Original
Modern English
I see a man’s life is a tedious one: I have tired myself, and for two nights together Have made the ground my bed. I should be sick, But that my resolution helps me. Milford, When from the mountain-top Pisanio show’d thee, Thou wast within a ken: O Jove! I think Foundations fly the wretched; such, I mean, Where they should be relieved. Two beggars told me I could not miss my way: will poor folks lie, That have afflictions on them, knowing ’tis A punishment or trial? Yes; no wonder, When rich ones scarce tell true. To lapse in fulness Is sorer than to lie for need, and falsehood Is worse in kings than beggars. My dear lord! Thou art one o’ the false ones. Now I think on thee, My hunger’s gone; but even before, I was At point to sink for food. But what is this? Here is a path to’t: ’tis some savage hold: I were best not to call; I dare not call: yet famine, Ere clean it o’erthrow nature, makes it valiant, Plenty and peace breeds cowards: hardness ever Of hardiness is mother. Ho! who’s here? If any thing that’s civil, speak; if savage, Take or lend. Ho! No answer? Then I’ll enter. Best draw my sword: and if mine enemy But fear the sword like me, he’ll scarcely look on’t. Such a foe, good heavens!
I see that a man’s life is a long struggle: I’m exhausted, and for two nights in a row I’ve slept on the ground. I should be sick, but my determination keeps me going. Milford, When Pisanio showed me from the mountaintop, you were within sight: Oh, Jove! I think the foundations turn against the miserable; they, I mean, where they should be helped. Two beggars told me I couldn’t go wrong: will poor people lie, when they’re suffering, knowing it’s a punishment or a test? Yes; it’s no surprise, when the rich seldom tell the truth. To fall from grace is worse than lying when you’re desperate, and falsehood is worse in kings than in beggars. My dear lord! You’re one of the false ones. Now that I think of you, my hunger’s gone; but even before, I was about to collapse from hunger. But what’s this? Here’s a path! It’s some wild place: I should probably not call out; I dare not call: yet hunger, before it completely destroys me, makes me bold, while plenty and peace make cowards: endurance is always the child of toughness. Hey! Who’s there? If anyone’s civil, speak; if wild, take or give. Hey! No answer? Then I’ll enter. I’d better draw my sword: and if my enemy fears the sword as much as I do, he’ll hardly even look at it. What a fool! Good heavens!
You, Polydote, have proved best woodman and Are master of the feast: Cadwal and I Will play the cook and servant; ’tis our match: The sweat of industry would dry and die, But for the end it works to. Come; our stomachs Will make what’s homely savoury: weariness Can snore upon the flint, when resty sloth Finds the down pillow hard. Now peace be here, Poor house, that keep’st thyself!
You, Polydote, have proven yourself the best woodsman and are in charge of the feast: Cadwal and I will play the cook and servant; it’s our role: The hard work would be wasted without a goal. Come; our hunger will make even the simplest food taste good: exhaustion can sleep on a stone, when lazy sloth finds a soft pillow uncomfortable. Now peace be here, poor house, that keeps yourself so humble!
I am thoroughly weary.
I’m completely exhausted.
I am weak with toil, yet strong in appetite.
I’m weak from work, but my appetite is strong.
There is cold meat i’ the cave; we’ll browse on that, Whilst what we have kill’d be cook’d.
There’s some cold meat in the cave; we’ll snack on that, while what we’ve killed gets cooked.
[Looking into the cave] Stay; come not in. But that it eats our victuals, I should think Here were a fairy.
[Looking into the cave] Wait; don’t come in. But for the fact that it’s eating our food, I’d think this was a fairy’s cave.
What’s the matter, sir?
What’s wrong, sir?
By Jupiter, an angel! or, if not, An earthly paragon! Behold divineness No elder than a boy!
By Jupiter, an angel! or, if not, An earthly paragon! Behold divineness No older than a boy!
Good masters, harm me not: Before I enter’d here, I call’d; and thought To have begg’d or bought what I have took: good troth, I have stol’n nought, nor would not, though I had found Gold strew’d i’ the floor. Here’s money for my meat: I would have left it on the board so soon As I had made my meal, and parted With prayers for the provider.
