Original
Modern English
Bring forth that sorceress condemn’d to burn.
Bring forward that witch condemned to burn.
Ah, Joan, this kills thy father’s heart outright! Have I sought every country far and near, And, now it is my chance to find thee out, Must I behold thy timeless cruel death? Ah, Joan, sweet daughter Joan, I’ll die with thee!
Ah, Joan, this breaks your father’s heart completely! I’ve searched every country, far and wide, And now that I’ve found you, Must I witness your untimely cruel death? Ah, Joan, sweet daughter Joan, I’ll die with you!
Decrepit miser! base ignoble wretch! I am descended of a gentler blood: Thou art no father nor no friend of mine.
Old fool! worthless, lowborn scoundrel! I’m descended from nobler blood: You’re neither my father nor my friend.
Out, out! My lords, an please you, ’tis not so; I did beget her, all the parish knows: Her mother liveth yet, can testify She was the first fruit of my bachelorship.
Out, out! My lords, please, it’s not true; I fathered her, everyone knows: Her mother is still alive, can testify She was the first fruit of my single life.
Graceless! wilt thou deny thy parentage?
Shameful! will you deny your parentage?
This argues what her kind of life hath been, Wicked and vile; and so her death concludes.
This shows what her life has been, Wicked and corrupt; and so her death follows.
Fie, Joan, that thou wilt be so obstacle! God knows thou art a collop of my flesh; And for thy sake have I shed many a tear: Deny me not, I prithee, gentle Joan.
Shame on you, Joan, for being such an obstacle! God knows you are a part of me; And because of you, I’ve cried many tears: Please don’t deny me, I beg you, kind Joan.
Peasant, avaunt! You have suborn’d this man, Of purpose to obscure my noble birth.
Peasant, go away! You’ve bribed this man, On purpose to hide my noble birth.
’Tis true, I gave a noble to the priest The morn that I was wedded to her mother. Kneel down and take my blessing, good my girl. Wilt thou not stoop? Now cursed be the time Of thy nativity! I would the milk Thy mother gave thee when thou suck’dst her breast, Had been a little ratsbane for thy sake! Or else, when thou didst keep my lambs a-field, I wish some ravenous wolf had eaten thee! Dost thou deny thy father, cursed drab? O, burn her, burn her! hanging is too good.
It’s true, I gave a noble coin to the priest The morning I married her mother. Kneel down and accept my blessing, dear girl. Won’t you kneel? Damn the time You were born! I wish the milk Your mother gave you when you nursed at her breast, Had been poison for your sake! Or else, when you were watching my lambs in the field, I wish some hungry wolf had eaten you! Do you deny your father, cursed slut? Oh, burn her, burn her! Hanging’s too good.
Take her away; for she hath lived too long, To fill the world with vicious qualities.
Take her away; she’s lived too long, Filling the world with evil traits.
First, let me tell you whom you have condemn’d: Not me begotten of a shepherd swain, But issued from the progeny of kings; Virtuous and holy; chosen from above, By inspiration of celestial grace, To work exceeding miracles on earth. I never had to do with wicked spirits: But you, that are polluted with your lusts, Stain’d with the guiltless blood of innocents, Corrupt and tainted with a thousand vices, Because you want the grace that others have, You judge it straight a thing impossible To compass wonders but by help of devils. No, misconceived! Joan of Arc hath been A virgin from her tender infancy, Chaste and immaculate in very thought; Whose maiden blood, thus rigorously effused, Will cry for vengeance at the gates of heaven.
First, let me tell you who you’ve condemned: Not me, born of a shepherd, But descended from a line of kings; Virtuous and holy; chosen from above, By divine inspiration, To perform great miracles on earth. I’ve never had dealings with evil spirits: But you, who are stained by your lusts, Guiltied with the blood of innocent people, Corrupt and tainted with a thousand vices, Because you lack the grace that others have, You think it’s impossible To perform wonders without help from devils. No, you’re wrong! Joan of Arc has been A virgin since she was a child, Pure and innocent in thought; Her virgin blood, shed so cruelly, Will call for vengeance at heaven’s gates.
Ay, ay: away with her to execution!
Yes, yes: take her away for execution!
And hark ye, sirs; because she is a maid, Spare for no faggots, let there be enow: Place barrels of pitch upon the fatal stake, That so her torture may be shortened.
