Original
Modern English
Before God, I am exceeding weary.
By God, I’m extremely tired.
Is’t come to that? I had thought weariness durst not have attached one of so high blood.
Is it really that bad? I thought weariness wouldn’t dare come to someone of such high rank.
Faith, it does me; though it discolours the complexion of my greatness to acknowledge it. Doth it not show vilely in me to desire small beer?
Honestly, it does affect me; even though it makes my greatness seem less to admit it. Doesn’t it look terrible for me to want some beer?
Why, a prince should not be so loosely studied as to remember so weak a composition.
Well, a prince shouldn’t let himself be so casual as to remember such a trivial thing.
Belike then my appetite was not princely got; for, by my troth, I do now remember the poor creature, small beer. But, indeed, these humble considerations make me out of love with my greatness. What a disgrace is it to me to remember thy name! or to know thy face to-morrow! or to take note how many pair of silk stockings thou hast, viz. these, and those that were thy peach-coloured ones! or to bear the inventory of thy shirts, as, one for superfluity, and another for use! But that the tennis-court-keeper knows better than I; for it is a low ebb of linen with thee when thou keepest not racket there; as thou hast not done a great while, because the rest of thy low countries have made a shift to eat up thy holland: and God knows, whether those that bawl out the ruins of thy linen shall inherit his kingdom: but the midwives say the children are not in the fault; whereupon the world increases, and kindreds are mightily strengthened.
I suppose my craving wasn’t something a prince would have; for, by my word, I now remember the poor thing, small beer. But honestly, these simple thoughts make me hate my nobility. What a disgrace it is for me to even remember your name! Or to recognize your face tomorrow! Or to count how many pairs of silk stockings you own, like these, and those peach-colored ones! Or to list your shirts, like one for extra, and another for use! But the tennis court keeper knows more than I do; because it’s a real shortage of linen for you when you don’t play there; like you haven’t in a while, because the rest of your poor friends have managed to eat up your fine clothes: and God only knows if those who shout about the rags of your linen will inherit his kingdom: but the midwives say it’s not the children’s fault; and so the world grows, and families are made much stronger.
How ill it follows, after you have laboured so hard, you should talk so idly! Tell me, how many good young princes would do so, their fathers being so sick as yours at this time is?
How poorly it turns out, after you’ve worked so hard, that you should talk like this! Tell me, how many good young princes would do the same, with their fathers so sick as yours is right now?
Shall I tell thee one thing, Poins?
Should I tell you one thing, Poins?
Yes, faith; and let it be an excellent good thing.
Yes, by all means; and let it be something truly good.
It shall serve among wits of no higher breeding than thine.
It’ll be good for people like you, who aren’t very clever.
Go to; I stand the push of your one thing that you will tell.
Go ahead; I’m ready to hear the one thing you’re going to say.
Marry, I tell thee, it is not meet that I should be sad, now my father is sick: albeit I could tell thee, as to one it pleases me, for fault of a better, to call my friend, I could be sad, and sad indeed too.
Well, listen, I’m telling you, it’s not right for me to be sad, now that my father’s sick: even though I could tell you, if it pleased me, that I could be sad, and really sad too.
Very hardly upon such a subject.
It’s really hard to talk about something like this.
By this hand thou thinkest me as far in the devil’s book as thou and Falstaff for obduracy and persistency: let the end try the man. But I tell thee, my heart bleeds inwardly that my father is so sick: and keeping such vile company as thou art hath in reason taken from me all ostentation of sorrow.
By my hand, you think I’m as guilty as you and Falstaff for being stubborn and persistent: let the outcome show what kind of man I am. But I tell you, it pains me deeply that my father is so ill: and being around such terrible company as you has made me lose all ability to show sorrow openly.
The reason?
Why is that?
What wouldst thou think of me, if I should weep?
What would you think of me if I started crying?
I would think thee a most princely hypocrite.
I’d think you were a big hypocrite pretending to be a prince.
It would be every man’s thought; and thou art a blessed fellow to think as every man thinks: never a man’s thought in the world keeps the road-way better than thine: every man would think me an hypocrite indeed. And what accites your most worshipful thought to think so?
That’s exactly what everyone would think; and you’re a lucky fellow to think the same way as everyone else: no one’s thoughts in the world are more obvious than yours: everyone would call me a hypocrite, sure enough. So what made you think that?
