Original
Modern English
Hung be the heavens with black, yield day to night! Comets, importing change of times and states, Brandish your crystal tresses in the sky, And with them scourge the bad revolting stars That have consented unto Henry’s death! King Henry the Fifth, too famous to live long! England ne’er lost a king of so much worth.
Let the sky be darkened with black, and let day turn into night! Comets, showing that times and powers are changing, Shake your shining hair in the sky, And with it punish the rebellious stars That helped bring about Henry’s death! King Henry the Fifth, too great to live long! England never had a king as valuable as he was.
England ne’er had a king until his time. Virtue he had, deserving to command: His brandish’d sword did blind men with his beams: His arms spread wider than a dragon’s wings; His sparking eyes, replete with wrathful fire, More dazzled and drove back his enemies Than mid-day sun fierce bent against their faces. What should I say? his deeds exceed all speech: He ne’er lift up his hand but conquered.
England never had a king like him. He had virtue, deserving to rule: His sword was so powerful, it blinded people with its shine: His reach was wider than a dragon’s wings; His eyes, full of fiery rage, Dazzled and pushed back his enemies More than the fierce midday sun blinding their faces. What can I say? His actions were beyond words: He never raised his hand without defeating his foes.
We mourn in black: why mourn we not in blood? Henry is dead and never shall revive: Upon a wooden coffin we attend, And death’s dishonourable victory We with our stately presence glorify, Like captives bound to a triumphant car. What! shall we curse the planets of mishap That plotted thus our glory’s overthrow? Or shall we think the subtle-witted French Conjurers and sorcerers, that afraid of him By magic verses have contrived his end? BISHOP
We mourn in black: why don’t we mourn in blood? Henry is dead and will never come back: We stand by a wooden coffin, And honor death’s dishonorable victory By standing tall, like prisoners tied to a triumphal cart. What! Shall we curse the unlucky stars That caused our downfall? Or shall we blame the clever French Sorcerers, who, fearing him, Used magic to bring about his death? BISHOP
He was a king bless’d of the King of kings. Unto the French the dreadful judgement-day So dreadful will not be as was his sight. The battles of the Lord of hosts he fought: The church’s prayers made him so prosperous.
He was a king blessed by the King of kings. For the French, the day of reckoning Will never be as terrifying as he was. He fought the Lord’s battles: The prayers of the church made him successful.
The church! where is it? Had not churchmen pray’d, His thread of life had not so soon decay’d: None do you like but an effeminate prince, Whom, like a school-boy, you may over-awe. BISHOP
The church! Where is it? If the churchmen hadn’t prayed, His life would not have ended so soon: You don’t like anyone but a weak prince, Whom you can easily control like a schoolboy. BISHOP
Gloucester, whate’er we like, thou art protector And lookest to command the prince and realm. Thy wife is proud; she holdeth thee in awe, More than God or religious churchmen may.
Gloucester, no matter what we think, you’re the protector And in charge of the prince and the kingdom. Your wife fears you more than God or the churchmen do.
Name not religion, for thou lovest the flesh, And ne’er throughout the year to church thou go’st Except it be to pray against thy foes.
Don’t mention religion, you love worldly things, And you never go to church unless it’s to pray against your enemies.
Cease, cease these jars and rest your minds in peace: Let’s to the altar: heralds, wait on us: Instead of gold, we’ll offer up our arms: Since arms avail not now that Henry’s dead. Posterity, await for wretched years, When at their mothers’ moist eyes babes shall suck, Our isle be made a nourish of salt tears, And none but women left to wail the dead. Henry the Fifth, thy ghost I invocate: Prosper this realm, keep it from civil broils, Combat with adverse planets in the heavens! A far more glorious star thy soul will make Than Julius Caesar or bright--
Stop, stop these arguments and let’s have peace: Let’s go to the altar: heralds, lead us: Instead of gold, we’ll offer our arms: Since fighting doesn’t help now that Henry’s dead. The future will suffer through miserable years, When babies suck tears from their mothers’ eyes, Our island will be drenched in sorrow, And only women will be left to mourn the dead. Henry the Fifth, I call upon your spirit: Bless this kingdom, protect it from civil wars, Fight against bad stars in the sky! A far greater star your soul will become Than Julius Caesar or bright--
My honourable lords, health to you all! Sad tidings bring I to you out of France, Of loss, of slaughter and discomfiture: Guienne, Champagne, Rheims, Orleans, Paris, Guysors, Poictiers, are all quite lost.
