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Modern English
Run to my Lord of Suffolk; let him know We have dispatch’d the duke, as he commanded.
Go to my Lord of Suffolk; let him know We’ve carried out the duke’s death, as he ordered.
O that it were to do! What have we done? Didst ever hear a man so penitent?
I wish it weren’t done! What have we done? Have you ever heard a man so sorry?
Here comes my lord.
Here comes my lord.
Now, sirs, have you dispatch’d this thing?
Now, gentlemen, have you taken care of this task?
Ay, my good lord, he’s dead.
Yes, my lord, he’s dead.
Why, that’s well said. Go, get you to my house; I will reward you for this venturous deed. The king and all the peers are here at hand. Have you laid fair the bed? Is all things well, According as I gave directions?
Good, that’s well. Go to my house now; I’ll reward you for this bold action. The king and all the nobles are coming soon. Have you made the bed as I instructed?
’Tis, my good lord.
Yes, my lord.
Away! be gone.
Go now! Leave.
Go, call our uncle to our presence straight; Say we intend to try his grace to-day. If he be guilty, as ’tis published.
Go, summon our uncle to come here at once; Tell him we plan to put him on trial today. If he’s guilty, as has been said.
I’ll call him presently, my noble lord.
I’ll call him right away, my noble lord.
Lords, take your places; and, I pray you all, Proceed no straiter ’gainst our uncle Gloucester Than from true evidence of good esteem He be approved in practise culpable.
Lords, take your places; and I beg of you all, Don’t press charges against our uncle Gloucester unless there’s solid evidence of his wrongdoing that proves he’s truly guilty.
God forbid any malice should prevail, That faultless may condemn a nobleman! Pray God he may acquit him of suspicion!
God forbid any hatred should win out, That an innocent man should be condemned! I pray God he may be cleared of suspicion!
I thank thee, Meg; these words content me much.
Thank you, Margaret; your words bring me comfort.
How now! why look’st thou pale? why tremblest thou? Where is our uncle? what’s the matter, Suffolk?
What’s happening? Why do you look so pale? Why are you shaking? Where is our uncle? What’s wrong, Suffolk?
Dead in his bed, my lord; Gloucester is dead.
He’s dead in his bed, my lord; Gloucester is dead.
Marry, God forfend!
Oh, God forbid!
God’s secret judgment: I did dream to-night The duke was dumb and could not speak a word.
God’s secret judgment: I dreamt last night The duke was mute and couldn’t speak a word.
How fares my lord? Help, lords! the king is dead.
How is my lord? Help, lords! The king is dead.
Rear up his body; wring him by the nose.
Lift his body up; pinch him by the nose.
Run, go, help, help! O Henry, ope thine eyes!
Run, go, help, help! Oh Henry, open your eyes!
He doth revive again: madam, be patient.
He’s coming around again: madam, please be patient.
O heavenly God!
Oh, heavenly God!
How fares my gracious lord?
How is my gracious lord?
Comfort, my sovereign! gracious Henry, comfort!
Comfort, my sovereign! Gracious Henry, comfort!
What, doth my Lord of Suffolk comfort me? Came he right now to sing a raven’s note, Whose dismal tune bereft my vital powers; And thinks he that the chirping of a wren, By crying comfort from a hollow breast, Can chase away the first-conceived sound? Hide not thy poison with such sugar’d words; Lay not thy hands on me; forbear, I say; Their touch affrights me as a serpent’s sting. Thou baleful messenger, out of my sight! Upon thy eye-balls murderous tyranny Sits in grim majesty, to fright the world. Look not upon me, for thine eyes are wounding: Yet do not go away: come, basilisk, And kill the innocent gazer with thy sight; For in the shade of death I shall find joy; In life but double death, now Gloucester’s dead.
