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Now, lords, if God doth give successful end To this debate that bleedeth at our doors, We will our youth lead on to higher fields And draw no swords but what are sanctified. Our navy is address’d, our power collected, Our substitutes in absence well invested, And every thing lies level to our wish: Only, we want a little personal strength; And pause us, till these rebels, now afoot, Come underneath the yoke of government.
Now, lords, if God grants a successful conclusion to this conflict at our doorsteps, we will guide our youth to greater achievements and only draw swords that are justified. Our navy is ready, our forces assembled, our substitutes well positioned, and everything is aligned with our wishes: We just need a little more personal strength; and we’ll pause until these rebels, now rising, come under our control.
Both which we doubt not but your majesty Shall soon enjoy.
We have no doubt that your majesty will soon see success.
Humphrey, my son of Gloucester, Where is the prince your brother?
Humphrey, my son of Gloucester, where is your brother, the prince?
I think he’s gone to hunt, my lord, at Windsor.
I think he’s gone hunting, my lord, at Windsor.
And how accompanied?
And who is he with?
I do not know, my lord.
I’m not sure, my lord.
Is not his brother, Thomas of Clarence, with him?
Isn’t his brother, Thomas of Clarence, with him?
No, my good lord; he is in presence here.
No, my good lord; he’s here with us.
What would my lord and father?
What is it, my lord and father?
Nothing but well to thee, Thomas of Clarence. How chance thou art not with the prince thy brother? He loves thee, and thou dost neglect him, Thomas; Thou hast a better place in his affection Than all thy brothers: cherish it, my boy, And noble offices thou mayst effect Of mediation, after I am dead, Between his greatness and thy other brethren: Therefore omit him not; blunt not his love, Nor lose the good advantage of his grace By seeming cold or careless of his will; For he is gracious, if he be observed: He hath a tear for pity and a hand Open as day for melting charity: Yet notwithstanding, being incensed, he’s flint, As humorous as winter and as sudden As flaws congealed in the spring of day. His temper, therefore, must be well observed: Chide him for faults, and do it reverently, When thou perceive his blood inclined to mirth; But, being moody, give him line and scope, Till that his passions, like a whale on ground, Confound themselves with working. Learn this, Thomas, And thou shalt prove a shelter to thy friends, A hoop of gold to bind thy brothers in, That the united vessel of their blood, Mingled with venom of suggestion-- As, force perforce, the age will pour it in-- Shall never leak, though it do work as strong As aconitum or rash gunpowder.
Nothing but good things for you, Thomas of Clarence. Why aren’t you with your brother, the prince? He loves you, and you are ignoring him, Thomas; You have a better place in his heart Than all your brothers: take care of it, my boy, And you might do great things By helping him, after I’m gone, Between his power and your other brothers: So don’t neglect him; don’t dull his love, Or lose the good favor he shows you By acting cold or careless about his wishes; For he’s kind, if you pay attention to him: He has a tear for sympathy and a hand As open as daylight for charity: But even so, when he’s angry, he’s like stone, As bitter as winter and as sudden As a cold snap in the spring. His temper, then, must be carefully watched: Reprimand him for mistakes, but do it respectfully, When you see he’s in a good mood; But when he’s moody, give him space and time, Until his emotions, like a whale on land, Calm down on their own. Learn this, Thomas, And you’ll be a protector to your friends, A golden hoop to hold your brothers together, So that the shared bond of their blood, Mixed with the poison of bad advice-- As time, whether we like it or not, will pour it in-- Will never leak, even though it’s as powerful As poison or volatile gunpowder.
I shall observe him with all care and love.
I’ll watch over him with all care and love.
Why art thou not at Windsor with him, Thomas?
Why aren’t you at Windsor with him, Thomas?
He is not there to-day; he dines in London.
He’s not there today; he’s dining in London.
And how accompanied? canst thou tell that?
And who’s he with? Do you know?
With Poins, and other his continual followers.
With Poins, and other people who always follow him.
Most subject is the fattest soil to weeds; And he, the noble image of my youth, Is overspread with them: therefore my grief Stretches itself beyond the hour of death: The blood weeps from my heart when I do shape In forms imaginary the unguided days And rotten times that you shall look upon When I am sleeping with my ancestors. For when his headstrong riot hath no curb, When rage and hot blood are his counsellors, When means and lavish manners meet together, O, with what wings shall his affections fly Towards fronting peril and opposed decay!
The richest soil is the most likely to grow weeds; And he, the noble image of my youth, Is covered with them: that’s why my grief Extends beyond the moment of my death: My heart bleeds when I imagine The misguided days And corrupt times that you will face When I am resting with my ancestors. For when his reckless partying has no limits, When anger and impulsiveness are his guides, When he spends recklessly and lives wildly, Oh, how quickly will his desires lead him Toward danger and destruction!
