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Modern English
Let there be no noise made, my gentle friends; Unless some dull and favourable hand Will whisper music to my weary spirit.
Let there be no noise, my kind friends; Unless some quiet and friendly hand Can bring music to my tired soul.
Call for the music in the other room.
Call for the music in the next room.
Set me the crown upon my pillow here.
Put the crown on my pillow here.
His eye is hollow, and he changes much.
His eye looks sunken, and he’s changing a lot.
Less noise, less noise!
Quiet, quiet!
Who saw the Duke of Clarence?
Who’s seen the Duke of Clarence?
I am here, brother, full of heaviness.
I’m here, brother, feeling very sad.
How now! rain within doors, and none abroad! How doth the king?
What’s this! It’s raining inside, but not outside! How is the king?
Exceeding ill.
He’s very ill.
Heard he the good news yet? Tell it him.
Has he heard the good news yet? Tell him about it.
He alter’d much upon the hearing it.
He changed a lot when he heard it.
If he be sick with joy, he’ll recover without physic.
If he’s sick with happiness, he’ll get better without any medicine.
Not so much noise, my lords: sweet prince, speak low; The king your father is disposed to sleep.
No more noise, my lords: sweet prince, speak quietly; Your father, the king, is resting and about to sleep.
Let us withdraw into the other room.
Let’s move into the other room.
Will’t please your grace to go along with us?
Would it please your grace to come with us?
No; I will sit and watch here by the king.
No; I’ll stay here and keep watch by the king.
Why doth the crown lie there upon his pillow, Being so troublesome a bedfellow? O polish’d perturbation! golden care! That keep’st the ports of slumber open wide To many a watchful night! sleep with it now! Yet not so sound and half so deeply sweet As he whose brow with homely biggen bound Snores out the watch of night. O majesty! When thou dost pinch thy bearer, thou dost sit Like a rich armour worn in heat of day, That scalds with safety. By his gates of breath There lies a downy feather which stirs not: Did he suspire, that light and weightless down Perforce must move. My gracious lord! my father! This sleep is sound indeed, this is a sleep That from this golden rigol hath divorced So many English kings. Thy due from me Is tears and heavy sorrows of the blood, Which nature, love, and filial tenderness, Shall, O dear father, pay thee plenteously: My due from thee is this imperial crown, Which, as immediate as thy place and blood, Derives itself to me. Lo, here it sits, Which God shall guard: and put the world’s whole strength Into one giant arm, it shall not force This lineal honour from me: this from thee Will I to mine leave, as ’tis left to me.
Why is the crown lying there on his pillow, Being such a troublesome bedmate? Oh, polished anxiety! golden worry! That keeps the gates of sleep wide open For many a sleepless night! Sleep with it now! But not as soundly or as deeply sweet As the one whose brow, wrapped in a simple cap, Snores through the night watch. Oh, majesty! When you pinch your bearer, you sit Like heavy armor worn in the heat of the day, That burns with the protection it provides. By his gates of breath There lies a soft feather that does not stir: If he sighs, that light, weightless down Must surely move. My gracious lord! My father! This sleep is truly deep, this is a sleep That has separated so many English kings From their crowns. What I owe you Are tears and heavy sorrow from the heart, Which nature, love, and filial tenderness Shall, oh dear father, repay to you abundantly: What you owe me is this imperial crown, Which, as directly as your blood and position, Passes down to me. Look, here it is, Which God shall protect: and even if the world’s whole strength Were gathered into one giant arm, it could not take This hereditary honor from me: this from you I will pass on to mine, just as it was passed to me.
Warwick! Gloucester! Clarence!
Warwick! Gloucester! Clarence!
Doth the king call?
Is the king calling us?
What would your majesty? How fares your grace?
What does your majesty want? How are you, my lord?
Why did you leave me here alone, my lords?
Why did you leave me alone here, my lords?
We left the prince my brother here, my liege, Who undertook to sit and watch by you.
We left the prince, my brother, here, my liege, He promised to sit and watch over you.
The Prince of Wales! Where is he? let me see him: He is not here.
The Prince of Wales! Where is he? Let me see him: He is not here.
This door is open; he is gone this way.
This door is open; he has gone this way.
He came not through the chamber where we stay’d.
He didn’t pass through the room where we stayed.
Where is the crown? who took it from my pillow?
Where is the crown? Who took it from my pillow?
