Original
Modern English
It is too late; I cannot send them now: This expedition was by York and Talbot Too rashly plotted: all our general force Might with a sally of the very town Be buckled with: the over-daring Talbot Hath sullied all his gloss of former honour By this unheedful, desperate, wild adventure: York set him on to fight and die in shame, That, Talbot dead, great York might bear the name.
It is too late; I cannot send them now: It’s too late; I can’t send them now: This expedition was by York and Talbot This mission was planned too hastily by York and Talbot Too rashly plotted: all our general force It was planned recklessly: our entire army Might with a sally of the very town Could be trapped by a sudden attack from the town itself Be buckled with: the over-daring Talbot By a reckless Talbot Hath sullied all his gloss of former honour Has tarnished his former glory By this unheedful, desperate, wild adventure: With this careless, reckless, wild gamble: York set him on to fight and die in shame, York pushed him to fight and die in disgrace, That, Talbot dead, great York might bear the name. So that, with Talbot dead, great York could claim the glory.
Here is Sir William Lucy, who with me Set from our o’ermatch’d forces forth for aid.
Here is Sir William Lucy, who with me Here is Sir William Lucy, who came with me Set from our o’ermatch’d forces forth for aid. To seek help after our forces were overpowered.
How now, Sir William! whither were you sent?
How now, Sir William! whither were you sent? What’s this, Sir William! Where were you sent?
Whither, my lord? from bought and sold Lord Talbot; Who, ring’d about with bold adversity, Cries out for noble York and Somerset, To beat assailing death from his weak legions: And whiles the honourable captain there Drops bloody sweat from his war-wearied limbs, And, in advantage lingering, looks for rescue, You, his false hopes, the trust of England’s honour, Keep off aloof with worthless emulation. Let not your private discord keep away The levied succors that should lend him aid, While he, renowned noble gentleman, Yields up his life unto a world of odds: Orleans the Bastard, Charles, Burgundy, Alencon, Reignier, compass him about, And Talbot perisheth by your default.
Whither, my lord? from bought and sold Lord Talbot; Where to, my lord? From the traitor Lord Talbot, Who, ring’d about with bold adversity, Who, surrounded by bold adversity, Cries out for noble York and Somerset, Cries out for help from noble York and Somerset, To beat assailing death from his weak legions: To drive off the approaching death from his weak army: And whiles the honourable captain there And while the honorable captain there Drops bloody sweat from his war-wearied limbs, Grows weak from battle and bleeds with sweat, And, in advantage lingering, looks for rescue, And, waiting for a break, hopes for rescue, You, his false hopes, the trust of England’s honour, But you, with your false hopes, the trust of England’s honor, Keep off aloof with worthless emulation. Stay far away, indulging in empty rivalry. Let not your private discord keep away Don’t let your private quarrels stop The levied succors that should lend him aid, The reinforcements that should help him, While he, renowned noble gentleman, While he, the renowned noble gentleman, Yields up his life unto a world of odds: Gives his life in the face of overwhelming odds: Orleans the Bastard, Charles, Burgundy, Orleans the Bastard, Charles, Burgundy, Alencon, Reignier, compass him about, Alencon, Reignier, surround him, And Talbot perisheth by your default. And Talbot perishes because of your failure.
York set him on; York should have sent him aid.
York set him on; York should have sent him aid. York pushed him into this; York should have sent him help.
And York as fast upon your grace exclaims; Swearing that you withhold his levied host, Collected for this expedition.
And York as fast upon your grace exclaims; And York quickly accuses your grace; Swearing that you withhold his levied host, Swearing that you’re withholding his raised army, Collected for this expedition. Gathered for this mission.
York lies; he might have sent and had the horse; I owe him little duty, and less love; And take foul scorn to fawn on him by sending.
York lies; he might have sent and had the horse; York is lying; he could have sent and gotten the horses; I owe him little duty, and less love; I owe him little duty, and even less affection; And take foul scorn to fawn on him by sending. And I would be ashamed to flatter him by sending help.
The fraud of England, not the force of France, Hath now entrapp’d the noble-minded Talbot: Never to England shall he bear his life; But dies, betray’d to fortune by your strife.
The deceit of England, not the strength of France, Has now trapped the noble-minded Talbot: He’ll never return to England alive; But he dies, betrayed by your conflict.
Come, go; I will dispatch the horsemen straight: Within six hours they will be at his aid.
Come, let’s go; I’ll send the horsemen right away: In six hours, they will be there to help him.
Too late comes rescue: he is ta’en or slain; For fly he could not, if he would have fled; And fly would Talbot never, though he might.
It’s too late for rescue: he’s already captured or killed; He couldn’t escape, even if he tried; And Talbot would never run, even if he could.
If he be dead, brave Talbot, then adieu!
If he’s dead, brave Talbot, then farewell!
His fame lives in the world, his shame in you.
His reputation lives in the world, but his disgrace is on you.