My gracious lord, you look beyond him quite: The prince but studies his companions Like a strange tongue, wherein, to gain the language, ’Tis needful that the most immodest word Be look’d upon and learn’d; which once attain’d, Your highness knows, comes to no further use But to be known and hated. So, like gross terms, The prince will in the perfectness of time Cast off his followers; and their memory Shall as a pattern or a measure live, By which his grace must mete the lives of others, Turning past evils to advantages.
My gracious lord, you’re overlooking him: The prince just treats his companions Like a foreign language, where, to learn the words, It’s necessary to look at and understand Even the most inappropriate ones; And once that’s done, Your highness knows, there’s no further use For those words except to be remembered and despised. So, like coarse words, The prince will, in time, Discard his followers; and their memory Will serve as a model or example, By which he’ll judge the lives of others, Turning past mistakes into opportunities.
’Tis seldom when the bee doth leave her comb In the dead carrion.
It’s rare when the bee leaves her hive For something as dead as carrion.
Who’s here? Westmoreland?
Who’s there? Westmoreland?
Health to my sovereign, and new happiness Added to that that I am to deliver! Prince John your son doth kiss your grace’s hand: Mowbray, the Bishop Scroop, Hastings and all Are brought to the correction of your law; There is not now a rebel’s sword unsheath’d But peace puts forth her olive every where. The manner how this action hath been borne Here at more leisure may your highness read, With every course in his particular.
Health to my sovereign, and new happiness Added to what I’m about to announce! Prince John, your son, kisses your grace’s hand: Mowbray, Bishop Scroop, Hastings, and all Have been brought to justice; There’s no rebel’s sword left unsheathed As peace spreads her olive branch everywhere. The details of how this was done Your highness can read at your leisure, With every action laid out individually.
O Westmoreland, thou art a summer bird, Which ever in the haunch of winter sings The lifting up of day.
Oh, Westmoreland, you’re like a summer bird, Singing through the harshest winter, Announcing the dawn.
Look, here’s more news.
Look, here’s more news.
From enemies heaven keep your majesty; And, when they stand against you, may they fall As those that I am come to tell you of! The Earl Northumberland and the Lord Bardolph, With a great power of English and of Scots Are by the sheriff of Yorkshire overthrown: The manner and true order of the fight This packet, please it you, contains at large.
May God protect your majesty from enemies; And when they oppose you, may they fall Like those I’m here to tell you about! The Earl of Northumberland and Lord Bardolph, With a large army of English and Scots Have been defeated by the sheriff of Yorkshire: The details and full account of the battle This letter, if it pleases you, contains.
And wherefore should these good news make me sick? Will fortune never come with both hands full, But write her fair words still in foulest letters? She either gives a stomach and no food; Such are the poor, in health; or else a feast And takes away the stomach; such are the rich, That have abundance and enjoy it not. I should rejoice now at this happy news; And now my sight fails, and my brain is giddy: O me! come near me; now I am much ill.
Why should this good news make me feel so ill? Will luck never come with both hands full, But always write good things in the worst possible way? She either gives you an appetite but no food; Like the poor, who are healthy but have nothing to eat; or she gives you a feast And takes away your appetite; like the rich, Who have plenty but don’t enjoy it. I should be happy about this great news; But now my vision is blurry, and my head is spinning: Oh no! Come close to me; now I am really ill.
Comfort, your majesty!
Take comfort, your majesty!
O my royal father!
Oh, my royal father!
My sovereign lord, cheer up yourself, look up.
My sovereign lord, cheer up, look up.
Be patient, princes; you do know, these fits Are with his highness very ordinary. Stand from him. Give him air; he’ll straight be well.
Be patient, princes; you know these fits Are very common for his highness. Step back from him. Give him some air; he’ll soon be fine.
No, no, he cannot long hold out these pangs: The incessant care and labour of his mind Hath wrought the mure that should confine it in So thin that life looks through and will break out.
No, no, he can’t keep going through these pains much longer: The constant worry and stress in his mind Has weakened the wall that should hold it in So much that life is pushing through and will break free.
The people fear me; for they do observe Unfather’d heirs and loathly births of nature: The seasons change their manners, as the year Had found some months asleep and leap’d them over.
The people fear me because they see Fatherless heirs and unnatural births: The seasons change their habits, as if the year Had found some months sleeping and skipped over them.
The river hath thrice flow’d, no ebb between; And the old folk, time’s doting chronicles, Say it did so a little time before That our great-grandsire, Edward, sick’d and died.
The river has flowed three times without stopping; And the old people, the foolish records of time, Say it happened like this just before Our great-grandfather, Edward, grew ill and died.
Speak lower, princes, for the king recovers.
Lower your voices, princes, for the king is recovering.
This apoplexy will certain be his end.
This stroke will surely be his end.
I pray you, take me up, and bear me hence Into some other chamber: softly, pray.
Please, help me up, and take me to another room; Gently, please.