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Fie on ambition! fie on myself, that have a sword, and yet am ready to famish! These five days have I hid me in these woods and durst not peep out, for all the country is laid for me; but now am I so hungry that if I might have a lease of my life for a thousand years I could stay no longer. Wherefore, on a brick wall have I climbed into this garden, to see if I can eat grass, or pick a sallet another while, which is not amiss to cool a man’s stomach this hot weather. And I think this word ’sallet’ was born to do me good: for many a time, but for a sallet, my brainpan had been cleft with a brown bill; and many a time, when I have been dry and bravely marching, it hath served me instead of a quart pot to drink in; and now the word ’sallet’ must serve me to feed on.
Damn ambition! Damn myself, who have a sword, and yet am ready to starve! These five days I’ve been hiding in these woods and didn’t dare peek out, for the whole country is set against me; but now I’m so hungry that if I could live for a thousand more years I couldn’t stand it any longer. So, I climbed over a brick wall into this garden, to see if I can eat some grass, or maybe a salad for a while, which isn’t a bad way to cool your stomach in this hot weather. And I think the word ‘salad’ was meant to help me: because many times, if it weren’t for a salad, my skull would’ve been split open with a weapon; and many times, when I’ve been thirsty and marching bravely, it’s served as a drink instead of a quart pot; and now the word ‘salad’ must serve me as food.
Lord, who would live turmoiled in the court, And may enjoy such quiet walks as these? This small inheritance my father left me Contenteth me, and worth a monarchy. I seek not to wax great by others’ waning, Or gather wealth, I care not, with what envy: Sufficeth that I have maintains my state And sends the poor well pleased from my gate.
My lord, who would live in all the chaos of the court, When they could enjoy quiet walks like these? This small inheritance my father left me Satisfies me, and is worth a kingdom. I don’t seek to grow rich by others losing their wealth, Or to gather wealth with envy: It’s enough that I maintain my position And send the poor away happy from my gate.
Here’s the lord of the soil come to seize me for a stray, for entering his fee-simple without leave. Ah, villain, thou wilt betray me, and get a thousand crowns of the king carrying my head to him: but I’ll make thee eat iron like an ostrich, and swallow my sword like a great pin, ere thou and I part.
Here’s the lord of the land come to arrest me for trespassing, for entering his property without permission. Ah, villain, you’ll betray me and collect a thousand crowns from the king for delivering my head to him: but I’ll make you eat iron like an ostrich, and swallow my sword like a large pin, before you and I part.
Why, rude companion, whatsoe’er thou be, I know thee not; why, then, should I betray thee? Is’t not enough to break into my garden, And, like a thief, to come to rob my grounds, Climbing my walls in spite of me the owner, But thou wilt brave me with these saucy terms?
Why, rude companion, whoever you are, I don’t know you; so why should I betray you? Isn’t it enough that you’ve broken into my garden, And, like a thief, come to steal from my land, Climbing my walls in spite of me, the owner? But now you insult me with these bold words?
Brave thee! ay, by the best blood that ever was broached, and beard thee too. Look on me well: I have eat no meat these five days; yet, come thou and thy five men, and if I do not leave you all as dead as a doornail, I pray God I may never eat grass more.
Insult you! Yes, by the best blood that ever was shed, and I’ll challenge you too. Look at me closely: I haven’t eaten in five days; yet, come you and your five men, and if I don’t leave you all dead as a doornail, I pray God I may never eat grass again.
Nay, it shall ne’er be said, while England stands, That Alexander Iden, an esquire of Kent, Took odds to combat a poor famish’d man. Oppose thy steadfast-gazing eyes to mine, See if thou canst outface me with thy looks: Set limb to limb, and thou art far the lesser; Thy hand is but a finger to my fist, Thy leg a stick compared with this truncheon; My foot shall fight with all the strength thou hast; And if mine arm be heaved in the air, Thy grave is digg’d already in the earth. As for words, whose greatness answers words, Let this my sword report what speech forbears.
No, it’ll never be said, while England stands, That Alexander Iden, a squire from Kent, Took advantage of fighting a poor starving man. Look into my steady eyes, see if you can outstare me: Set limb against limb, and you’re clearly the smaller; Your hand is just a finger compared to my fist, Your leg is a stick next to this club; My foot will fight with all the strength you have; And if my arm rises in the air, Your grave will already be dug in the ground. As for words, whose grandeur matches words, Let my sword tell the tale that words won’t.
By my valour, the most complete champion that ever I heard! Steel, if thou turn the edge, or cut not out the burly-boned clown in chines of beef ere thou sleep in thy sheath, I beseech God on my knees thou mayst be turned to hobnails.
By my courage, the greatest fighter I’ve ever heard of! Steel, if you dull your edge, or don’t chop up this big-boned fool into chunks of meat before you rest in your scabbard, I pray God, on my knees, that you turn into hobnails.
O, I am slain! famine and no other hath slain me: let ten thousand devils come against me, and give me but the ten meals I have lost, and I’ll defy them all. Wither, garden; and be henceforth a burying-place to all that do dwell in this house, because the unconquered soul of Cade is fled.
Oh, I’m slain! Famine, and not anything else, has killed me: Let ten thousand devils come for me, and just give me the ten meals I’ve missed, and I’ll defy them all. Wither, garden; and from now on, let it be a burial place for everyone who lives here, because the unconquered soul of Cade is gone.
Is’t Cade that I have slain, that monstrous traitor? Sword, I will hollow thee for this thy deed, And hang thee o’er my tomb when I am dead: Ne’er shall this blood be wiped from thy point; But thou shalt wear it as a herald’s coat, To emblaze the honour that thy master got.
Is this Cade, the monstrous traitor I’ve slain? Sword, I’ll honor you for this deed, And hang you over my grave when I die: Never will this blood be wiped off your blade; Instead, you’ll wear it like a herald’s coat, To show the honor my master achieved.
Iden, farewell, and be proud of thy victory. Tell Kent from me, she hath lost her best man, and exhort all the world to be cowards; for I, that never feared any, am vanquished by famine, not by valour.
Iden, farewell, and be proud of your victory. Tell Kent from me, that she has lost her best man, and urge the whole world to be cowards; because I, who never feared anyone, have been beaten by famine, not by bravery.
How much thou wrong’st me, heaven be my judge. Die, damned wretch, the curse of her that bare thee; And as I thrust thy body in with my sword, So wish I, I might thrust thy soul to hell. Hence will I drag thee headlong by the heels Unto a dunghill which shall be thy grave, And there cut off thy most ungracious head; Which I will bear in triumph to the king, Leaving thy trunk for crows to feed upon.
How wrong you are, heaven be my judge. Die, cursed wretch, the curse of the one who bore you; And just as I thrust your body in with my sword, So I wish I could thrust your soul to hell. Now I’ll drag you by the heels To a dung heap, which will be your grave, And there I’ll cut off your most ungrateful head; Which I’ll take in triumph to the king, Leaving your body for crows to feast on.