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Why droops my lord, like over-ripen’d corn, Hanging the head at Ceres’ plenteous load? Why doth the great Duke Humphrey knit his brows, As frowning at the favours of the world? Why are thine eyes fixed to the sullen earth, Gazing on that which seems to dim thy sight? What seest thou there? King Henry’s diadem, Enchased with all the honours of the world? If so, gaze on, and grovel on thy face, Until thy head be circled with the same. Put forth thy hand, reach at the glorious gold. What, is’t too short? I’ll lengthen it with mine: And, having both together heaved it up, We’ll both together lift our heads to heaven, And never more abase our sight so low As to vouchsafe one glance unto the ground.
Why does my lord look so down, like corn that’s overripe, Drooping under Ceres’ heavy harvest? Why does the great Duke Humphrey scowl, As if he’s angry with the good things in the world? Why are your eyes so fixed on the gloomy earth, Staring at what seems to make your vision dim? What do you see? King Henry’s crown, Set with all the honors of the world? If that’s what you see, keep looking, and crawl on the ground, Until your head is crowned with the same. Reach out your hand, take the shining gold. What, is it too far? I’ll make it closer with mine: And when we lift it together, we’ll both raise our heads to heaven, And never again lower our gaze so much As to let a single glance fall on the ground.
O Nell, sweet Nell, if thou dost love thy lord, Banish the canker of ambitious thoughts. And may that thought, when I imagine ill Against my king and nephew, virtuous Henry, Be my last breathing in this mortal world! My troublous dream this night doth make me sad.
Oh Nell, sweet Nell, if you love your lord, Rid yourself of these ambitious thoughts. And may the thought I had, when I wished ill Against my king and nephew, virtuous Henry, Be my last breath in this world! My troubling dream tonight has made me feel so sad.
What dream’d my lord? tell me, and I’ll requite it With sweet rehearsal of my morning’s dream.
What dream did you have, my lord? Tell me, and I’ll repay it With a sweet recounting of my own dream this morning.
Methought this staff, mine office-badge in court, Was broke in twain; by whom I have forgot, But, as I think, it was by the cardinal; And on the pieces of the broken wand Were placed the heads of Edmund Duke of Somerset, And William de la Pole, first duke of Suffolk. This was my dream: what it doth bode, God knows.
I dreamed my staff, my symbol of office in court, Was broken in two; I don’t remember by whom, But I think it was the cardinal; And on the pieces of the broken staff Were placed the heads of Edmund Duke of Somerset, And William de la Pole, the first Duke of Suffolk. That was my dream; what it means, only God knows.
Tut, this was nothing but an argument That he that breaks a stick of Gloucester’s grove Shall lose his head for his presumption. But list to me, my Humphrey, my sweet duke: Methought I sat in seat of majesty In the cathedral church of Westminster, And in that chair where kings and queens are crown’d; Where Henry and dame Margaret kneel’d to me And on my head did set the diadem.
Nonsense, this was nothing but a sign That anyone who breaks a branch from Gloucester’s tree Will lose their head for their arrogance. But listen to me, my Humphrey, my sweet duke: I dreamed I sat in a place of great power In the cathedral of Westminster, And in that chair where kings and queens are crowned; Where Henry and Queen Margaret knelt to me And placed the crown on my head.
Nay, Eleanor, then must I chide outright: Presumptuous dame, ill-nurtured Eleanor, Art thou not second woman in the realm, And the protector’s wife, beloved of him? Hast thou not worldly pleasure at command, Above the reach or compass of thy thought? And wilt thou still be hammering treachery, To tumble down thy husband and thyself From top of honour to disgrace’s feet? Away from me, and let me hear no more!
No, Eleanor, I must speak plainly: Presumptuous woman, poorly raised Eleanor, Aren’t you second in the realm, And the wife of the protector, loved by him? Don’t you have all worldly pleasures at your command, Beyond anything you could even imagine? And yet you still plot treachery, Trying to bring down your husband and yourself From the heights of honor to the depths of disgrace? Get away from me, and don’t say another word!
What, what, my lord! are you so choleric With Eleanor, for telling but her dream? Next time I’ll keep my dreams unto myself, And not be cheque’d.
What, what, my lord! Are you really so angry With Eleanor, just for sharing her dream? Next time I’ll keep my dreams to myself, And won’t be scolded.
