Original
Modern English
Yorkshire.
Yorkshire.
Forspent with toil, as runners with a race, I lay me down a little while to breathe; For strokes received, and many blows repaid, Have robb’d my strong-knit sinews of their strength, And spite of spite needs must I rest awhile.
Exhausted from the effort, like runners in a race, I’ll lie down for a moment to catch my breath; For the blows I’ve taken, and the ones I’ve given back, have drained my strong muscles of their power, and in spite of all, I must rest a little while.
Smile, gentle heaven! or strike, ungentle death! For this world frowns, and Edward’s sun is clouded.
Smile, gentle heaven! or strike, ungentle death! (Please, kind heaven, smile on us! Or, if not, strike me down, cruel death!) For this world frowns, and Edward’s sun is clouded. (This world is against us, and my fate seems dark.)
How now, my lord! what hap? what hope of good?
How now, my lord! what hap? what hope of good? (What’s happening, my lord? What hope do we have?)
Our hap is loss, our hope but sad despair; Our ranks are broke, and ruin follows us: What counsel give you? whither shall we fly?
Our hap is loss, our hope but sad despair; (Our luck is loss, and all we have is hopeless despair.) Our ranks are broke, and ruin follows us: (Our army is broken, and ruin is following us.) What counsel give you? whither shall we fly? (What advice do you have? Where should we go?)
Bootless is flight, they follow us with wings; And weak we are and cannot shun pursuit.
Bootless is flight, they follow us with wings; (Running away is useless; they chase us like they’re flying.) And weak we are and cannot shun pursuit. (We’re weak, and we can’t escape.)
Ah, Warwick, why hast thou withdrawn thyself? Thy brother’s blood the thirsty earth hath drunk, Broach’d with the steely point of Clifford’s lance; And in the very pangs of death he cried, Like to a dismal clangour heard from far, ’Warwick, revenge! brother, revenge my death!’ So, underneath the belly of their steeds, That stain’d their fetlocks in his smoking blood, The noble gentleman gave up the ghost.
Ah, Warwick, why hast thou withdrawn thyself? (Ah, Warwick, why did you leave?) Thy brother’s blood the thirsty earth hath drunk, (The earth has drunk your brother’s blood,) Broach’d with the steely point of Clifford’s lance; (pierced by Clifford’s sharp spear;) And in the very pangs of death he cried, (And as he died, he cried out,) Like to a dismal clangour heard from far, (Like a terrible sound heard from far away,) ’Warwick, revenge! brother, revenge my death!’ (’Warwick, avenge me! Brother, avenge my death!’) So, underneath the belly of their steeds, (And beneath the bellies of their horses,) That stain’d their fetlocks in his smoking blood, (that stained their legs with his blood,) The noble gentleman gave up the ghost. (The noble man died.)
Then let the earth be drunken with our blood: I’ll kill my horse, because I will not fly. Why stand we like soft-hearted women here, Wailing our losses, whiles the foe doth rage; And look upon, as if the tragedy Were play’d in jest by counterfeiting actors? Here on my knee I vow to God above, I’ll never pause again, never stand still, Till either death hath closed these eyes of mine Or fortune given me measure of revenge.
Then let the earth be drunken with our blood: (Then let the earth be soaked with our blood.) I’ll kill my horse, because I will not fly. (I’ll kill my horse, because I won’t run away.) Why stand we like soft-hearted women here, (Why do we stand here like weak women,) Wailing our losses, whiles the foe doth rage; (crying over our losses, while the enemy rages;) And look upon, as if the tragedy (And watch, as if this tragedy) Were play’d in jest by counterfeiting actors? (were just a play, performed by fake actors?) Here on my knee I vow to God above, (Here, on my knee, I swear to God above,) I’ll never pause again, never stand still, (I’ll never stop again, never stand still,) Till either death hath closed these eyes of mine (Until either death closes my eyes) Or fortune given me measure of revenge. (or fate gives me my revenge.)
O Warwick, I do bend my knee with thine; And in this vow do chain my soul to thine! And, ere my knee rise from the earth’s cold face, I throw my hands, mine eyes, my heart to thee, Thou setter up and plucker down of kings, Beseeching thee, if with they will it stands That to my foes this body must be prey, Yet that thy brazen gates of heaven may ope, And give sweet passage to my sinful soul! Now, lords, take leave until we meet again, Where’er it be, in heaven or in earth.
O Warwick, I do bend my knee with thine; (Oh, Warwick, I bend my knee with yours;) And in this vow do chain my soul to thine! (And in this vow, I bind my soul to yours!) And, ere my knee rise from the earth’s cold face, (And before my knee rises from the cold ground,) I throw my hands, mine eyes, my heart to thee, (I give you my hands, my eyes, my heart,) Thou setter up and plucker down of kings, (You who raise and lower kings,) Beseeching thee, if with they will it stands (I beg you, if it is your will) That to my foes this body must be prey, (that my enemies must have my body as their prize,) Yet that thy brazen gates of heaven may ope, (yet may the iron gates of heaven open,) And give sweet passage to my sinful soul! (and allow my sinful soul to enter!) Now, lords, take leave until we meet again, (Now, lords, farewell until we meet again,) Where’er it be, in heaven or in earth. (wherever it may be, in heaven or on earth.)
Brother, give me thy hand; and, gentle Warwick, Let me embrace thee in my weary arms: I, that did never weep, now melt with woe That winter should cut off our spring-time so.
Brother, give me thy hand; and, gentle Warwick, (Brother, give me your hand; and, kind Warwick,) Let me embrace thee in my weary arms: (Let me hold you in my tired arms.) I, that did never weep, now melt with woe (I, who never cried, now melt with sorrow) That winter should cut off our spring-time so. (that winter should end our springtime like this.)
Away, away! Once more, sweet lords farewell.
Away, away! Once more, sweet lords farewell. (Go, go! Once more, farewell, dear lords.)
Yet let us all together to our troops, And give them leave to fly that will not stay; And call them pillars that will stand to us; And, if we thrive, promise them such rewards As victors wear at the Olympian games: This may plant courage in their quailing breasts; For yet is hope of life and victory. Forslow no longer, make we hence amain.
Yet let us all together to our troops, (But let’s all go to our troops together,) And give them leave to fly that will not stay; (and let those who won’t stay go,) And call them pillars that will stand to us; (and call those who will stand with us pillars;) And, if we thrive, promise them such rewards (and, if we succeed, promise them rewards) As victors wear at the Olympian games: (like the winners of the Olympic games wear:) This may plant courage in their quailing breasts; (This might give courage to those who are scared;) For yet is hope of life and victory. (For there is still hope for life and victory.) Forslow no longer, make we hence amain. (No more delaying, let’s go at once.)