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Well said, my noble Scot: if speaking truth In this fine age were not thought flattery, Such attribution should the Douglas have, As not a soldier of this season’s stamp Should go so general current through the world. By God, I cannot flatter; I do defy The tongues of soothers; but a braver place In my heart’s love hath no man than yourself: Nay, task me to my word; approve me, lord.
Well said, my noble Scot: if telling the truth In this age weren’t seen as flattery, Then Douglas would deserve this praise, Since no soldier like him today Should be as well known across the world. By God, I can’t flatter; I reject The words of those who smooth things over; but no one Has a braver place in my heart than you: Go ahead, challenge me to prove myself, lord.
Thou art the king of honour: No man so potent breathes upon the ground But I will beard him.
You are the king of honour: No one with as much power walks this earth Without me challenging them.
Do so, and ’tis well.
Do that, and that’s good.
What letters hast thou there?--I can but thank you.
What letters do you have there?--I can only thank you.
These letters come from your father.
These letters are from your father.
Letters from him! why comes he not himself?
Letters from him! Why doesn’t he come himself?
He cannot come, my lord; he is grievous sick.
He can’t come, my lord; he’s very sick.
’Zounds! how has he the leisure to be sick In such a rustling time? Who leads his power? Under whose government come they along?
Damn it! How does he have time to be sick In such a busy moment? Who’s leading his army? Under whose command are they moving?
His letters bear his mind, not I, my lord.
His letters express his thoughts, not I, my lord.
I prithee, tell me, doth he keep his bed?
Please, tell me, is he still in bed?
He did, my lord, four days ere I set forth; And at the time of my departure thence He was much fear’d by his physicians.
He was, my lord, four days before I left; And when I left, he was greatly feared by his doctors.
I would the state of time had first been whole Ere he by sickness had been visited: His health was never better worth than now.
I wish time had been better first Before sickness struck him down: His health was never more valuable than it is now.
Sick now! droop now! this sickness doth infect The very life-blood of our enterprise; ’Tis catching hither, even to our camp. He writes me here, that inward sickness-- And that his friends by deputation could not So soon be drawn, nor did he think it meet To lay so dangerous and dear a trust On any soul removed but on his own. Yet doth he give us bold advertisement, That with our small conjunction we should on, To see how fortune is disposed to us; For, as he writes, there is no quailing now. Because the king is certainly possess’d Of all our purposes. What say you to it?
Sick now! Drooping now! This sickness is spreading The very lifeblood of our plan; It’s contagious, even reaching our camp. He writes to me here that his sickness-- And that his friends, by delegation, could not Be ready soon enough, nor did he think it right To trust such a dangerous and important task To anyone but himself. Yet he boldly informs us That with our small group, we should continue, To see how fortune will treat us; For, as he writes, there’s no backing down now. Because the king is fully aware Of all our plans. What do you think of this?
Your father’s sickness is a maim to us.
Your father’s illness is a setback for us.
A perilous gash, a very limb lopp’d off: And yet, in faith, it is not; his present want Seems more than we shall find it: were it good To set the exact wealth of all our states All at one cast? to set so rich a main On the nice hazard of one doubtful hour? It were not good; for therein should we read The very bottom and the soul of hope, The very list, the very utmost bound Of all our fortunes.
A dangerous wound, a whole limb cut off: And yet, honestly, it’s not as bad as it seems; His current absence seems worse than it actually is: Would it be wise To risk everything we have All at once? To risk such wealth On the uncertain chance of a single hour? It wouldn’t be wise; because in that case we’d see The very foundation and heart of hope, The very limit, the ultimate boundary Of all our fortunes.
’Faith, and so we should; Where now remains a sweet reversion: We may boldly spend upon the hope of what Is to come in: A comfort of retirement lives in this.
Honestly, yes, we should; For there’s a sweet reward awaiting us: We can boldly invest in the hope of what Is yet to come: A future of peace and rest is promised here.
A rendezvous, a home to fly unto. If that the devil and mischance look big Upon the maidenhead of our affairs.
A retreat, a place to escape to. If the devil and misfortune frown On the beginning of our plans.
But yet I would your father had been here. The quality and hair of our attempt Brooks no division: it will be thought By some, that know not why he is away, That wisdom, loyalty and mere dislike Of our proceedings kept the earl from hence: And think how such an apprehension May turn the tide of fearful faction And breed a kind of question in our cause; For well you know we of the offering side Must keep aloof from strict arbitrement, And stop all sight-holes, every loop from whence The eye of reason may pry in upon us: This absence of your father’s draws a curtain, That shows the ignorant a kind of fear Before not dreamt of.
But still, I wish your father had been here. The nature and risk of our venture Doesn’t allow for any doubt: Some might think, Those who don’t know why he’s absent, That wisdom, loyalty, and just plain dislike Of our plans kept the earl away: And think how such a belief Might turn the tide of a nervous opposition And raise doubts about our cause; For, as you know, we on the rebellious side Must avoid any kind of impartial judgment, And block all the openings, any place where The eye of reason might see into our plans: This absence of your father creates a curtain, That makes the ignorant believe there’s a kind of fear That we hadn’t even considered.