My noble lords, health to you all! I bring sad news from France, Of loss, slaughter, and defeat: Guienne, Champagne, Rheims, Orleans, Paris, Guysors, Poictiers, are all completely lost.
What say’st thou, man, before dead Henry’s corse? Speak softly, or the loss of those great towns Will make him burst his lead and rise from death.
What are you saying, man, about dead Henry’s body? Speak quietly, or the loss of those important cities Will make him burst out of his coffin and rise from the dead.
Is Paris lost? is Rouen yielded up? If Henry were recall’d to life again, These news would cause him once more yield the ghost.
Has Paris been lost? has Rouen been given up? If Henry were brought back to life, These news would make him die again.
How were they lost? what treachery was used?
How were they lost? what kind of treason happened?
No treachery; but want of men and money. Amongst the soldiers this is muttered, That here you maintain several factions, And whilst a field should be dispatch’d and fought, You are disputing of your generals: One would have lingering wars with little cost; Another would fly swift, but wanteth wings; A third thinks, without expense at all, By guileful fair words peace may be obtain’d. Awake, awake, English nobility! Let not sloth dim your horrors new-begot: Cropp’d are the flower-de-luces in your arms; Of England’s coat one half is cut away.
No treason; just a lack of men and money. Among the soldiers, people are whispering That you’re divided into different factions, And while a battle should be fought and won, You’re arguing over your leaders: One wants to drag the war out with little cost; Another wants to act fast, but lacks the resources; A third thinks that, without spending anything, Peace can be won with sweet-talking. Wake up, wake up, English nobility! Don’t let laziness weaken your newly-created fears: The lilies on your arms have been cut down; Half of England’s coat is gone.
Were our tears wanting to this funeral, These tidings would call forth their flowing tides.
If we didn’t have tears for this funeral, These news would surely make us cry.
Me they concern; Regent I am of France. Give me my steeled coat. I’ll fight for France. Away with these disgraceful wailing robes! Wounds will I lend the French instead of eyes, To weep their intermissive miseries.
This is my concern; I’m the Regent of France. Give me my armor. I’ll fight for France. Away with these shameful mourning clothes! I’ll give the French wounds instead of tears, To weep over their interrupted suffering.
Lords, view these letters full of bad mischance. France is revolted from the English quite, Except some petty towns of no import: The Dauphin Charles is crowned king of Rheims; The Bastard of Orleans with him is join’d; Reignier, Duke of Anjou, doth take his part; The Duke of Alencon flieth to his side.
Lords, look at these letters full of bad news. France has completely turned against the English, Except for a few small towns of no importance: The Dauphin Charles has been crowned King of Rheims; The Bastard of Orleans is with him; Reignier, Duke of Anjou, is on his side; The Duke of Alencon has joined him.
The Dauphin crowned king! all fly to him! O, whither shall we fly from this reproach?
The Dauphin crowned king! everyone is running to him! Oh, where can we escape from this shame?
We will not fly, but to our enemies’ throats. Bedford, if thou be slack, I’ll fight it out.
We won’t run, we’ll go straight for our enemies. Bedford, if you’re slow, I’ll fight it myself.
Gloucester, why doubt’st thou of my forwardness? An army have I muster’d in my thoughts, Wherewith already France is overrun.
Gloucester, why doubt my willingness? I’ve already formed an army in my mind, With which France is already overrun.
My gracious lords, to add to your laments, Wherewith you now bedew King Henry’s hearse, I must inform you of a dismal fight Betwixt the stout Lord Talbot and the French. BISHOP
My lords, to add to your grief, As you mourn King Henry’s death, I must tell you about a terrible battle Between the brave Lord Talbot and the French. BISHOP
What! wherein Talbot overcame? is’t so?
What! Did Talbot win? Is that true?
O, no; wherein Lord Talbot was o’erthrown: The circumstance I’ll tell you more at large. The tenth of August last this dreadful lord, Retiring from the siege of Orleans, Having full scarce six thousand in his troop. By three and twenty thousand of the French Was round encompassed and set upon. No leisure had he to enrank his men; He wanted pikes to set before his archers; Instead whereof sharp stakes pluck’d out of hedges They pitched in the ground confusedly, To keep the horsemen off from breaking in. More than three hours the fight continued; Where valiant Talbot above human thought Enacted wonders with his sword and lance: Hundreds he sent to hell, and none durst stand him; Here, there, and every where, enraged he flew: The French exclaim’d, the devil was in arms; All the whole army stood agazed on him: His soldiers spying his undaunted spirit A Talbot! a Talbot! cried out amain And rush’d into the bowels of the battle. Here had the conquest fully been seal’d up, If Sir John Fastolfe had not play’d the coward: He, being in the vaward, placed behind With purpose to relieve and follow them, Cowardly fled, not having struck one stroke. Hence grew the general wreck and massacre; Enclosed were they with their enemies: A base Walloon, to win the Dauphin’s grace, Thrust Talbot with a spear into the back, Whom all France with their chief assembled strength Durst not presume to look once in the face.