What, is my Lord of Suffolk comforting me? Did he come here just now to sing a raven’s song, Whose sad tune drained my strength; And does he think that the chirping of a wren, By calling me comfort from his hollow chest, Can drive away the first horrible sound? Don’t try to hide your poison with sugary words; Don’t touch me; I say, stop; your touch scares me like a snake’s sting. You evil messenger, get out of my sight! Tyranny, murderous and terrible, sits in your eyes, Ready to frighten the world. Don’t look at me, your eyes are like wounds: But don’t leave me: come, basilisk, And kill me with your gaze; For in the shadow of death I will find joy; In life, only double death, now that Gloucester’s dead.
Why do you rate my Lord of Suffolk thus? Although the duke was enemy to him, Yet he most Christian-like laments his death: And for myself, foe as he was to me, Might liquid tears or heart-offending groans Or blood-consuming sighs recall his life, I would be blind with weeping, sick with groans, Look pale as primrose with blood-drinking sighs, And all to have the noble duke alive. What know I how the world may deem of me? For it is known we were but hollow friends: It may be judged I made the duke away; So shall my name with slander’s tongue be wounded, And princes’ courts be fill’d with my reproach. This get I by his death: ay me, unhappy! To be a queen, and crown’d with infamy!
Why do you scold my Lord of Suffolk like this? Even though the duke was his enemy, He mourns his death in a most Christian way: And as for me, though he was my enemy, If tears or groans or sighs could bring him back, I would be blind from weeping, sick from groaning, Pale as a primrose from sighing so much, And do anything to have the noble duke alive. What do I know of how the world will judge me? People know we were only pretend friends: It could be thought that I had the duke killed; And so my name will be wounded by slander, And the courts of princes will be full of my disgrace. This is what I get for his death: oh, how miserable! To be a queen, and crowned with shame!
Ah, woe is me for Gloucester, wretched man!
Ah, woe is me for Gloucester, that poor man!
Be woe for me, more wretched than he is. What, dost thou turn away and hide thy face? I am no loathsome leper; look on me. What! art thou, like the adder, waxen deaf? Be poisonous too and kill thy forlorn queen. Is all thy comfort shut in Gloucester’s tomb? Why, then, dame Margaret was ne’er thy joy. Erect his statue and worship it, And make my image but an alehouse sign. Was I for this nigh wreck’d upon the sea And twice by awkward wind from England’s bank Drove back again unto my native clime? What boded this, but well forewarning wind Did seem to say ’Seek not a scorpion’s nest, Nor set no footing on this unkind shore’? What did I then, but cursed the gentle gusts And he that loosed them forth their brazen caves: And bid them blow towards England’s blessed shore, Or turn our stern upon a dreadful rock Yet AEolus would not be a murderer, But left that hateful office unto thee: The pretty-vaulting sea refused to drown me, Knowing that thou wouldst have me drown’d on shore, With tears as salt as sea, through thy unkindness: The splitting rocks cower’d in the sinking sands And would not dash me with their ragged sides, Because thy flinty heart, more hard than they, Might in thy palace perish Margaret. As far as I could ken thy chalky cliffs, When from thy shore the tempest beat us back, I stood upon the hatches in the storm, And when the dusky sky began to rob My earnest-gaping sight of thy land’s view, I took a costly jewel from my neck, A heart it was, bound in with diamonds, And threw it towards thy land: the sea received it, And so I wish’d thy body might my heart: And even with this I lost fair England’s view And bid mine eyes be packing with my heart And call’d them blind and dusky spectacles, For losing ken of Albion’s wished coast. How often have I tempted Suffolk’s tongue, The agent of thy foul inconstancy, To sit and witch me, as Ascanius did When he to madding Dido would unfold His father’s acts commenced in burning Troy! Am I not witch’d like her? or thou not false like him? Ay me, I can no more! die, Margaret! For Henry weeps that thou dost live so long.
