Original
Modern English
Bardolph, get thee before to Coventry; fill me a bottle of sack: our soldiers shall march through; we’ll to Sutton Co’fil’ tonight.
Bardolph, go ahead to Coventry; get me a bottle of wine: our soldiers will march through; we’ll go to Sutton Co’fil’ tonight.
Will you give me money, captain?
Will you give me money, captain?
Lay out, lay out.
Spend it, spend it.
This bottle makes an angel.
This bottle is worth an angel.
An if it do, take it for thy labour; and if it make twenty, take them all; I’ll answer the coinage. Bid my lieutenant Peto meet me at town’s end.
If it is, take it for your trouble; and if it’s worth twenty, take them all; I’ll cover the cost. Tell my lieutenant Peto to meet me at the edge of town.
I will, captain: farewell.
I will, captain: goodbye.
If I be not ashamed of my soldiers, I am a soused gurnet. I have misused the king’s press damnably. I have got, in exchange of a hundred and fifty soldiers, three hundred and odd pounds. I press me none but good house-holders, yeoman’s sons; inquire me out contracted bachelors, such as had been asked twice on the banns; such a commodity of warm slaves, as had as lieve hear the devil as a drum; such as fear the report of a caliver worse than a struck fowl or a hurt wild-duck. I pressed me none but such toasts-and-butter, with hearts in their bellies no bigger than pins’ heads, and they have bought out their services; and now my whole charge consists of ancients, corporals, lieutenants, gentlemen of companies, slaves as ragged as Lazarus in the painted cloth, where the glutton’s dogs licked his sores; and such as indeed were never soldiers, but discarded unjust serving-men, younger sons to younger brothers, revolted tapsters and ostlers trade-fallen, the cankers of a calm world and a long peace, ten times more dishonourable ragged than an old faced ancient: and such have I, to fill up the rooms of them that have bought out their services, that you would think that I had a hundred and fifty tattered prodigals lately come from swine-keeping, from eating draff and husks. A mad fellow met me on the way and told me I had unloaded all the gibbets and pressed the dead bodies. No eye hath seen such scarecrows. I’ll not march through Coventry with them, that’s flat: nay, and the villains march wide betwixt the legs, as if they had gyves on; for indeed I had the most of them out of prison. There’s but a shirt and a half in all my company; and the half shirt is two napkins tacked together and thrown over the shoulders like an herald’s coat without sleeves; and the shirt, to say the truth, stolen from my host at Saint Alban’s, or the red-nose innkeeper of Daventry. But that’s all one; they’ll find linen enough on every hedge.
If I’m not embarrassed by my soldiers, I’m a soaked fish. I’ve horribly misused the king’s army. I’ve traded a hundred and fifty soldiers for three hundred and some pounds. I only press decent householders, sons of farmers; I go after contracted bachelors, those who’ve been asked to marry twice; men who are as eager to hear the devil as they are a drum; those who fear the sound of a musket more than a wounded bird or a hurt wild duck. I press only those weaklings, with hearts as small as pinheads, and they’ve bought their way out of service; and now my whole group is made up of old soldiers, corporals, lieutenants, noblemen of companies, men as ragged as Lazarus in the painted cloth where the dogs licked his sores; men who were never real soldiers, but discharged servants, younger sons of younger brothers, fallen tavern workers and horse keepers, the decay of a peaceful world and a long time of no fighting, ten times more dishonorable and ragged than an old worn-out flag bearer: and these are the men I’ve got, to fill in for those who’ve bought their release, so you’d think I had a hundred and fifty ragged beggars who just came from pig farming, living on scraps and leftovers. A crazy man met me on the road and told me I had emptied all the gallows and pressed the dead bodies. No one has seen such pathetic figures. I won’t march through Coventry with them, that’s final: no, and the villains march wide between their legs, as if they had shackles on; because I actually got most of them out of prison. There’s barely a shirt and a half in my whole group; and the half shirt is two napkins sewn together and thrown over their shoulders like a herald’s coat without sleeves; and the shirt, to be honest, was stolen from my innkeeper at Saint Alban’s, or from the red-nosed innkeeper of Daventry. But it doesn’t matter; they’ll find plenty of linen on every bush.
How now, blown Jack! how now, quilt!
Hey, bloated Jack! How’s it going, quilt?
What, Hal! how now, mad wag! what a devil dost thou in Warwickshire? My good Lord of Westmoreland, I cry you mercy: I thought your honour had already been at Shrewsbury.
What, Hal! How’s it going, you crazy rascal! What are you doing in Warwickshire? My lord Westmoreland, I beg your pardon: I thought you were already at Shrewsbury.
Faith, Sir John,’tis more than time that I were there, and you too; but my powers are there already. The king, I can tell you, looks for us all: we must away all night.
Honestly, Sir John, it’s more than time I was there, and you too; but my forces are already there. The king, I can tell you, is expecting all of us: we need to march through the night.
Tut, never fear me: I am as vigilant as a cat to steal cream.
Don’t worry about me: I’m as watchful as a cat after cream.
I think, to steal cream indeed, for thy theft hath already made thee butter. But tell me, Jack, whose fellows are these that come after?
I think you’re after the cream indeed, since your theft has already made you butter. But tell me, Jack, whose men are these following behind?
Mine, Hal, mine.
Mine, Hal, mine.
I did never see such pitiful rascals.
I’ve never seen such miserable scoundrels.
Tut, tut; good enough to toss; food for powder, food for powder; they’ll fill a pit as well as better: tush, man, mortal men, mortal men.
Nonsense, nonsense; they’re good enough to throw around; cannon fodder, cannon fodder; they’ll fill a grave just as well as anyone else: come on, man, they’re just mortal men, mortal men.
Ay, but, Sir John, methinks they are exceeding poor and bare, too beggarly.
Yes, but Sir John, I think they are so poor and ragged, they look like beggars.
’Faith, for their poverty, I know not where they had that; and for their bareness, I am sure they never learned that of me.
Honestly, I don’t know where they got their poverty; and as for their raggedness, I’m sure they didn’t learn that from me.
No I’ll be sworn; unless you call three fingers on the ribs bare. But, sirrah, make haste: Percy is already in the field.
No, I swear, unless you count three ribs showing as being bare. But, man, hurry up: Percy is already in the field.
What, is the king encamped?
What, is the king camped already?
He is, Sir John: I fear we shall stay too long.
Yes, Sir John: I fear we’ll be too late.
Well, To the latter end of a fray and the beginning of a feast Fits a dull fighter and a keen guest.
Well, At the end of a fight and the start of a feast Is where a dull fighter and a sharp guest belong.