Oh, no; Talbot was defeated: I’ll tell you the details in full. On the 10th of August, this fearsome lord, Pulling back from the siege of Orleans, With barely six thousand men in his force, Was surrounded and attacked by twenty-three thousand French soldiers. He had no time to organize his men; He didn’t have enough pikes to protect his archers; So instead, he used sharp stakes pulled from hedges, Which they stuck in the ground in a disorganized way, To keep the cavalry from breaking in. The fight lasted over three hours; And Talbot, beyond all expectation, Did incredible things with his sword and spear: He sent hundreds to hell, and no one dared to face him; He was everywhere, fighting fiercely: The French cried out that the devil was in the battle; The entire army was stunned by him: His soldiers, seeing his unshakable spirit, Shouted “A Talbot! A Talbot!” and rushed into the battle. The victory would have been ours, If Sir John Fastolfe hadn’t been a coward: He, being in the front line, was positioned to help and follow, But he cowardly ran away, without striking a single blow. This caused the general defeat and slaughter; They were trapped by their enemies: A lowly Walloon, hoping to win the Dauphin’s favor, Stabbed Talbot in the back, The man whom all of France, with its full strength, Didn’t dare to even look at directly.
Is Talbot slain? then I will slay myself, For living idly here in pomp and ease, Whilst such a worthy leader, wanting aid, Unto his dastard foemen is betray’d.
Is Talbot dead? Then I will kill myself, For living idly here in luxury and comfort, While such a great leader, without help, Is betrayed to his cowardly enemies.
O no, he lives; but is took prisoner, And Lord Scales with him and Lord Hungerford: Most of the rest slaughter’d or took likewise.
Oh no, he’s alive; but he’s been captured, And Lord Scales and Lord Hungerford are with him: Most of the others are either killed or captured too.
His ransom there is none but I shall pay: I’ll hale the Dauphin headlong from his throne: His crown shall be the ransom of my friend; Four of their lords I’ll change for one of ours. Farewell, my masters; to my task will I; Bonfires in France forthwith I am to make, To keep our great Saint George’s feast withal: Ten thousand soldiers with me I will take, Whose bloody deeds shall make all Europe quake.
There’s no ransom for him, but I will pay it: I’ll drag the Dauphin down from his throne: His crown will be the ransom for my friend; Four of their lords for one of ours, I’ll trade. Goodbye, my lords; I’ll get to work; I’m going to light bonfires in France right away, To celebrate our great Saint George’s feast: I’ll take ten thousand soldiers with me, Whose bloody deeds will make all of Europe tremble.
So you had need; for Orleans is besieged; The English army is grown weak and faint: The Earl of Salisbury craveth supply, And hardly keeps his men from mutiny, Since they, so few, watch such a multitude.
You’ll need to; Orleans is under siege; The English army is growing weak and tired: The Earl of Salisbury is asking for reinforcements, And he can barely keep his men from rebelling, Since they’re so few and watching such a large enemy force.
Remember, lords, your oaths to Henry sworn, Either to quell the Dauphin utterly, Or bring him in obedience to your yoke.
Remember, lords, the oaths you swore to Henry, Either to completely defeat the Dauphin, Or bring him under our control.
I do remember it; and here take my leave, To go about my preparation.
I remember it; and now I take my leave, To go and prepare for what’s next.
I’ll to the Tower with all the haste I can, To view the artillery and munition; And then I will proclaim young Henry king.
I’ll go to the Tower as fast as I can, To check on the artillery and supplies; Then I’ll declare young Henry as king.
To Eltham will I, where the young king is, Being ordain’d his special governor, And for his safety there I’ll best devise.
I’ll head to Eltham, where the young king is, Since I’m appointed his main guardian, And I’ll figure out the best plan for his safety.
BISHOP
BISHOP
Each hath his place and function to attend: I am left out; for me nothing remains. But long I will not be Jack out of office: The king from Eltham I intend to steal And sit at chiefest stern of public weal.
Everyone has their job to do: I’m left out; there’s nothing for me. But I won’t be out of a job for long: I plan to steal the king away from Eltham And take control of the government.