Be sorry for me, more wretched than he is. What, are you turning away and hiding your face? I’m not a disgusting leper; look at me. What! Are you like the adder, becoming deaf? Be poisonous, too, and kill your forlorn queen. Is all your comfort buried with Gloucester? Then, make his statue and worship it, And make my image just a tavern sign. Was I nearly shipwrecked on the sea for this? And twice driven back from England’s shores By the wind’s misfortune, to my homeland? What did this mean, but the winds seemed to warn me, ‘Don’t seek out a scorpion’s nest, Or set foot on this unkind shore’? What did I do then, but curse the gentle breeze, And the one who let it loose from its iron caves: And told them to blow towards England’s blessed shores, Or turn our ship onto a deadly rock? But Aeolus wouldn’t kill me, And left that terrible task to you: The gentle sea refused to drown me, Knowing that you wanted me drowned on land, With tears as salty as the sea, because of your cruelty: The breaking rocks shrank back into the sand And wouldn’t smash me with their sharp sides, Because your heart is harder than they are, And might destroy me in your palace, Margaret. As far as I could see, when your cliffs appeared, When the storm drove us back from your shore, I stood in the storm on the deck, And when the dark sky began to block My eager eyes from seeing your land, I took a precious jewel from my neck, A heart, surrounded by diamonds, And threw it towards your land: the sea took it, And so I wished your body could be my heart: And with that, I lost sight of fair England, And told my eyes to leave with my heart And called them blind and dark spectacles, For losing sight of Albion’s desired shore. How often have I tried to tempt Suffolk’s tongue, The tool of your cruel inconsistency, To sit and enchant me, like Ascanius did When he madly spoke of Troy’s burning acts to Dido! Am I not bewitched like her? Or you not false like him? Oh, I can’t go on! Die, Margaret! For Henry weeps that you still live.
It is reported, mighty sovereign, That good Duke Humphrey traitorously is murder’d By Suffolk and the Cardinal Beaufort’s means. The commons, like an angry hive of bees That want their leader, scatter up and down And care not who they sting in his revenge. Myself have calm’d their spleenful mutiny, Until they hear the order of his death.
It’s been reported, mighty king, That good Duke Humphrey was traitorously murdered By Suffolk and Cardinal Beaufort. The common people, like an angry swarm of bees Who’ve lost their leader, are scattering everywhere And don’t care who they hurt in their anger. I’ve calmed their rebellious anger, Until they hear the news of his death.
That he is dead, good Warwick, ’tis too true; But how he died God knows, not Henry: Enter his chamber, view his breathless corpse, And comment then upon his sudden death.
That he’s dead, good Warwick, is sadly true; But how he died, only God knows, not me: Go into his room, see his lifeless body, And then tell me about his sudden death.
That shall I do, my liege. Stay, Salisbury, With the rude multitude till I return.
I will, my king. Stay here, Salisbury, With the unruly crowd until I return.
O Thou that judgest all things, stay my thoughts, My thoughts, that labour to persuade my soul Some violent hands were laid on Humphrey’s life! If my suspect be false, forgive me, God, For judgment only doth belong to thee. Fain would I go to chafe his paly lips With twenty thousand kisses, and to drain Upon his face an ocean of salt tears, To tell my love unto his dumb deaf trunk, And with my fingers feel his hand unfeeling: But all in vain are these mean obsequies; And to survey his dead and earthly image, What were it but to make my sorrow greater?
O Lord, who judges all things, quiet my thoughts, My thoughts, that try to make my soul believe That violent hands were used to take Humphrey’s life! If my suspicion is wrong, forgive me, God, For judgment belongs only to you. I wish I could go and kiss his cold lips With twenty thousand kisses, and weep An ocean of tears on his face, To show my love to his lifeless body, And feel his hand, though it’s now cold: But these small acts of mourning are useless; And to look at his dead body, What would that do but make my sorrow worse?
Come hither, gracious sovereign, view this body.
Come here, great king, look at this body.
That is to see how deep my grave is made; For with his soul fled all my worldly solace, For seeing him I see my life in death.
This is to see how deep my own grave will be; For with his soul, all my worldly comfort is gone, And seeing him, I see my life in death.
As surely as my soul intends to live With that dread King that took our state upon him To free us from his father’s wrathful curse, I do believe that violent hands were laid Upon the life of this thrice-famed duke.