And listen, men; because she’s a virgin, Don’t hold back on the firewood, let there be plenty: Place barrels of pitch on the burning stake, So her torture may be over sooner.
Will nothing turn your unrelenting hearts? Then, Joan, discover thine infirmity, That warranteth by law to be thy privilege. I am with child, ye bloody homicides: Murder not then the fruit within my womb, Although ye hale me to a violent death.
Will nothing change your merciless hearts? Then, Joan, reveal your weakness, Which by law should give you a right to mercy. I’m pregnant, you bloody murderers: Don’t kill the child inside me, Even if you drag me to my death.
Now heaven forfend! the holy maid with child!
Heaven forbid! The holy maid is pregnant!
The greatest miracle that e’er ye wrought: Is all your strict preciseness come to this?
The greatest miracle you ever caused: Is all your strictness come to this?
She and the Dauphin have been juggling: I did imagine what would be her refuge.
She and the Dauphin have been deceiving us: I had a feeling this would be her excuse.
Well, go to; we’ll have no bastards live; Especially since Charles must father it.
Well, that’s enough; no illegitimate children will live; Especially if Charles is supposed to be the father.
You are deceived; my child is none of his: It was Alencon that enjoy’d my love.
You’re wrong; my child is not his: It was Alençon who had my love.
Alencon! that notorious Machiavel! It dies, an if it had a thousand lives.
Alençon! That infamous schemer! It dies, even if it had a thousand lives.
O, give me leave, I have deluded you: ’Twas neither Charles nor yet the duke I named, But Reignier, king of Naples, that prevail’d.
Oh, let me explain, I’ve misled you: It wasn’t Charles or the duke I mentioned, But Reignier, King of Naples, who was the one.
A married man! that’s most intolerable.
A married man! That’s really unbearable.
Why, here’s a girl! I think she knows not well, There were so many, whom she may accuse.
Look, here’s a girl! I don’t think she knows exactly, There were so many she could accuse.
It’s sign she hath been liberal and free.
It’s a sign she’s been generous and free.
And yet, forsooth, she is a virgin pure. Strumpet, thy words condemn thy brat and thee: Use no entreaty, for it is in vain.
And yet, truly, she’s a pure virgin. Prostitute, your words condemn both you and your child: Don’t try to beg for mercy, it’s pointless.
Then lead me hence; with whom I leave my curse: May never glorious sun reflex his beams Upon the country where you make abode; But darkness and the gloomy shade of death Environ you, till mischief and despair Drive you to break your necks or hang yourselves!
Then take me away; with whom I leave my curse: May the glorious sun never shine On the land where you live; But let darkness and the shadow of death Surround you, until evil and despair Force you to break your necks or hang yourselves!
Break thou in pieces and consume to ashes, Thou foul accursed minister of hell!
Break into pieces and burn to ashes, You foul, cursed servant of hell!
CARDINAL
CARDINAL
Lord regent, I do greet your excellence With letters of commission from the king. For know, my lords, the states of Christendom, Moved with remorse of these outrageous broils, Have earnestly implored a general peace Betwixt our nation and the aspiring French; And here at hand the Dauphin and his train Approacheth, to confer about some matter.
Lord regent, I greet you with respect And bring letters of commission from the king. For know, my lords, the Christian nations, Moved by sympathy for these terrible wars, Have urgently asked for a general peace Between our nation and the ambitious French; And here the Dauphin and his group Are coming to discuss some matters.
Is all our travail turn’d to this effect? After the slaughter of so many peers, So many captains, gentlemen and soldiers, That in this quarrel have been overthrown And sold their bodies for their country’s benefit, Shall we at last conclude effeminate peace? Have we not lost most part of all the towns, By treason, falsehood and by treachery, Our great progenitors had conquered? O Warwick, Warwick! I foresee with grief The utter loss of all the realm of France.
So all our efforts have led to this? After the slaughter of so many nobles, So many captains, gentlemen, and soldiers, Who have been defeated in this war And sacrificed their lives for their country’s good, Shall we now make a weak, cowardly peace? Have we not lost most of the towns, Through treason, deceit, and betrayal, Which our great ancestors had conquered? Oh Warwick, Warwick! I foresee with sorrow The total loss of the entire kingdom of France.