When we withdrew, my liege, we left it here.
When we left, my liege, we left it here.
The prince hath ta’en it hence: go, seek him out. Is he so hasty that he doth suppose My sleep my death? Find him, my Lord of Warwick; chide him hither.
The prince has taken it! Go, find him. Is he so eager that he thinks My sleep is my death? Find him, Lord Warwick; scold him and bring him here.
This part of his conjoins with my disease, And helps to end me. See, sons, what things you are! How quickly nature falls into revolt When gold becomes her object! For this the foolish over-careful fathers Have broke their sleep with thoughts, their brains with care, Their bones with industry; For this they have engrossed and piled up The canker’d heaps of strange-achieved gold; For this they have been thoughtful to invest Their sons with arts and martial exercises: When, like the bee, culling from every flower The virtuous sweets, Our thighs pack’d with wax, our mouths with honey, We bring it to the hive, and, like the bees, Are murdered for our pains. This bitter taste Yield his engrossments to the ending father.
This part of him is connected to my illness, And helps to finish me off. Look, sons, what you’ve become! How quickly nature turns against us When gold becomes the goal! For this reason, foolish, overly-careful fathers Have disturbed their sleep with worry, their minds with care, Their bodies with hard work; For this they have gathered and hoarded The rotten piles of ill-gotten gold; For this they have focused on training Their sons in the arts and military skills: When, like bees, gathering nectar from every flower The sweet virtues, Our legs filled with wax, our mouths with honey, We bring it back to the hive, and, like bees, Are killed for our trouble. This bitter truth Will return to the father who has hoarded it.
Now, where is he that will not stay so long Till his friend sickness hath determined me?
Now, where is the person who won’t wait Until sickness has made its decision for me?
My lord, I found the prince in the next room, Washing with kindly tears his gentle cheeks, With such a deep demeanor in great sorrow That tyranny, which never quaff’d but blood, Would, by beholding him, have wash’d his knife With gentle eye-drops. He is coming hither.
My lord, I found the prince in the next room, Crying tears of sympathy on his soft cheeks, With such a serious sadness, That even tyranny, which only drinks blood, Would, by seeing him, have cleaned its knife With kind tears. He is coming here.
But wherefore did he take away the crown?
But why did he take the crown?
Lo, where he comes. Come hither to me, Harry. Depart the chamber, leave us here alone.
Look, here he comes. Come here to me, Harry. Leave the room, let us be alone.
I never thought to hear you speak again.
I never thought I’d hear you speak again.
Thy wish was father, Harry, to that thought: I stay too long by thee, I weary thee. Dost thou so hunger for mine empty chair That thou wilt needs invest thee with my honours Before thy hour be ripe? O foolish youth! Thou seek’st the greatness that will o’erwhelm thee. Stay but a little; for my cloud of dignity Is held from falling with so weak a wind That it will quickly drop: my day is dim. Thou hast stolen that which after some few hours Were thine without offence; and at my death Thou hast seal’d up my expectation: Thy life did manifest thou lovedst me not, And thou wilt have me die assured of it. Thou hidest a thousand daggers in thy thoughts, Which thou hast whetted on thy stony heart, To stab at half an hour of my life. What! canst thou not forbear me half an hour? Then get thee gone and dig my grave thyself, And bid the merry bells ring to thine ear That thou art crowned, not that I am dead. Let all the tears that should bedew my hearse Be drops of balm to sanctify thy head: Only compound me with forgotten dust Give that which gave thee life unto the worms. Pluck down my officers, break my decrees; For now a time is come to mock at form: Harry the Fifth is crown’d: up, vanity! Down, royal state! all you sage counsellors, hence! And to the English court assemble now, From every region, apes of idleness! Now, neighbour confines, purge you of your scum: Have you a ruffian that will swear, drink, dance, Revel the night, rob, murder, and commit The oldest sins the newest kind of ways? Be happy, he will trouble you no more; England shall double gild his treble guilt, England shall give him office, honour, might; For the fifth Harry from curb’d licence plucks The muzzle of restraint, and the wild dog Shall flesh his tooth on every innocent. O my poor kingdom, sick with civil blows! When that my care could not withhold thy riots, What wilt thou do when riot is thy care? O, thou wilt be a wilderness again, Peopled with wolves, thy old inhabitants!