As sure as my soul intends to live With that terrible King who took our throne To free us from his father’s vengeful curse, I believe that violent hands were used To take the life of this great duke.
A dreadful oath, sworn with a solemn tongue! What instance gives Lord Warwick for his vow?
What a terrible oath, sworn so seriously! What evidence does Lord Warwick have to back up his vow?
See how the blood is settled in his face. Oft have I seen a timely-parted ghost, Of ashy semblance, meagre, pale and bloodless, Being all descended to the labouring heart; Who, in the conflict that it holds with death, Attracts the same for aidance ’gainst the enemy; Which with the heart there cools and ne’er returneth To blush and beautify the cheek again. But see, his face is black and full of blood, His eye-balls further out than when he lived, Staring full ghastly like a strangled man; His hair uprear’d, his nostrils stretched with struggling; His hands abroad display’d, as one that grasp’d And tugg’d for life and was by strength subdued: Look, on the sheets his hair you see, is sticking; His well-proportion’d beard made rough and rugged, Like to the summer’s corn by tempest lodged. It cannot be but he was murder’d here; The least of all these signs were probable.
Look at how the blood has settled on his face. I’ve often seen a spirit that left its body too soon, Pale, weak, and lifeless, Its blood all flowing down to the struggling heart; Who, in the battle it fights with death, Takes the blood to fight the enemy; But once it cools in the heart, it never returns To make the face blush with life again. But look, his face is black and full of blood, His eyes pushed out further than when he was alive, Staring horribly, like a man who’s been strangled; His hair standing up, his nostrils wide from his struggle; His hands spread out, as if he fought for life and was overwhelmed: See, his hair is stuck to the sheets; His well-groomed beard now rough and tangled, Like the summer’s corn knocked down by a storm. It can’t be anything but murder here; Even the smallest of these signs proves it.
Why, Warwick, who should do the duke to death? Myself and Beaufort had him in protection; And we, I hope, sir, are no murderers.
Why, Warwick, who would want to kill the duke? Beaufort and I had him under our protection; And we, I hope, sir, are not murderers.
But both of you were vow’d Duke Humphrey’s foes, And you, forsooth, had the good duke to keep: ’Tis like you would not feast him like a friend; And ’tis well seen he found an enemy.
But both of you were sworn enemies of Duke Humphrey, And you, in truth, were supposed to protect him: It’s likely you didn’t treat him like a friend; And it’s clear he found an enemy instead.
Then you, belike, suspect these noblemen As guilty of Duke Humphrey’s timeless death.
So you, then, suspect these noblemen Are responsible for Duke Humphrey’s untimely death.
Who finds the heifer dead and bleeding fresh And sees fast by a butcher with an axe, But will suspect ’twas he that made the slaughter? Who finds the partridge in the puttock’s nest, But may imagine how the bird was dead, Although the kite soar with unbloodied beak? Even so suspicious is this tragedy.
Who finds a cow dead and bleeding fresh And sees a butcher standing nearby with an axe, But doesn’t suspect it was him who did the killing? Who finds a partridge in a hawk’s nest, But doesn’t guess the bird was killed, Even if the hawk’s beak is still clean? This tragedy is just as suspicious.
Are you the butcher, Suffolk? Where’s your knife? Is Beaufort term’d a kite? Where are his talons?
Are you the killer, Suffolk? Where’s your knife? Is Beaufort called a hawk? Where are his claws?
I wear no knife to slaughter sleeping men; But here’s a vengeful sword, rusted with ease, That shall be scoured in his rancorous heart That slanders me with murder’s crimson badge. Say, if thou darest, proud Lord of Warwick-shire, That I am faulty in Duke Humphrey’s death.
I don’t carry a knife to kill sleeping men; But here’s a vengeful sword, rusted with ease, That will be cleaned in the bitter heart Of the one who falsely accuses me of murder. Say it, if you dare, proud Lord of Warwickshire, That I am guilty of Duke Humphrey’s death.
What dares not Warwick, if false Suffolk dare him?