Nay, be not angry; I am pleased again.
No, don’t be upset; I’m calm again.
My lord protector, ’tis his highness’ pleasure You do prepare to ride unto Saint Alban’s, Where as the king and queen do mean to hawk.
My lord protector, the king has ordered That you prepare to ride to Saint Alban’s, Where the king and queen plan to go hawking.
I go. Come, Nell, thou wilt ride with us?
I’m coming. Come, Nell, will you ride with us?
Yes, my good lord, I’ll follow presently.
Yes, my good lord, I’ll follow shortly.
Follow I must; I cannot go before, While Gloucester bears this base and humble mind. Were I a man, a duke, and next of blood, I would remove these tedious stumbling-blocks And smooth my way upon their headless necks; And, being a woman, I will not be slack To play my part in Fortune’s pageant. Where are you there? Sir John! nay, fear not, man, We are alone; here’s none but thee and I.
I must follow; I can’t go ahead, While Gloucester holds such a low and humble mind. If I were a man, a duke, and next in line, I’d remove these annoying obstacles And clear my path over their necks, chopped off; But, being a woman, I won’t be slow To play my part in the game of fortune. Where are you? Sir John! No need to be afraid, We’re alone; it’s just you and me.
Jesus preserve your royal majesty!
God protect your royal majesty!
What say’st thou? majesty! I am but grace.
What are you saying? Majesty! I’m just a humble woman.
But, by the grace of God, and Hume’s advice, Your grace’s title shall be multiplied.
But, with God’s help and my advice, Your title will be greatly increased.
What say’st thou, man? hast thou as yet conferr’d With Margery Jourdain, the cunning witch, With Roger Bolingbroke, the conjurer? And will they undertake to do me good?
What are you saying, man? Have you spoken yet With Margery Jourdain, the clever witch, With Roger Bolingbroke, the magician? And will they agree to help me?
This they have promised, to show your highness A spirit raised from depth of under-ground, That shall make answer to such questions As by your grace shall be propounded him.
They’ve promised this, to show your highness A spirit summoned from deep underground, That will answer the questions That your grace will ask it.
It is enough; I’ll think upon the questions: When from St. Alban’s we do make return, We’ll see these things effected to the full. Here, Hume, take this reward; make merry, man, With thy confederates in this weighty cause.
That’s enough; I’ll think about the questions: When we return from St. Alban’s, We’ll make sure these things are done completely. Here, Hume, take this reward; enjoy yourself, man, With your allies in this important task.
Hume must make merry with the duchess’ gold; Marry, and shall. But how now, Sir John Hume! Seal up your lips, and give no words but mum: The business asketh silent secrecy. Dame Eleanor gives gold to bring the witch: Gold cannot come amiss, were she a devil. Yet have I gold flies from another coast; I dare not say, from the rich cardinal And from the great and new-made Duke of Suffolk, Yet I do find it so; for to be plain, They, knowing Dame Eleanor’s aspiring humour, Have hired me to undermine the duchess And buz these conjurations in her brain. They say ’A crafty knave does need no broker;’ Yet am I Suffolk and the cardinal’s broker. Hume, if you take not heed, you shall go near To call them both a pair of crafty knaves. Well, so it stands; and thus, I fear, at last Hume’s knavery will be the duchess’ wreck, And her attainture will be Humphrey’s fall: Sort how it will, I shall have gold for all.
Hume must enjoy the duchess’ gold; Indeed, he will. But now, Sir John Hume! Seal your lips, and don’t speak a word: This business requires silence and secrecy. Lady Eleanor gives gold to summon the witch: Gold is always useful, even if she’s a devil. Still, I have gold from another source; I won’t say it’s from the rich cardinal Or from the newly appointed Duke of Suffolk, But I know it is; to be honest, They, knowing Lady Eleanor’s ambitious nature, Have hired me to undermine the duchess And plant these thoughts in her mind. They say, “A crafty rogue doesn’t need a middleman;” Yet I am the middleman for Suffolk and the cardinal. Hume, if you’re not careful, you’ll almost call them both A pair of crafty rogues. Well, that’s how it is; and I fear, in the end, Hume’s trickery will cause the duchess’s downfall, And her disgrace will be Humphrey’s ruin: However it goes, I’ll get gold for all of it.