Please, good sirs, don’t hurt me: Before I came in here, I called out; and thought I would have begged or bought what I’ve taken: truly, I haven’t stolen anything, nor would I, even if I had found Gold scattered on the floor. Here’s money for my food: I would have left it on the table as soon As I finished eating, and left With thanks for the person who provided it.
Money, youth?
Money, girl?
All gold and silver rather turn to dirt! As ’tis no better reckon’d, but of those Who worship dirty gods.
All gold and silver should turn to dirt! Since it’s no better valued, except by those Who worship filthy gods.
I see you’re angry: Know, if you kill me for my fault, I should Have died had I not made it.
I see you’re upset: Know that if you kill me for my wrongdoing, I would Have died anyway had I not committed it.
Whither bound?
Where are you headed?
To Milford-Haven.
To Milford-Haven.
What’s your name?
What’s your name?
Fidele, sir. I have a kinsman who Is bound for Italy; he embark’d at Milford; To whom being going, almost spent with hunger, I am fall’n in this offence.
Fidele, sir. I have a relative who Is going to Italy; he sailed from Milford; To whom, being on my way, almost starving, I’ve fallen into this trouble.
Prithee, fair youth, Think us no churls, nor measure our good minds By this rude place we live in. Well encounter’d! ’Tis almost night: you shall have better cheer Ere you depart: and thanks to stay and eat it. Boys, bid him welcome.
Please, fair youth, Don’t think us rude, nor judge our good hearts By this poor place we live in. Well met! It’s almost night: you’ll have better food Before you leave: and thanks for staying to eat it. Boys, welcome him.
Were you a woman, youth, I should woo hard but be your groom. In honesty, I bid for you as I’d buy.
If you were a woman, youth, I’d try hard to win you, but be your husband. Honestly, I’d bid for you as I’d buy a prize.
I’ll make’t my comfort He is a man; I’ll love him as my brother: And such a welcome as I’d give to him After long absence, such is yours: most welcome! Be sprightly, for you fall ’mongst friends.
I’ll take comfort in it He’s a man; I’ll love him like a brother: And give him the kind of welcome I’d give to him after a long absence, such is yours: most welcome! Be happy, for you’re among friends.
’Mongst friends, If brothers.
Among friends, If you’re brothers.
Would it had been so, that they Had been my father’s sons! then had my prize Been less, and so more equal ballasting To thee, Posthumus.
If only it had been so, that they Had been my father’s sons! then my prize Would have been less, and more equally balanced To you, Posthumus.
He wrings at some distress.
He’s suffering from some trouble.
Would I could free’t!
I wish I could help!
Or I, whate’er it be, What pain it cost, what danger. God’s!
I wish I could too, whatever it is, No matter what it costs, no matter the danger. Gods!
Hark, boys.
Listen, boys.
Great men, That had a court no bigger than this cave, That did attend themselves and had the virtue Which their own conscience seal’d them--laying by That nothing-gift of differing multitudes-- Could not out-peer these twain. Pardon me, gods! I’d change my sex to be companion with them, Since Leonatus’s false.
Great men, Who had a court no bigger than this cave, Who took care of themselves and had the kind of virtue That their own consciences approved--setting aside That useless gift of trying to please the crowd-- Could not be surpassed by these two. Forgive me, gods! I’d change my gender just to be with them, Since Leonatus is a liar.
It shall be so. Boys, we’ll go dress our hunt. Fair youth, come in: Discourse is heavy, fasting; when we have supp’d, We’ll mannerly demand thee of thy story, So far as thou wilt speak it.
It will be as you say. Boys, let’s go prepare for our hunt. Young man, come inside: Talking is heavy work, especially when we’re fasting; when we’ve eaten, We’ll politely ask you to tell us your story, As much as you’re willing to share.
Pray, draw near.
Please, come closer.
The night to the owl and morn to the lark less welcome.
The night belongs to the owl, and the morning belongs to the lark, But it’s less welcome.
Thanks, sir.
Thank you, sir.
I pray, draw near.
Please, come closer.