What wouldn’t Warwick do, if false Suffolk challenges him?
He dares not calm his contumelious spirit Nor cease to be an arrogant controller, Though Suffolk dare him twenty thousand times.
He won’t calm his insulting anger Nor stop being an arrogant bully, Even if Suffolk challenges him twenty thousand times.
Madam, be still; with reverence may I say; For every word you speak in his behalf Is slander to your royal dignity.
Madam, please be quiet; with respect, let me say; For every word you say in his defense Is an insult to your royal dignity.
Blunt-witted lord, ignoble in demeanor! If ever lady wrong’d her lord so much, Thy mother took into her blameful bed Some stern untutor’d churl, and noble stock Was graft with crab-tree slip; whose fruit thou art, And never of the Nevils’ noble race.
Dull-witted lord, dishonorable in manner! If any lady ever wronged her lord this much, Your mother must have taken some harsh, unrefined man to her bed, And noble blood was mixed with lowly stock; And that’s the kind of fruit you are, And not of the noble Nevils’ line.
But that the guilt of murder bucklers thee And I should rob the deathsman of his fee, Quitting thee thereby of ten thousand shames, And that my sovereign’s presence makes me mild, I would, false murderous coward, on thy knee Make thee beg pardon for thy passed speech, And say it was thy mother that thou meant’st That thou thyself was born in bastardy; And after all this fearful homage done, Give thee thy hire and send thy soul to hell, Pernicious blood-sucker of sleeping men!
But because the guilt of murder shields you And I would rob the executioner of his fee, Relieving you of ten thousand shames, And because my king’s presence makes me calm, I would, false murderous coward, make you kneel And beg forgiveness for your words, And admit that it was your mother you meant, That you were born illegitimate; And after all this terrible humiliation, Give you your reward and send your soul to hell, Destructive blood-sucker of sleeping men!
Thou shall be waking well I shed thy blood, If from this presence thou darest go with me.
You will be sorry when I shed your blood, If you dare leave this place and follow me.
Away even now, or I will drag thee hence: Unworthy though thou art, I’ll cope with thee And do some service to Duke Humphrey’s ghost.
Get out right now, or I’ll drag you away: Unworthy as you are, I’ll stand against you And do something for Duke Humphrey’s spirit.
What stronger breastplate than a heart untainted! Thrice is he armed that hath his quarrel just, And he but naked, though lock’d up in steel Whose conscience with injustice is corrupted.
What’s a better protection than a clear conscience! He’s truly armed who has a just cause, But the one who wears armor yet is morally corrupt Is completely unprotected.
What noise is this?
What’s that noise?
Why, how now, lords! your wrathful weapons drawn Here in our presence! dare you be so bold? Why, what tumultuous clamour have we here?
What’s this, lords! You’ve drawn your angry weapons Here in front of us! Are you really this bold? What kind of chaotic noise is this?
The traitorous Warwick with the men of Bury Set all upon me, mighty sovereign.
The traitorous Warwick and the men from Bury Turned everyone against me, mighty king.
[To the Commons, entering] Sirs, stand apart; the king shall know your mind. Dread lord, the commons send you word by me, Unless Lord Suffolk straight be done to death, Or banished fair England’s territories, They will by violence tear him from your palace And torture him with grievous lingering death. They say, by him the good Duke Humphrey died; They say, in him they fear your highness’ death; And mere instinct of love and loyalty, Free from a stubborn opposite intent, As being thought to contradict your liking, Makes them thus forward in his banishment. They say, in care of your most royal person, That if your highness should intend to sleep And charge that no man should disturb your rest In pain of your dislike or pain of death, Yet, notwithstanding such a strait edict, Were there a serpent seen, with forked tongue, That slily glided towards your majesty, It were but necessary you were waked, Lest, being suffer’d in that harmful slumber, The mortal worm might make the sleep eternal; And therefore do they cry, though you forbid, That they will guard you, whether you will or no, From such fell serpents as false Suffolk is, With whose envenomed and fatal sting, Your loving uncle, twenty times his worth, They say, is shamefully bereft of life.
