Original
Modern English
How fares my lord? speak, Beaufort, to thy sovereign.
How is my lord? Speak, Beaufort, to your king.
If thou be’st death, I’ll give thee England’s treasure, Enough to purchase such another island, So thou wilt let me live, and feel no pain.
If you are death, I’ll give you England’s wealth, Enough to buy another island like this one, If you’ll just let me live and not feel pain.
Ah, what a sign it is of evil life, Where death’s approach is seen so terrible!
Ah, what a sign of a wicked life it is, When death’s arrival is seen as so frightening!
Beaufort, it is thy sovereign speaks to thee.
Beaufort, it’s your king who’s speaking to you.
Bring me unto my trial when you will. Died he not in his bed? where should he die? Can I make men live, whether they will or no? O, torture me no more! I will confess. Alive again? then show me where he is: I’ll give a thousand pound to look upon him. He hath no eyes, the dust hath blinded them. Comb down his hair; look, look! it stands upright, Like lime-twigs set to catch my winged soul. Give me some drink; and bid the apothecary Bring the strong poison that I bought of him.
Take me to my trial whenever you want. Didn’t he die in his bed? Where else could he die? Can I make people live, whether they want to or not? Oh, stop torturing me! I’ll confess. Alive again? Then show me where he is: I’ll give a thousand pounds just to see him. He has no eyes, the dust has blinded them. Comb down his hair; look, look! It stands up straight, Like branches set to catch my escaping soul. Give me something to drink; and tell the apothecary To bring the strong poison I bought from him.
O thou eternal Mover of the heavens. Look with a gentle eye upon this wretch! O, beat away the busy meddling fiend That lays strong siege unto this wretch’s soul. And from his bosom purge this black despair!
O you eternal mover of the heavens, Look kindly on this miserable man! Oh, drive away the meddling evil spirit That lays siege to this wretched soul. And cleanse this black despair from his heart!
See, how the pangs of death do make him grin!
Look, how the pains of death make him grin!
Disturb him not; let him pass peaceably.
Don’t disturb him; let him pass quietly.
Peace to his soul, if God’s good pleasure be! Lord cardinal, if thou think’st on heaven’s bliss, Hold up thy hand, make signal of thy hope. He dies, and makes no sign. O God, forgive him!
Peace to his soul, if it’s God’s will! Lord Cardinal, if you think of heaven’s joy, Raise your hand, give a sign of your hope. He’s dying, and he gives no sign. Oh God, forgive him!
So bad a death argues a monstrous life.
Such a horrible death shows what a monstrous life he lived.
Forbear to judge, for we are sinners all. Close up his eyes and draw the curtain close; And let us all to meditation.
Don’t judge, for we’re all sinners. Close his eyes and draw the curtains shut; And let’s all meditate.