Original
Modern English
Thus sometimes hath the brightest day a cloud; And after summer evermore succeeds Barren winter, with his wrathful nipping cold: So cares and joys abound, as seasons fleet. Sirs, what’s o’clock?
Sometimes even the brightest day gets cloudy; And after summer, winter always comes, A barren winter, full of harsh, biting cold: So, worries and happiness come and go, just like the seasons. Gentlemen, what time is it?
Ten, my lord.
Ten o’clock, my lord.
Ten is the hour that was appointed me To watch the coming of my punish’d duchess: Uneath may she endure the flinty streets, To tread them with her tender-feeling feet. Sweet Nell, ill can thy noble mind abrook The abject people gazing on thy face, With envious looks, laughing at thy shame, That erst did follow thy proud chariot-wheels When thou didst ride in triumph through the streets. But, soft! I think she comes; and I’ll prepare My tear-stain’d eyes to see her miseries.
Ten o’clock, the time I was supposed to wait For the arrival of my punished wife: She can hardly walk on these hard streets, To tread them with her soft, sensitive feet. Sweet Nell, how poorly your noble heart can handle The common people staring at your face, With jealous looks, laughing at your disgrace, The same people who once followed your grand chariot When you rode in triumph through the streets. But, wait! I think she’s coming now; I’ll prepare My tear-filled eyes to see her suffering.
So please your grace, we’ll take her from the sheriff.
If it pleases your grace, we’ll take her from the sheriff.
No, stir not, for your lives; let her pass by.
No, don’t move, for your own safety; let her pass.
Come you, my lord, to see my open shame? Now thou dost penance too. Look how they gaze! See how the giddy multitude do point, And nod their heads, and throw their eyes on thee! Ah, Gloucester, hide thee from their hateful looks, And, in thy closet pent up, rue my shame, And ban thine enemies, both mine and thine!
Are you here, my lord, to witness my public shame? Now you’re also doing penance. Look how they stare! See how the foolish crowd points at me, Nods their heads, and glares at you! Ah, Gloucester, hide from their hateful glares, And, locked away in your room, mourn my disgrace, And curse your enemies, both mine and yours!
Be patient, gentle Nell; forget this grief.
Be patient, dear Nell; forget this sorrow.
Ah, Gloucester, teach me to forget myself! For whilst I think I am thy married wife And thou a prince, protector of this land, Methinks I should not thus be led along, Mail’d up in shame, with papers on my back, And followed with a rabble that rejoice To see my tears and hear my deep-fet groans. The ruthless flint doth cut my tender feet, And when I start, the envious people laugh And bid me be advised how I tread. Ah, Humphrey, can I bear this shameful yoke? Trow’st thou that e’er I’ll look upon the world, Or count them happy that enjoy the sun? No; dark shall be my light and night my day; To think upon my pomp shall be my hell. Sometime I’ll say, I am Duke Humphrey’s wife, And he a prince and ruler of the land: Yet so he ruled and such a prince he was As he stood by whilst I, his forlorn duchess, Was made a wonder and a pointing-stock To every idle rascal follower. But be thou mild and blush not at my shame, Nor stir at nothing till the axe of death Hang over thee, as, sure, it shortly will; For Suffolk, he that can do all in all With her that hateth thee and hates us all, And York and impious Beaufort, that false priest, Have all limed bushes to betray thy wings, And, fly thou how thou canst, they’ll tangle thee: But fear not thou, until thy foot be snared, Nor never seek prevention of thy foes.
Ah, Gloucester, teach me how to forget myself! For while I think I’m still your lawful wife And you a prince, protector of this land, I can’t understand how I’m being dragged along, Wrapped in shame, with papers on my back, Followed by a mob who rejoice At my tears and the groans I can barely hold in. The cruel stone cuts at my soft feet, And when I flinch, the jealous crowd laughs And tells me to watch how I step. Ah, Humphrey, how can I bear this humiliating burden? Do you think I’ll ever be able to face the world, Or think those lucky who get to see the sun? No; my light will be darkness and my day will be night; Thinking of my former glory will be my hell. Sometimes I’ll say I am Duke Humphrey’s wife, And he a prince and ruler of the land: Yet look how he ruled, and what kind of prince he was: He stood by while I, his abandoned wife, Became the laughingstock, a figure of ridicule For every idle, worthless follower. But you, be kind, don’t blush at my disgrace, And don’t move until the axe of death Is hanging over you, which it surely will; For Suffolk, who has power over everything, With her who hates you and us all, And York and the wicked Beaufort, that false priest, Have all set traps to destroy you, And no matter how you try to escape, they’ll catch you: But don’t be afraid, not until they catch you, And never try to stop your enemies first.