[To the Commons, entering] Gentlemen, step aside; The king will hear your thoughts. Great lord, the people send you this message through me, Unless Lord Suffolk is immediately executed, Or exiled from England’s lands, They will use force to drag him from your palace And slowly torture him to death. They say he is responsible for the good Duke Humphrey’s death; They say they fear you’ll be next because of him; And purely out of love and loyalty, Free from any opposing motive, Because he is seen as going against your wishes, They demand he be exiled. They say they’re protecting you, And that if you were to fall asleep And ordered no one to wake you On pain of death, Yet, if a snake with a forked tongue were seen Slithering toward you, It would be necessary to wake you up, To avoid the deadly danger of that poisonous snake Killing you in your sleep. And that’s why they say, even if you forbid it, They will protect you, whether you want it or not, From wicked snakes like false Suffolk, Whose venomous sting killed your beloved uncle, Who was worth twenty of him.
[Within] An answer from the king, my Lord of Salisbury!
[From within] We demand an answer from the king, my Lord of Salisbury!
’Tis like the commons, rude unpolish’d hinds, Could send such message to their sovereign: But you, my lord, were glad to be employ’d, To show how quaint an orator you are: But all the honour Salisbury hath won Is, that he was the lord ambassador Sent from a sort of tinkers to the king.
It’s typical of the common folk, rude and unrefined, To send such a message to their king: But you, my lord, are happy to be used, To show off how clever you are at speaking: But all the honor Salisbury has earned Is that he was the ambassador Sent by a group of poor people to the king.
[Within] An answer from the king, or we will all break in!
[From within] We want an answer from the king, or we will all break in!
Go, Salisbury, and tell them all from me. I thank them for their tender loving care; And had I not been cited so by them, Yet did I purpose as they do entreat; For, sure, my thoughts do hourly prophesy Mischance unto my state by Suffolk’s means: And therefore, by His majesty I swear, Whose far unworthy deputy I am, He shall not breathe infection in this air But three days longer, on the pain of death.
Go, Salisbury, and tell them all for me. I thank them for their kind concern; And had I not been pressured by them, I would have planned to do exactly what they ask; For sure, my thoughts warn me daily That Suffolk will bring disaster to my kingdom: And so, I swear by God’s authority, Whose unworthy representative I am, He shall not remain in this land For more than three more days, or he will die.
O Henry, let me plead for gentle Suffolk!
Oh Henry, let me beg for mercy for Suffolk!
Ungentle queen, to call him gentle Suffolk! No more, I say: if thou dost plead for him, Thou wilt but add increase unto my wrath. Had I but said, I would have kept my word, But when I swear, it is irrevocable. If, after three days’ space, thou here be’st found On any ground that I am ruler of, The world shall not be ransom for thy life. Come, Warwick, come, good Warwick, go with me; I have great matters to impart to thee.
Ungrateful queen, calling him merciful Suffolk! No more, I say: if you plead for him, You’ll only make me angrier. If I had only said I would keep my word, But when I swear, it’s final. If, after three days, you’re still here On any land that I rule, The world won’t be able to save you. Come, Warwick, come, good Warwick, come with me; I have important matters to discuss with you.
Mischance and sorrow go along with you! Heart’s discontent and sour affliction Be playfellows to keep you company! There’s two of you; the devil make a third! And threefold vengeance tend upon your steps!
Bad luck and sorrow go with you! Heartache and bitterness be your companions! There’s two of you; may the devil join you! And may threefold revenge follow you wherever you go!
Cease, gentle queen, these execrations, And let thy Suffolk take his heavy leave.
Stop, gentle queen, with these curses, And let Suffolk leave in peace.
Fie, coward woman and soft-hearted wretch! Hast thou not spirit to curse thine enemy?
Shame on you, cowardly woman and weak fool! Don’t you have the courage to curse your enemy?
