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How bloodily the sun begins to peer Above yon busky hill! the day looks pale At his distemperature.
Look how red the sun is rising Over that distant hill! The day looks pale Because of the weather.
The southern wind Doth play the trumpet to his purposes, And by his hollow whistling in the leaves Foretells a tempest and a blustering day.
The southern wind Acts like a trumpet announcing what’s coming, And its whistling through the trees Warns of a storm and a turbulent day.
Then with the losers let it sympathize, For nothing can seem foul to those that win.
Then let the storm match the losing side, Because nothing seems wrong to those who win.
How now, my Lord of Worcester! ’tis not well That you and I should meet upon such terms As now we meet. You have deceived our trust, And made us doff our easy robes of peace, To crush our old limbs in ungentle steel: This is not well, my lord, this is not well. What say you to it? will you again unknit This curlish knot of all-abhorred war? And move in that obedient orb again Where you did give a fair and natural light, And be no more an exhaled meteor, A prodigy of fear and a portent Of broached mischief to the unborn times?
How are you, Lord Worcester? It’s not good That you and I should meet like this. You’ve broken our trust, And forced us to abandon peace, To fight with old, aching bodies in harsh armor. This isn’t right, my lord, this isn’t right. What do you say? Will you untangle This nasty mess of war? And return to that peaceful world Where you once shone brightly, No longer a dangerous comet, A sign of disaster and evil to come?
Hear me, my liege: For mine own part, I could be well content To entertain the lag-end of my life With quiet hours; for I do protest, I have not sought the day of this dislike.
Listen to me, my king: Personally, I’d be happy to spend The rest of my life in peace, Because I swear, I never wanted this conflict.
You have not sought it! how comes it, then?
You didn’t want it? Then how did this happen?
Rebellion lay in his way, and he found it.
Rebellion got in his way, and he found it.
Peace, chewet, peace!
Quiet, fool, quiet!
It pleased your majesty to turn your looks Of favour from myself and all our house; And yet I must remember you, my lord, We were the first and dearest of your friends. For you my staff of office did I break In Richard’s time; and posted day and night to meet you on the way, and kiss your hand, When yet you were in place and in account Nothing so strong and fortunate as I. It was myself, my brother and his son, That brought you home and boldly did outdare The dangers of the time. You swore to us, And you did swear that oath at Doncaster, That you did nothing purpose ’gainst the state; Nor claim no further than your new-fall’n right, The seat of Gaunt, dukedom of Lancaster: To this we swore our aid. But in short space It rain’d down fortune showering on your head; And such a flood of greatness fell on you, What with our help, what with the absent king, What with the injuries of a wanton time, The seeming sufferances that you had borne, And the contrarious winds that held the king So long in his unlucky Irish wars That all in England did repute him dead: And from this swarm of fair advantages You took occasion to be quickly woo’d To gripe the general sway into your hand; Forget your oath to us at Doncaster; And being fed by us you used us so As that ungentle hull, the cuckoo’s bird, Useth the sparrow; did oppress our nest; Grew by our feeding to so great a bulk That even our love durst not come near your sight For fear of swallowing; but with nimble wing We were enforced, for safety sake, to fly Out of sight and raise this present head; Whereby we stand opposed by such means As you yourself have forged against yourself By unkind usage, dangerous countenance, And violation of all faith and troth Sworn to us in your younger enterprise.
Your majesty chose to turn your favor Away from me and my family; Yet I must remind you, my lord, We were the first and most loyal of your friends. It was I who broke my staff of office In Richard’s reign; and traveled day and night To meet you, kiss your hand, When you were nothing but a poor count. It was my brother and his son Who helped bring you home, and we boldly Faced the dangers of the time. You swore to us, And you swore that oath at Doncaster, That you had no plans against the kingdom; That your claim was only to your new inheritance, The dukedom of Lancaster: To this we promised our help. But soon after, Fortune showered down on you; And with our support, with the absent king, With the mistakes of the times, And the bad luck that kept the king Stuck in his Irish wars Which made people think him dead: From all these advantages You saw your chance and grabbed power, Forgetting your oath at Doncaster, And using us as tools As a cuckoo bird uses a sparrow, Taking over our home; Growing so powerful that even our love for you Couldn’t reach you, for fear of being swallowed up; So we were forced to flee for safety And raise this rebellion; All because of the way you’ve treated us, Breaking all your promises from earlier times.
These things indeed you have articulate, Proclaim’d at market-crosses, read in churches, To face the garment of rebellion With some fine colour that may please the eye Of fickle changelings and poor discontents, Which gape and rub the elbow at the news Of hurlyburly innovation: And never yet did insurrection want Such water-colours to impaint his cause; Nor moody beggars, starving for a time Of pellmell havoc and confusion.