Ah, Nell, forbear! thou aimest all awry; I must offend before I be attainted; And had I twenty times so many foes, And each of them had twenty times their power, All these could not procure me any scathe, So long as I am loyal, true and crimeless. Wouldst have me rescue thee from this reproach? Why, yet thy scandal were not wiped away But I in danger for the breach of law. Thy greatest help is quiet, gentle Nell: I pray thee, sort thy heart to patience; These few days’ wonder will be quickly worn.
Ah, Nell, stop! You’re missing the point; I must commit a crime before I’m accused; And even if I had twenty times as many enemies, And each of them had twenty times their strength, None of them could harm me, As long as I am loyal, honest, and blameless. Do you want me to rescue you from this shame? But even if I did, your disgrace would not be erased And I would only be in danger of breaking the law. Your best help is patience, gentle Nell: I beg you, focus your heart on patience; This little scandal will be forgotten soon.
I summon your grace to his majesty’s parliament, Holden at Bury the first of this next month.
I summon your grace to the king’s parliament, To be held in Bury the first of next month.
And my consent ne’er ask’d herein before! This is close dealing. Well, I will be there.
And they didn’t even ask for my consent before! This is sneaky business. Well, I’ll be there.
My Nell, I take my leave: and, master sheriff, Let not her penance exceed the king’s commission.
My Nell, I’m leaving now: and, sheriff, Don’t let her punishment go beyond the king’s orders.
An’t please your grace, here my commission stays, And Sir John Stanley is appointed now To take her with him to the Isle of Man.
If it pleases your grace, my orders are here, And Sir John Stanley has been chosen To take her with him to the Isle of Man.
Must you, Sir John, protect my lady here?
Do you really have to, Sir John, take care of my lady here?
So am I given in charge, may’t please your grace.
Yes, that’s what I’ve been instructed to do, if it pleases your grace.
Entreat her not the worse in that I pray You use her well: the world may laugh again; And I may live to do you kindness if You do it her: and so, Sir John, farewell!
Please don’t treat her badly. I ask that You treat her kindly: the world might laugh again; And I may live to repay your kindness if You do the same for her. So, Sir John, goodbye!
What, gone, my lord, and bid me not farewell!
What, you’re leaving, my lord, and didn’t even say goodbye?
Witness my tears, I cannot stay to speak.
You can see my tears, I can’t stay to talk.
Art thou gone too? all comfort go with thee! For none abides with me: my joy is death; Death, at whose name I oft have been afear’d, Because I wish’d this world’s eternity. Stanley, I prithee, go, and take me hence; I care not whither, for I beg no favour, Only convey me where thou art commanded.
Are you gone too? I hope comfort goes with you! For there’s no comfort left for me: my only joy is death; Death, which I’ve often feared, Because I once wished this world would last forever. Stanley, please, take me away; I don’t care where, I don’t ask for anything, Just take me wherever you’ve been ordered.
Why, madam, that is to the Isle of Man; There to be used according to your state.
Madam, that’s to the Isle of Man; There you’ll be treated according to your rank.
That’s bad enough, for I am but reproach: And shall I then be used reproachfully?
That’s bad enough, because I’m nothing but disgrace: And should I be treated with disgrace as well?
Like to a duchess, and Duke Humphrey’s lady; According to that state you shall be used.
Like a duchess, and the wife of Duke Humphrey; You’ll be treated according to that position.
Sheriff, farewell, and better than I fare, Although thou hast been conduct of my shame.
Sheriff, goodbye, and I hope things go better for you than for me, Though you’ve been the one leading me into shame.
It is my office; and, madam, pardon me.
It’s my duty, madam, and please forgive me.
Ay, ay, farewell; thy office is discharged. Come, Stanley, shall we go?
Yes, yes, goodbye; your duty is done. Come, Stanley, let’s go.
Madam, your penance done, throw off this sheet, And go we to attire you for our journey.
Madam, now that you’ve finished your punishment, take off this sheet, And let’s get you dressed for our journey.
My shame will not be shifted with my sheet: No, it will hang upon my richest robes And show itself, attire me how I can. Go, lead the way; I long to see my prison.
My shame won’t go away just because I take off this sheet: No, it will stay with me, even in my finest clothes, And it’ll show itself, no matter how I dress. Go, lead the way; I can’t wait to see my prison.