A plague upon them! wherefore should I curse them? Would curses kill, as doth the mandrake’s groan, I would invent as bitter-searching terms, As curst, as harsh and horrible to hear, Deliver’d strongly through my fixed teeth, With full as many signs of deadly hate, As lean-faced Envy in her loathsome cave: My tongue should stumble in mine earnest words; Mine eyes should sparkle like the beaten flint; Mine hair be fixed on end, as one distract; Ay, every joint should seem to curse and ban: And even now my burthen’d heart would break, Should I not curse them. Poison be their drink! Gall, worse than gall, the daintiest that they taste! Their sweetest shade a grove of cypress trees! Their chiefest prospect murdering basilisks! Their softest touch as smart as lizards’ sting! Their music frightful as the serpent’s hiss, And boding screech-owls make the concert full! All the foul terrors in dark-seated hell--
A plague on them! Why should I curse them? If curses could kill, like the scream of a mandrake, I would come up with the most bitter, searching words, As harsh and awful to hear, Said with all the hate I feel, My tongue would stutter with the force of my anger; My eyes would burn like struck flint; My hair would stand on end, like someone mad; Every joint in my body would seem to curse them; And right now my heavy heart would break, If I didn’t curse them. Poison be their drink! Gall, worse than gall, be their finest taste! Their sweetest shade a grove of cypress trees! Their worst vision venomous snakes! Their softest touch as painful as a lizard’s sting! Their music as frightening as a serpent’s hiss, And owl’s shriek fill the air! All the terrifying creatures of hell--
Enough, sweet Suffolk; thou torment’st thyself; And these dread curses, like the sun ’gainst glass, Or like an overcharged gun, recoil, And turn the force of them upon thyself.
Enough, sweet Suffolk; you’re torturing yourself; And these terrible curses, like the sun against glass, Or like an overcharged gun, will bounce back, And turn their force on you instead.
You bade me ban, and will you bid me leave? Now, by the ground that I am banish’d from, Well could I curse away a winter’s night, Though standing naked on a mountain top, Where biting cold would never let grass grow, And think it but a minute spent in sport.
You told me to curse, and now you want me to stop? Now, by the land I’ve been exiled from, I could curse away an entire winter’s night, Even if I were standing naked on a mountaintop, Where the biting cold would prevent any grass from growing, And I’d still think of it as just a minute of fun.
O, let me entreat thee cease. Give me thy hand, That I may dew it with my mournful tears; Nor let the rain of heaven wet this place, To wash away my woful monuments. O, could this kiss be printed in thy hand, That thou mightst think upon these by the seal, Through whom a thousand sighs are breathed for thee! So, get thee gone, that I may know my grief; ’Tis but surmised whiles thou art standing by, As one that surfeits thinking on a want. I will repeal thee, or, be well assured, Adventure to be banished myself: And banished I am, if but from thee. Go; speak not to me; even now be gone. O, go not yet! Even thus two friends condemn’d Embrace and kiss and take ten thousand leaves, Loather a hundred times to part than die. Yet now farewell; and farewell life with thee!
Oh, let me beg you, stop. Give me your hand, So I can wet it with my sorrowful tears; Don’t let the rain from heaven wet this place, To wash away my sorrowful memories. Oh, if only this kiss could be left on your hand, So that you might remember these moments like a seal, Through which a thousand sighs are breathed for you! Now, go away, so I can feel my grief; It’s only a guess while you’re standing here, Like someone who’s overwhelmed by thoughts of need. I’ll send you away, or, rest assured, I’ll risk being banished myself: And I’m already banished, if only from you. Go; don’t speak to me; just leave now. Oh, don’t go yet! Even now, two condemned friends Hug and kiss and say a thousand goodbyes, More reluctant to part than to die. But now farewell; and farewell life with you!
Thus is poor Suffolk ten times banished; Once by the king, and three times thrice by thee. ’Tis not the land I care for, wert thou thence; A wilderness is populous enough, So Suffolk had thy heavenly company: For where thou art, there is the world itself, With every several pleasure in the world, And where thou art not, desolation. I can no more: live thou to joy thy life; Myself no joy in nought but that thou livest.