Be patient, York: if we conclude a peace, It shall be with such strict and severe covenants As little shall the Frenchmen gain thereby.
Be patient, York: if we make peace, It will be with such strict and harsh conditions That the French will gain very little from it.
Since, lords of England, it is thus agreed That peaceful truce shall be proclaim’d in France, We come to be informed by yourselves What the conditions of that league must be.
Since, lords of England, it is agreed That a peaceful truce will be declared in France, We’ve come to hear from you What the terms of the treaty will be.
Speak, Winchester; for boiling choler chokes The hollow passage of my poison’d voice, By sight of these our baleful enemies. CARDINAL
Speak, Winchester; my boiling anger chokes The bitter words I’m trying to say, Just by seeing these evil enemies of ours. CARDINAL
Charles, and the rest, it is enacted thus: That, in regard King Henry gives consent, Of mere compassion and of lenity, To ease your country of distressful war, And suffer you to breathe in fruitful peace, You shall become true liegemen to his crown: And Charles, upon condition thou wilt swear To pay him tribute, submit thyself, Thou shalt be placed as viceroy under him, And still enjoy thy regal dignity.
Charles, and the rest, this is what’s decided: That, since King Henry gives his consent, Out of pure compassion and kindness, To end your country’s suffering from the war, And allow you to live in peaceful prosperity, You will become loyal subjects to his crown: And Charles, if you agree to swear To pay him tribute and submit yourself, You will be made viceroy under him, And continue to hold your royal title.
Must he be then as shadow of himself? Adorn his temples with a coronet, And yet, in substance and authority, Retain but privilege of a private man? This proffer is absurd and reasonless.
So, does he have to be just a shadow of himself? Decorate his head with a crown, But still, in substance and power, Only have the rights of a regular man? This offer is ridiculous and makes no sense.
’Tis known already that I am possess’d With more than half the Gallian territories, And therein reverenced for their lawful king: Shall I, for lucre of the rest unvanquish’d, Detract so much from that prerogative, As to be call’d but viceroy of the whole? No, lord ambassador, I’ll rather keep That which I have than, coveting for more, Be cast from possibility of all.
It’s already known that I control More than half of the French territories, And I’m respected as their rightful king: Should I, for the sake of the rest that are unconquered, Take away from my power, And be called only the governor of the whole? No, ambassador, I’d rather keep What I have than risk losing it all just to get more.
Insulting Charles! hast thou by secret means Used intercession to obtain a league, And, now the matter grows to compromise, Stand’st thou aloof upon comparison? Either accept the title thou usurp’st, Of benefit proceeding from our king And not of any challenge of desert, Or we will plague thee with incessant wars.
You’re insulting, Charles! Have you secretly Used diplomacy to form an alliance, And now that we’re close to a compromise, Are you backing out when it’s time to compare? Either accept the title you’re taking, Which comes as a favor from our king And not from any claim of your own merit, Or we will bring endless wars upon you.
My lord, you do not well in obstinacy To cavil in the course of this contract: If once it be neglected, ten to one We shall not find like opportunity.
My lord, you’re not being wise in being stubborn And arguing against this agreement: If we let this chance slip away, we might never Get another opportunity like it.
To say the truth, it is your policy To save your subjects from such massacre And ruthless slaughters as are daily seen By our proceeding in hostility; And therefore take this compact of a truce, Although you break it when your pleasure serves.
To be honest, it’s in your best interest To protect your people from the kind of slaughter And brutal killings we’re causing every day By continuing this war; So take this truce agreement, Even if you break it when it suits you.
How say’st thou, Charles? shall our condition stand?
What do you say, Charles? Shall we stick to the terms?
It shall; Only reserved, you claim no interest In any of our towns of garrison.
We will; But remember, you have no claim To any of our garrisoned towns.
Then swear allegiance to his majesty, As thou art knight, never to disobey Nor be rebellious to the crown of England, Thou, nor thy nobles, to the crown of England. So, now dismiss your army when ye please: Hang up your ensign, let your drums be still, For here we entertain a solemn peace.
Then swear loyalty to his majesty, As you’re a knight, never to disobey Or rebel against the crown of England, Neither you, nor your nobles, against the crown of England. Now, you can dismiss your army whenever you wish: Take down your flags, stop your drums, For we are now entering a serious peace.