Original
Modern English
Come, shelter, shelter: I have removed Falstaff’s horse, and he frets like a gummed velvet.
Come, hide, hide: I’ve moved Falstaff’s horse, and he’s getting all worked up like a sticky velvet.
Stand close.
Stay hidden.
Poins! Poins, and be hanged! Poins!
Poins! Poins, and be damned! Poins!
Peace, ye fat-kidneyed rascal! what a brawling dost thou keep!
Quiet, you fat-bellied fool! What a racket you’re making!
Where’s Poins, Hal?
Where’s Poins, Hal?
He is walked up to the top of the hill: I’ll go seek him.
He’s walked to the top of the hill: I’ll go find him.
I am accursed to rob in that thief’s company: the rascal hath removed my horse, and tied him I know not where. If I travel but four foot by the squier further afoot, I shall break my wind. Well, I doubt not but to die a fair death for all this, if I ’scape hanging for killing that rogue. I have forsworn his company hourly any time this two and twenty years, and yet I am bewitched with the rogue’s company. If the rascal hath not given me medicines to make me love him, I’ll be hanged; it could not be else: I have drunk medicines. Poins! Hal! a plague upon you both! Bardolph! Peto! I’ll starve ere I’ll rob a foot further. An ’twere not as good a deed as drink, to turn true man and to leave these rogues, I am the veriest varlet that ever chewed with a tooth. Eight yards of uneven ground is threescore and ten miles afoot with me; and the stony-hearted villains know it well enough: a plague upon it when thieves cannot be true one to another!
I’m cursed to rob with that thief: that rascal has moved my horse, and tied him somewhere I don’t know. If I walk more than four steps further, I’ll be out of breath. Well, I don’t doubt I’ll die a good death for all this, if I escape hanging for killing that rogue. I’ve sworn off his company every hour for the last twenty-two years, and yet I’m still enchanted by the rogue’s company. If that rascal hasn’t given me potions to make me love him, I’ll be hanged; it couldn’t be otherwise: I’ve drunk potions. Poins! Hal! damn you both! Bardolph! Peto! I’d rather starve than rob another step. If it weren’t such a good deed as drinking, to become a true man and leave these rogues, I am the most worthless scoundrel that ever chewed with a tooth. Eight yards of uneven ground feels like seventy miles on foot to me; and the stone-hearted villains know it well enough: damn it when thieves can’t be true to one another!
Whew! A plague upon you all! Give me my horse, you rogues; give me my horse, and be hanged!
Whew! Damn you all! Give me my horse, you rogues; give me my horse, and be damned!
Peace, ye fat-guts! lie down; lay thine ear close to the ground and list if thou canst hear the tread of travellers.
Quiet, you fat fool! lie down; put your ear to the ground and listen if you can hear the footsteps of travelers.
Have you any levers to lift me up again, being down? ’Sblood, I’ll not bear mine own flesh so far afoot again for all the coin in thy father’s exchequer. What a plague mean ye to colt me thus?
Do you have any levers to lift me up again, now that I’m down? God’s blood, I won’t drag my own body that far on foot again for all the money in your father’s treasury. What the hell do you mean by treating me like this?
Thou liest; thou art not colted, thou art uncolted.
You’re lying; you’re not treated like that, you’re un-treated.
I prithee, good Prince Hal, help me to my horse, good king’s son.
Please, good Prince Hal, help me to my horse, good king’s son.
Out, ye rogue! shall I be your ostler?
Get out, you rogue! Do you want me to be your stableman?
Go, hang thyself in thine own heir-apparent garters! If I be ta’en, I’ll peach for this. An I have not ballads made on you all and sung to filthy tunes, let a cup of sack be my poison: when a jest is so forward, and afoot too! I hate it.
Go hang yourself with your own future king’s garters! If I get caught, I’ll rat you all out. If I don’t have songs made about you and sung to dirty tunes, let a cup of wine be my poison: when a joke is so forward, and so quick too! I hate it.
Stand.
Stop.
So I do, against my will.
I am stopping, against my will.
O, ’tis our setter: I know his voice. Bardolph, what news?
Oh, it’s our man: I recognize his voice. Bardolph, what’s the news?