You strain too far. I rather of his absence make this use: It lends a lustre and more great opinion, A larger dare to our great enterprise, Than if the earl were here; for men must think, If we without his help can make a head To push against a kingdom, with his help We shall o’erturn it topsy-turvy down. Yet all goes well, yet all our joints are whole.
You’re overthinking this. I’d rather use his absence this way: It gives us more prestige and a better reputation, A greater dare to our grand plan, Than if the earl were here; for people must think, If we can manage without his help, Then with his help, we’ll surely overthrow everything. Everything’s fine, everything is still intact.
As heart can think: there is not such a word Spoke of in Scotland as this term of fear.
As much as the heart can believe: There’s no such word Spoken in Scotland as the word “fear.”
My cousin Vernon, welcome, by my soul.
My cousin Vernon, welcome, by my soul.
Pray God my news be worth a welcome, lord. The Earl of Westmoreland, seven thousand strong, Is marching hitherwards; with him Prince John.
I pray God my news is worth a welcome, lord. The Earl of Westmoreland, seven thousand strong, Is marching this way; with him Prince John.
No harm: what more?
No harm: what else?
And further, I have learn’d, The king himself in person is set forth, Or hitherwards intended speedily, With strong and mighty preparation.
And furthermore, I’ve learned, The king himself is personally setting out, Or planning to move this way soon, With strong and powerful preparations.
He shall be welcome too. Where is his son, The nimble-footed madcap Prince of Wales, And his comrades, that daff’d the world aside, And bid it pass?
He shall be welcome too. Where is his son, The quick-footed reckless Prince of Wales, And his companions, who threw away the world, And told it to get lost?
All furnish’d, all in arms; All plumed like estridges that with the wind Baited like eagles having lately bathed; Glittering in golden coats, like images; As full of spirit as the month of May, And gorgeous as the sun at midsummer; Wanton as youthful goats, wild as young bulls. I saw young Harry, with his beaver on, His cuisses on his thighs, gallantly arm’d Rise from the ground like feather’d Mercury, And vaulted with such ease into his seat, As if an angel dropp’d down from the clouds, To turn and wind a fiery Pegasus And witch the world with noble horsemanship.
All geared up, all in armor; All decked out like ostriches, with the wind Ruffled like eagles after a bath; Shining in golden suits, like statues; Full of energy like the month of May, And bright as the midsummer sun; Playful as young goats, wild as young bulls. I saw young Harry, with his helmet on, His armor on his legs, gallantly dressed Rising from the ground like Mercury with wings, And jumping onto his horse with such grace, As if an angel dropped down from the sky, To turn a fiery Pegasus And dazzle the world with noble horsemanship.
No more, no more: worse than the sun in March, This praise doth nourish agues. Let them come: They come like sacrifices in their trim, And to the fire-eyed maid of smoky war All hot and bleeding will we offer them: The mailed Mars shall on his altar sit Up to the ears in blood. I am on fire To hear this rich reprisal is so nigh And yet not ours. Come, let me taste my horse, Who is to bear me like a thunderbolt Against the bosom of the Prince of Wales: Harry to Harry shall, hot horse to horse, Meet and ne’er part till one drop down a corse. O that Glendower were come!
No more, no more: worse than the sun in March, This praise will give us chills. Let them come: They come like offerings in their fancy clothes, And to the fiery goddess of war All hot and bleeding we’ll offer them: The god of war shall sit at his altar Covered in blood. I’m burning with excitement To know that this great revenge is so close, And yet still not ours. Come, let me ride my horse, Who is to carry me like a thunderbolt Against the chest of the Prince of Wales: Harry to Harry shall, hot horse to horse, Meet and never part until one falls dead. Oh, if only Glendower were here!
There is more news: I learn’d in Worcester, as I rode along, He cannot draw his power this fourteen days.
There’s more news: I learned in Worcester, as I was riding, that He can’t gather his forces for the next fourteen days.
That’s the worst tidings that I hear of yet.
That’s the worst news I’ve heard so far.
Ay, by my faith, that bears a frosty sound.
Yes, by my faith, that sounds bad.
What may the king’s whole battle reach unto?
How many soldiers can the king bring to the fight?
To thirty thousand.
Thirty thousand.
Forty let it be: My father and Glendower being both away, The powers of us may serve so great a day Come, let us take a muster speedily: Doomsday is near; die all, die merrily.
Let it be forty: My father and Glendower are both away, So our forces may be enough for such a big day. Come on, let’s get ready quickly: The end of the world is near; let’s all die happily.
Talk not of dying: I am out of fear Of death or death’s hand for this one-half year.
Don’t talk about dying: I’m not afraid of death or its hand for the next six months.