Your wish, Harry, caused that thought: I stay too long with you, I bore you. Do you hunger so much for my empty throne That you would take my honors now Before your time is ready? Oh, foolish youth! You seek the greatness that will crush you. Stay a little longer; my crown of dignity Is held up by such a weak wind That it will soon fall: my days are fading. You’ve taken what would have been yours soon enough Without wrongdoing; and at my death, You’ve sealed up my hopes. Your life has shown you didn’t love me, And you want me to die knowing that. You hide a thousand daggers in your thoughts, Which you’ve sharpened on your hard heart, To strike at half an hour of my life. What! Can’t you spare me half an hour? Then go away and dig my grave yourself, And let the joyful bells ring in your ears That you’re crowned, not that I’m dead. Let all the tears that should mourn me Be drops of oil to bless your head: Just mix me with forgotten dust, Give what gave you life to the worms. Tear down my officers, break my laws; For now it’s time to mock authority: Harry the Fifth is crowned: rise, vanity! Fall, royal state! All you wise counselors, go! And to the English court, come now, From every place, fools of laziness! Now, neighbor lands, clear yourselves of your filth: Do you have a troublemaker who’ll swear, drink, dance, Party all night, rob, murder, and commit The oldest sins in new ways? Be happy, he’ll trouble you no more; England will double pay his triple guilt, England will give him position, honor, power; For the fifth Harry takes away all restraint, And the wild dog will bite every innocent. Oh, my poor kingdom, sick with civil strife! When my care couldn’t stop your rebellions, What will you do when chaos is your concern? Oh, you’ll become a wilderness again, Filled with wolves, your old inhabitants!
O, pardon me, my liege! but for my tears, The moist impediments unto my speech, I had forestall’d this dear and deep rebuke Ere you with grief had spoke and I had heard The course of it so far. There is your crown; And He that wears the crown immortally Long guard it yours! If I affect it more Than as your honour and as your renown, Let me no more from this obedience rise, Which my most inward true and duteous spirit Teacheth, this prostrate and exterior bending. God witness with me, when I here came in, And found no course of breath within your majesty, How cold it struck my heart! If I do feign, O, let me in my present wildness die And never live to show the incredulous world The noble change that I have purposed! Coming to look on you, thinking you dead, And dead almost, my liege, to think you were, I spake unto this crown as having sense, And thus upbraided it: ’The care on thee depending Hath fed upon the body of my father; Therefore, thou best of gold art worst of gold: Other, less fine in carat, is more precious, Preserving life in medicine potable; But thou, most fine, most honour’d: most renown’d, Hast eat thy bearer up.’ Thus, my most royal liege, Accusing it, I put it on my head, To try with it, as with an enemy That had before my face murder’d my father, The quarrel of a true inheritor. But if it did infect my blood with joy, Or swell my thoughts to any strain of pride; If any rebel or vain spirit of mine Did with the least affection of a welcome Give entertainment to the might of it, Let God for ever keep it from my head And make me as the poorest vassal is That doth with awe and terror kneel to it!
Oh, forgive me, my liege! But for my tears, The wet barriers to my speech, I would’ve stopped this harsh rebuke Before you spoke it and I heard The full force of it. Here is your crown; And may the one who wears it eternally Guard it for you! If I desire it more Than for your honor and reputation, Let me never rise from this obedience, Which my deepest, truest spirit Teaches me, bowing down before you. God is my witness, when I came in here, And found no breath of life left in you, How it struck my heart! If I am faking, Let me die in my current madness And never live to prove to the world The noble change that I have purposed! Coming to look at you, thinking you were dead, And almost dead, my lord, to think you were, I spoke to this crown as if it had a mind, And said to it: ’The responsibility on you Has consumed my father’s body; Therefore, you, the best of gold, are the worst of gold: Other, less pure gold, is more valuable, Because it can save life with medicine that can be drunk; But you, the finest, the most honored, the most famous, Have devoured your wearer.’ So, my most royal lord, Accusing it, I placed it on my head, To test it, as if it were an enemy That had already murdered my father in front of me, The rightful claim of a true heir. But if it filled my blood with joy, Or made my thoughts swell with any kind of pride; If any rebellious or vain part of me Greeted it with the slightest welcome, Let God forever keep it from my head And make me like the poorest servant, The one who kneels to it with fear and trembling!
