy, if ’twere made Comparative for your virtues, to be styled The under-hangman of his kingdom, and hated For being preferred so well.
Worthless man, If you were the son of Jupiter and nothing else But what you are besides, you’d be too low To be his servant: you’d be high enough, To the point of envy, if your virtues were Compared, to be called The kingdom’s second executioner, and hated For being promoted so much.
The south-fog rot him!
Let the south wind rot him!
He never can meet more mischance than come To be but named of thee. His meanest garment, That ever hath but clipp’d his body, is dearer In my respect than all the hairs above thee, Were they all made such men. How now, Pisanio!
He can’t face worse luck than being Even named by you. The worst clothes he’s ever worn, That have barely touched his body, are worth more To me than all the hairs on your head, If they were all made into such men. What’s going on, Pisanio?
’His garment!’ Now the devil--
’His clothes!’ Now, damn him--
To Dorothy my woman hie thee presently--
Go quickly to Dorothy, my maid--
’His garment!’
’His clothes!’
I am sprited with a fool. Frighted, and anger’d worse: go bid my woman Search for a jewel that too casually Hath left mine arm: it was thy master’s: ’shrew me, If I would lose it for a revenue Of any king’s in Europe. I do think I saw’t this morning: confident I am Last night ’twas on mine arm; I kiss’d it: I hope it be not gone to tell my lord That I kiss aught but he.
I am made crazy by a fool. Scared, and even angrier: go tell my servant To search for a jewel that carelessly Has slipped off my arm: it was your master’s: damn me, If I’d lose it for any amount of money From any king in Europe. I truly believe I saw it this morning: I’m sure it was On my arm last night; I kissed it: I hope it hasn’t gone off to tell my husband That I kissed anything other than him.
’Twill not be lost.
It won’t be lost.
I hope so: go and search.
I hope not: go and search.
You have abused me: ’His meanest garment!’
You’ve insulted me: “His lowest clothes!”
Ay, I said so, sir: If you will make’t an action, call witness to’t.
Yes, I said that, sir: If you want to take action, bring witnesses.
I will inform your father.
I’ll tell your father.
Your mother too: She’s my good lady, and will conceive, I hope, But the worst of me. So, I leave you, sir, To the worst of discontent.
And your mother too: She’s my dear lady, and I hope she’ll understand The worst of me. So, I’ll leave you, sir, To your deepest frustration.
I’ll be revenged: ’His meanest garment!’ Well.
I’ll get my revenge: “His lowest clothes!” Well.
CYMBELINE
CYMBELINE