Case ye, case ye; on with your vizards: there ’s money of the king’s coming down the hill; ’tis going to the king’s exchequer.
Hide yourselves, hide yourselves; put on your masks: there’s money from the king coming down the hill; it’s going to the king’s treasury.
You lie, ye rogue; ’tis going to the king’s tavern.
You’re lying, you rogue; it’s going to the king’s tavern.
There’s enough to make us all.
There’s enough to make us all.
To be hanged.
To be hanged.
Sirs, you four shall front them in the narrow lane; Ned Poins and I will walk lower: if they ’scape from your encounter, then they light on us.
You four will face them in the narrow lane; Ned Poins and I will walk lower: if they escape from your attack, they’ll run into us.
How many be there of them?
How many are there of them?
Some eight or ten.
About eight or ten.
’Zounds, will they not rob us?
Damn it, won’t they rob us?
What, a coward, Sir John Paunch?
What, a coward, Sir John Fat?
Indeed, I am not John of Gaunt, your grandfather; but yet no coward, Hal.
Honestly, I’m not your grandfather John of Gaunt; but I’m no coward, Hal.
Well, we leave that to the proof.
Alright, we’ll see about that.
Sirrah Jack, thy horse stands behind the hedge: when thou needest him, there thou shalt find him. Farewell, and stand fast.
Jack, your horse is behind the hedge: when you need him, you’ll find him there. Goodbye, and be brave.
Now cannot I strike him, if I should be hanged.
Now I can’t even hit him, or I’d be hanged.
Ned, where are our disguises?
Ned, where are our disguises?
Here, hard by: stand close.
Here, right nearby: stay hidden.
Now, my masters, happy man be his dole, say I: every man to his business.
Now, my friends, good luck to whoever gets the loot, I say: everyone to his work.
Come, neighbour: the boy shall lead our horses down the hill; we’ll walk afoot awhile, and ease our legs.
Come on, neighbor: the boy will take our horses down the hill; we’ll walk for a while, and rest our legs.
Stand!
Stop!
Jesus bless us!
God bless us!
Strike; down with them; cut the villains’ throats: ah! whoreson caterpillars! bacon-fed knaves! they hate us youth: down with them: fleece them.
Hit them; kill them; slit the villains’ throats: ah! bastards! fat, greedy fools! they hate us young people: kill them: rob them.
O, we are undone, both we and ours for ever!
Oh, we’re finished, both us and our families forever!
Hang ye, gorbellied knaves, are ye undone? No, ye fat chuffs: I would your store were here! On, bacons, on! What, ye knaves! young men must live. You are Grand-jurors, are ye? we’ll jure ye, ’faith.
Damn you, fat idiots, are you finished? No, you big fools: I wish your treasure was here! Come on, you bacon-eaters! What, you fools! young men need to live. You think you’re Grand-jurors, huh? we’ll judge you, I swear.
The thieves have bound the true men. Now could thou and I rob the thieves and go merrily to London, it would be argument for a week, laughter for a month and a good jest for ever.
The thieves have tied up the good men. Now, if you and I could rob the thieves and ride happily to London, it would be a story for a week, laughter for a month and a good joke forever.
Stand close; I hear them coming.
Stay hidden; I hear them coming.
Come, my masters, let us share, and then to horse before day. An the Prince and Poins be not two arrant cowards, there’s no equity stirring: there’s no more valour in that Poins than in a wild-duck.
Come on, my friends, let’s share, then get on our horses before dawn. If the Prince and Poins aren’t total cowards, there’s no justice in the world: there’s no more courage in Poins than in a wild duck.
Your money!
Your money!
Villains!
You villains!
Got with much ease. Now merrily to horse: The thieves are all scatter’d and possess’d with fear So strongly that they dare not meet each other; Each takes his fellow for an officer. Away, good Ned. Falstaff sweats to death, And lards the lean earth as he walks along: Were ’t not for laughing, I should pity him.
Taken with little effort. Now, let’s happily get on our horses: The thieves are all scattered and so scared that they don’t dare face each other; Each one thinks his companion is an officer. Let’s go, good Ned. Falstaff is sweating to death, and he’s making the ground muddy as he walks: If it weren’t so funny, I’d feel sorry for him.
How the rogue roar’d!
How the rogue roared!