O my son, God put it in thy mind to take it hence, That thou mightst win the more thy father’s love, Pleading so wisely in excuse of it! Come hither, Harry, sit thou by my bed; And hear, I think, the very latest counsel That ever I shall breathe. God knows, my son, By what by-paths and indirect crook’d ways I met this crown; and I myself know well How troublesome it sat upon my head. To thee it shall descend with bitter quiet, Better opinion, better confirmation; For all the soil of the achievement goes With me into the earth. It seem’d in me But as an honour snatch’d with boisterous hand, And I had many living to upbraid My gain of it by their assistances; Which daily grew to quarrel and to bloodshed, Wounding supposed peace: all these bold fears Thou see’st with peril I have answered; For all my reign hath been but as a scene Acting that argument: and now my death Changes the mode; for what in me was purchased, Falls upon thee in a more fairer sort; So thou the garland wear’st successively. Yet, though thou stand’st more sure than I could do, Thou art not firm enough, since griefs are green; And all my friends, which thou must make thy friends, Have but their stings and teeth newly ta’en out; By whose fell working I was first advanced And by whose power I well might lodge a fear To be again displaced: which to avoid, I cut them off; and had a purpose now To lead out many to the Holy Land, Lest rest and lying still might make them look Too near unto my state. Therefore, my Harry, Be it thy course to busy giddy minds With foreign quarrels; that action, hence borne out, May waste the memory of the former days. More would I, but my lungs are wasted so That strength of speech is utterly denied me. How I came by the crown, O God forgive; And grant it may with thee in true peace live!
O my son, God put it in your mind to take it away, So that you might win your father’s love even more, Pleading so wisely in its defense! Come here, Harry, sit by my bed; And listen, I think, to the very last advice That I will ever give. God knows, my son, By what crooked and indirect paths I came to wear this crown; and I know well How troublesome it was to wear it. To you it will come with quiet peace, Better reputation, better confirmation; For all the guilt of the achievement stays With me, buried in the earth. It seemed in me Like an honor grabbed by force, And I had many people alive to reproach My gaining it with their help; Which daily led to arguments and bloodshed, Destroying supposed peace: all these bold fears You see, with danger, I have faced; For all my reign has been like a stage play Acting out this drama: and now my death Changes the scene; for what was bought through me, Will fall upon you in a much fairer way; So you will wear the crown next. Yet, even though you stand more firmly than I did, You are not strong enough, since troubles are still fresh; And all my friends, whom you must make your friends, Have only just lost their sharpness; By whose treachery I was first raised And by whose power I could have feared Being removed again: to avoid this, I cut them off; and had planned now To lead many to the Holy Land, So that resting and staying idle might not make them feel Too close to my power. Therefore, my Harry, It should be your task to distract restless minds With foreign wars; so that action, when it starts, May erase the memory of the old days. I wish I could say more, but my lungs are so weak That I have lost the strength to speak. How I came to this crown, God forgive me; And may it live with you in true peace!
My gracious liege, You won it, wore it, kept it, gave it me; Then plain and right must my possession be: Which I with more than with a common pain ’Gainst all the world will rightfully maintain.
My gracious lord, You won it, wore it, kept it, gave it to me; So my claim to it is clear and rightful: Which I, with more than ordinary pain, Against all the world, will defend as mine.
Look, look, here comes my John of Lancaster.
Look, look, here comes my John of Lancaster.
Health, peace, and happiness to my royal father!
Health, peace, and happiness to my royal father!
Thou bring’st me happiness and peace, son John; But health, alack, with youthful wings is flown From this bare wither’d trunk: upon thy sight My worldly business makes a period. Where is my Lord of Warwick?
You bring me happiness and peace, son John; But health, alas, has flown away, Like a bird, from this withered body: when I see you, My worldly concerns come to an end. Where is my Lord of Warwick?
My Lord of Warwick!
My Lord of Warwick!
Doth any name particular belong Unto the lodging where I first did swoon?
Does any specific name belong To the place where I first fainted?
’Tis call’d Jerusalem, my noble lord.
It’s called Jerusalem, my noble lord.
Laud be to God! even there my life must end. It hath been prophesied to me many years, I should not die but in Jerusalem; Which vainly I supposed the Holy Land: But bear me to that chamber; there I’ll lie; In that Jerusalem shall Harry die.
Praise be to God! Even there, my life must end. It has been prophesied to me for many years, That I should only die in Jerusalem; Which I foolishly thought meant the Holy Land: But take me to that room; I’ll lie there; In that Jerusalem, Harry will die.