This is how poor Suffolk is banished ten times; Once by the king, and three times three by you. It’s not the land I care about, even if you left; A wilderness is crowded enough, As long as Suffolk has your heavenly company: For where you are, there is the world itself, With every pleasure that exists in the world, And where you are not, there is desolation. I can’t say more: live, and enjoy your life; I have no joy except that you live.
Wither goes Vaux so fast? what news, I prithee?
Where is Vaux going so fast? What’s the news, please?
To signify unto his majesty That Cardinal Beaufort is at point of death; For suddenly a grievous sickness took him, That makes him gasp and stare and catch the air, Blaspheming God and cursing men on earth. Sometimes he talks as if Duke Humphrey’s ghost Were by his side; sometime he calls the king, And whispers to his pillow, as to him, The secrets of his overcharged soul; And I am sent to tell his majesty That even now he cries aloud for him.
I’m here to inform his majesty That Cardinal Beaufort is on the verge of death; A sudden illness took him, And now he’s gasping for air, staring around, Blaspheming God and cursing men on earth. Sometimes he talks as though Duke Humphrey’s ghost Were by his side; sometimes he calls for the king, And whispers to his pillow, as if to him, The secrets of his troubled soul; And I’ve been sent to tell his majesty That right now he’s crying out for him.
Go tell this heavy message to the king.
Go tell this sad news to the king.
Ay me! what is this world! what news are these! But wherefore grieve I at an hour’s poor loss, Omitting Suffolk’s exile, my soul’s treasure? Why only, Suffolk, mourn I not for thee, And with the southern clouds contend in tears, Theirs for the earth’s increase, mine for my sorrows? Now get thee hence: the king, thou know’st, is coming; If thou be found by me, thou art but dead.
Oh, what is this world! What news are these! But why should I grieve over a small loss of an hour, When I’m missing Suffolk, the treasure of my soul? Why do I only mourn for Suffolk, And compete with the southern clouds in tears, Their tears for the earth’s growth, mine for my sorrow? Now go away: the king, you know, is coming; If you are found by me, you’ll be dead.
If I depart from thee, I cannot live; And in thy sight to die, what were it else But like a pleasant slumber in thy lap? Here could I breathe my soul into the air, As mild and gentle as the cradle-babe Dying with mother’s dug between its lips: Where, from thy sight, I should be raging mad, And cry out for thee to close up mine eyes, To have thee with thy lips to stop my mouth; So shouldst thou either turn my flying soul, Or I should breathe it so into thy body, And then it lived in sweet Elysium. To die by thee were but to die in jest; From thee to die were torture more than death: O, let me stay, befall what may befall!
If I leave you, I cannot live; And to die in your sight, what would it be But like a peaceful sleep in your lap? Here I could breathe my soul into the air, As gentle and calm as a baby dying With its mother’s breast between its lips: But if I were out of your sight, I’d go mad, And cry for you to close my eyes, To have you stop my mouth with your lips; Then you’d either turn my flying soul, Or I’d breathe it into your body, And it would live in sweet paradise. To die by you would be like dying in fun; To die away from you would be torture, worse than death: Oh, let me stay, whatever may come!
Away! though parting be a fretful corrosive, It is applied to a deathful wound. To France, sweet Suffolk: let me hear from thee; For wheresoe’er thou art in this world’s globe, I’ll have an Iris that shall find thee out.
Go away! Though parting is a painful corrosive, It’s still a remedy for a deadly wound. Go to France, sweet Suffolk: let me hear from you; For wherever you are in this world, I’ll find a messenger that will track you down.
I go.
I’ll go.
And take my heart with thee.
And take my heart with you.
A jewel, lock’d into the wofull’st cask That ever did contain a thing of worth. Even as a splitted bark, so sunder we This way fall I to death.
A jewel locked in the saddest box That ever held something of value. Just like a broken ship, so we part This way I fall to death.
This way for me.
This way for me.