Why, because you have been so lewd and so much engraffed to Falstaff.
Well, because you’ve been so wild and so closely tied to Falstaff.
And to thee.
And to you.
By this light, I am well spoke on; I can hear it with my own ears: the worst that they can say of me is that I am a second brother and that I am a proper fellow of my hands; and those two things, I confess, I cannot help. By the mass, here comes Bardolph.
By this light, I’m being spoken well of; I can hear it with my own ears: the worst they can say about me is that I’m the second son and that I’m a handsome guy with my hands; and I admit, I can’t do anything about those two things. By the mass, here comes Bardolph.
And the boy that I gave Falstaff: a’ had him from me Christian; and look, if the fat villain have not transformed him ape.
And the boy I gave to Falstaff: he took him from me as a Christian; and look, if the fat villain hasn’t turned him into an ape.
God save your grace!
God save your grace!
And yours, most noble Bardolph!
And yours, most noble Bardolph!
Come, you virtuous ass, you bashful fool, must you be blushing? wherefore blush you now? What a maidenly man-at-arms are you become! Is’t such a matter to get a pottle-pot’s maidenhead?
Come on, you virtuous fool, you shy idiot, why are you blushing? Why are you blushing now? What happened to you as a man-at-arms? Is it such a big deal to take a drink from a pottle-pot?
A’ calls me e’en now, my lord, through a red lattice, and I could discern no part of his face from the window: at last I spied his eyes, and methought he had made two holes in the ale-wife’s new petticoat and so peeped through.
He just called me, my lord, through a red lattice, and I couldn’t see any part of his face through the window: finally I spotted his eyes, and it seemed like he’d made two holes in the ale-wife’s new petticoat and was peeking through.
Has not the boy profited?
Hasn’t the boy learned anything?
Away, you whoreson upright rabbit, away!
Go away, you good-for-nothing upright rabbit, go away!
Away, you rascally Althaea’s dream, away!
Go away, you sneaky dream of Althaea, go away!
Instruct us, boy; what dream, boy?
Tell us, boy; what dream, boy?
Marry, my lord, Althaea dreamed she was delivered of a fire-brand; and therefore I call him her dream.
Well, my lord, Althaea dreamed she gave birth to a burning stick; and that’s why I call him her dream.
A crown’s worth of good interpretation: there ’tis, boy.
That’s a crown’s worth of good explanation: there it is, boy.
O, that this good blossom could be kept from cankers! Well, there is sixpence to preserve thee.
Oh, if only this good boy could be kept safe from harm! Well, here’s sixpence to protect you.
An you do not make him hanged among you, the gallows shall have wrong.
If you don’t have him hanged among you, the gallows will be wronged.
And how doth thy master, Bardolph?
And how is your master, Bardolph?
Well, my lord. He heard of your grace’s coming to town: there’s a letter for you.
Well, my lord. He heard that your grace was coming to town: there’s a letter for you.
Delivered with good respect. And how doth the martlemas, your master?
Delivered with great respect. And how is the martlemas, your master?
In bodily health, sir.
In good health, sir.
Marry, the immortal part needs a physician; but that moves not him: though that be sick, it dies not.
Well, the immortal part needs a doctor; but that doesn’t bother him: even if that part is sick, it doesn’t die.
I do allow this wen to be as familiar with me as my dog; and he holds his place; for look you how be writes.
I let this fool be as familiar with me as my dog; and he keeps his position; for look at how he writes.
[Reads] ’John Falstaff, knight,’--every man must know that, as oft as he has occasion to name himself: even like those that are kin to the king; for they never prick their finger but they say, ’There’s some of the king’s blood spilt.’ ’How comes that?’ says he, that takes upon him not to conceive. The answer is as ready as a borrower’s cap, ’I am the king’s poor cousin, sir.’
[Reads] ’John Falstaff, knight’—everyone must know that, whenever he needs to refer to himself: just like those who are related to the king; because they never hurt themselves without saying, ’There’s some of the king’s blood spilled.’ ’How does that happen?’ says he, who acts like he doesn’t understand. The answer is as quick as a borrower’s hat, ’I’m the king’s poor cousin, sir.’
Nay, they will be kin to us, or they will fetch it from Japhet. But to the letter.
No, they’ll claim to be our relatives, or they’ll trace it back to Japhet. But back to the letter.