Yes, you’ve said all this before, And spread it at marketplaces, read it in churches, Trying to dress rebellion up With pretty words to win over the fools Who are always unhappy and looking for change: But insurrection has always had Such smooth excuses to make it look good; And poor, angry beggars will always support it.
In both your armies there is many a soul Shall pay full dearly for this encounter, If once they join in trial. Tell your nephew, The Prince of Wales doth join with all the world In praise of Henry Percy: by my hopes, This present enterprise set off his head, I do not think a braver gentleman, More active-valiant or more valiant-young, More daring or more bold, is now alive To grace this latter age with noble deeds. For my part, I may speak it to my shame, I have a truant been to chivalry; And so I hear he doth account me too; Yet this before my father’s majesty-- I am content that he shall take the odds Of his great name and estimation, And will, to save the blood on either side, Try fortune with him in a single fight.
In both your armies, many will die If they clash in battle. Tell your nephew, The Prince of Wales praises Henry Percy, And I believe if this battle ends his life, There won’t be a braver, bolder man alive To honor this time with deeds. For my part, I admit to my shame, I’ve been neglectful of chivalry; And I hear he thinks the same of me; But before my father’s eyes-- I’ll gladly risk everything to save blood on both sides, And meet him in single combat.
And, Prince of Wales, so dare we venture thee, Albeit considerations infinite Do make against it. No, good Worcester, no, We love our people well; even those we love That are misled upon your cousin’s part; And, will they take the offer of our grace, Both he and they and you, every man Shall be my friend again and I’ll be his: So tell your cousin, and bring me word What he will do: but if he will not yield, Rebuke and dread correction wait on us And they shall do their office. So, be gone; We will not now be troubled with reply: We offer fair; take it advisedly.
And, Prince of Wales, so we dare challenge you, Although countless reasons Argue against it. No, good Worcester, no, We care for our people; even those we care for Who are misled by your cousin’s actions; And, if they accept our offer of mercy, Both he and they and you, everyone Shall be my friend again and I’ll be his: So tell your cousin, and let me know What he decides: but if he doesn’t give in, Rebuke and the threat of punishment await us And they will carry out their duty. Now go; We don’t want to be troubled with a response: We offer fairly; take it carefully.
It will not be accepted, on my life: The Douglas and the Hotspur both together Are confident against the world in arms.
It won’t be accepted, I swear: The Douglas and Hotspur together Are determined to fight the world.
Hence, therefore, every leader to his charge; For, on their answer, will we set on them: And God befriend us, as our cause is just!
Then, every leader to his duty; For, based on their response, we’ll attack them: And God help us, since our cause is just!
Hal, if thou see me down in the battle and bestride me, so; ’tis a point of friendship.
Hal, if you see me fall in the battle and ride over me, then that’s a sign of friendship.
Nothing but a colossus can do thee that friendship. Say thy prayers, and farewell.
Only a giant could do you that kind of favor. Say your prayers, and goodbye.
I would ’twere bed-time, Hal, and all well.
I wish it were bedtime, Hal, and all was well.
Why, thou owest God a death.
Well, you owe God a death.
’Tis not due yet; I would be loath to pay him before his day. What need I be so forward with him that calls not on me? Well, ’tis no matter; honour pricks me on. Yea, but how if honour prick me off when I come on? how then? Can honour set to a leg? no: or an arm? no: or take away the grief of a wound? no. Honour hath no skill in surgery, then? no. What is honour? a word. What is in that word honour? what is that honour? air. A trim reckoning! Who hath it? he that died o’ Wednesday. Doth he feel it? no. Doth he hear it? no. ’Tis insensible, then. Yea, to the dead. But will it not live with the living? no. Why? detraction will not suffer it. Therefore I’ll none of it. Honour is a mere scutcheon: and so ends my catechism.
It’s not due yet; I’d hate to pay him before his time. Why should I rush with someone who doesn’t call on me? Well, never mind; honor pushes me forward. But what if honor pushes me away when I come forward? What then? Can honor fix a leg? no: or an arm? no: or take away the pain of a wound? no. Honor has no skills in medicine, right? no. What is honor? just a word. What’s in that word honor? what is that honor? nothing. A nice thought! Who has it? the one who died on Wednesday. Does he feel it? no. Does he hear it? no. It’s invisible, then. Yes, to the dead. But will it stay with the living? no. Why? because slander won’t let it. So, I’ll have none of it. Honor is just a coat of arms: and that’s the end of my lesson.