[Reads] ’Sir John Falstaff, knight, to the son of the king, nearest his father, Harry Prince of Wales, greeting.’ Why, this is a certificate.
[Reads] ’Sir John Falstaff, knight, to the son of the king, nearest his father, Harry Prince of Wales, greeting.’ Why, this is just a certificate.
Peace!
Quiet!
[Reads] ’I will imitate the honourable Romans in brevity:’ he sure means brevity in breath, short-winded. ’I commend me to thee, I commend thee, and I leave thee. Be not too familiar with Poins; for he misuses thy favours so much, that he swears thou art to marry his sister Nell. Repent at idle times as thou mayest; and so, farewell. Thine, by yea and no, which is as much as to say, as thou usest him, JACK FALSTAFF with my familiars, JOHN with my brothers and sisters, and SIR JOHN with all Europe.’ My lord, I’ll steep this letter in sack and make him eat it.
[Reads] ’I’ll copy the honourable Romans by keeping it short:’ he probably means short on words, not breath, short-winded. ’I greet you, I greet you, and I leave you. Don’t get too close to Poins; he messes with your kindness so much, he says you’re going to marry his sister Nell. Repent during your idle time if you can; and so, goodbye. Yours, by yes and no, which means, as you treat him, JACK FALSTAFF with my friends, JOHN with my family, and SIR JOHN with all of Europe.’ My lord, I’ll soak this letter in wine and make him eat it.
That’s to make him eat twenty of his words. But do you use me thus, Ned? must I marry your sister?
That’s to make him eat twenty of his own words. But do you treat me like this, Ned? Do I have to marry your sister?
God send the wench no worse fortune! But I never said so.
God help the girl, I hope she doesn’t end up worse off! But I never said that.
Well, thus we play the fools with the time, and the spirits of the wise sit in the clouds and mock us. Is your master here in London?
Well, this is how we waste time, while the wise ones watch from above and laugh at us. Is your master here in London?
Yea, my lord.
Yes, my lord.
Where sups he? doth the old boar feed in the old frank?
Where does he eat? Does the old pig still feast in the old tavern?
At the old place, my lord, in Eastcheap.
At the usual place, my lord, in Eastcheap.
What company?
What kind of company?
Ephesians, my lord, of the old church.
Ephesians, my lord, from the old church.
Sup any women with him?
Does he have any women with him?
None, my lord, but old Mistress Quickly and Mistress Doll Tearsheet.
None, my lord, except old Mistress Quickly and Mistress Doll Tearsheet.
What pagan may that be?
What kind of woman is that?
A proper gentlewoman, sir, and a kinswoman of my master’s.
A fine lady, sir, and a relative of my master’s.
Even such kin as the parish heifers are to the town bull. Shall we steal upon them, Ned, at supper?
Just like how the parish cows are related to the town bull. Should we sneak up on them, Ned, while they’re eating?
I am your shadow, my lord; I’ll follow you.
I’m your shadow, my lord; I’ll follow you.
Sirrah, you boy, and Bardolph, no word to your master that I am yet come to town: there’s for your silence.
Hey, you there, boy, and Bardolph, don’t say a word to your master that I’ve arrived in town yet: here’s something for your silence.
I have no tongue, sir.
I can’t say anything, sir.
And for mine, sir, I will govern it.
As for me, sir, I’ll keep quiet.
Fare you well; go.
All right, goodbye; go.
This Doll Tearsheet should be some road.
This Doll Tearsheet should be someone important.
I warrant you, as common as the way between Saint Alban’s and London.
I bet she’s as common as the road between Saint Alban’s and London.
How might we see Falstaff bestow himself to-night in his true colours, and not ourselves be seen?
How can we watch Falstaff act tonight in his true form, without revealing ourselves?
Put on two leathern jerkins and aprons, and wait upon him at his table as drawers.
Put on two leather jackets and aprons, and serve him at his table like waiters.
From a God to a bull? a heavy decension! it was Jove’s case. From a prince to a prentice? a low transformation! that shall be mine; for in every thing the purpose must weigh with the folly. Follow me, Ned.
From a god to a bull? That’s quite a fall! It was the same with Jove. From a prince to an apprentice? A big drop in status! That’ll be my role; because in everything the plan has to match the absurdity. Come on, Ned.