Original
Modern English
What counsel, lords? Edward from Belgia, With hasty Germans and blunt Hollanders, Hath pass’d in safety through the narrow seas, And with his troops doth march amain to London; And many giddy people flock to him.
What’s the plan, lords? Edward has safely crossed from Belgium, With quick Germans and blunt Dutchmen, He’s made it through the narrow seas without harm, And now he’s marching his army to London; And many foolish people are flocking to him.
Let’s levy men, and beat him back again.
Let’s raise an army and drive him back.
A little fire is quickly trodden out; Which, being suffer’d, rivers cannot quench.
A small fire can be quickly put out; But if you let it burn, no rivers can stop it.
In Warwickshire I have true-hearted friends, Not mutinous in peace, yet bold in war; Those will I muster up: and thou, son Clarence, Shalt stir up in Suffolk, Norfolk, and in Kent, The knights and gentlemen to come with thee: Thou, brother Montague, in Buckingham, Northampton and in Leicestershire, shalt find Men well inclined to hear what thou command’st: And thou, brave Oxford, wondrous well beloved, In Oxfordshire shalt muster up thy friends. My sovereign, with the loving citizens, Like to his island girt in with the ocean, Or modest Dian circled with her nymphs, Shall rest in London till we come to him. Fair lords, take leave and stand not to reply. Farewell, my sovereign.
In Warwickshire, I have loyal friends, Not rebellious in peace, but brave in war; I’ll gather them together. And you, son Clarence, Will stir up knights and gentlemen in Suffolk, Norfolk, and Kent, To join you. You, brother Montague, in Buckingham, Northampton, and Leicestershire, will find Men who are eager to follow your orders. And you, brave Oxford, beloved by all, Will gather your supporters in Oxfordshire. My king, surrounded by loving citizens, Will remain in London, safe like an island surrounded by the sea, Or like modest Diana surrounded by her nymphs, Until we can join him. Farewell, my lords, don’t hesitate or argue. Farewell, my king.
Farewell, my Hector, and my Troy’s true hope.
Farewell, my Hector, and the true hope of Troy.
In sign of truth, I kiss your highness’ hand.
To show my loyalty, I kiss your hand, my lord.
Well-minded Clarence, be thou fortunate!
Well-hearted Clarence, may you be lucky!
Comfort, my lord; and so I take my leave.
Take heart, my lord; I’ll take my leave now.
And thus I seal my truth, and bid adieu.
And this seals my loyalty. Farewell.
Sweet Oxford, and my loving Montague, And all at once, once more a happy farewell.
Sweet Oxford, and my loving Montague, Farewell to you both, and to all of you, once more. A happy farewell.
Farewell, sweet lords: let’s meet at Coventry.
Farewell, my sweet lords. Let’s meet at Coventry.
Here at the palace I will rest awhile. Cousin of Exeter, what thinks your lordship? Methinks the power that Edward hath in field Should not be able to encounter mine.
I’ll rest here at the palace for a while. Exeter, what do you think? It seems to me that Edward’s army in the field Shouldn’t be strong enough to face mine.
The doubt is that he will seduce the rest.
The worry is that he might win over the rest of them.
That’s not my fear; my meed hath got me fame: I have not stopp’d mine ears to their demands, Nor posted off their suits with slow delays; My pity hath been balm to heal their wounds, My mildness hath allay’d their swelling griefs, My mercy dried their water-flowing tears; I have not been desirous of their wealth, Nor much oppress’d them with great subsidies. Nor forward of revenge, though they much err’d: Then why should they love Edward more than me? No, Exeter, these graces challenge grace: And when the lion fawns upon the lamb, The lamb will never cease to follow him.
That’s not my concern; my actions have earned me fame: I haven’t ignored their requests, Nor delayed their petitions with hesitation; My compassion has healed their wounds, My gentleness has eased their grief, My mercy has dried their tears; I haven’t been greedy for their wealth, Nor heavily burdened them with taxes. Nor have I sought revenge, even though they’ve wronged me. So why should they love Edward more than me? No, Exeter, my virtues demand respect: And when a lion shows kindness to a lamb, The lamb will never stop following him.
Hark, hark, my lord! what shouts are these?
Listen, listen, my lord! What are these shouts?
Seize on the shame-faced Henry, bear him hence; And once again proclaim us King of England. You are the fount that makes small brooks to flow: Now stops thy spring; my sea sha$l suck them dry, And swell so much the higher by their ebb. Hence with him to the Tower; let him not speak.
Capture the shameful Henry, take him away; And once again declare us King of England. You are the source that makes small streams flow: Now your spring stops; my sea will dry them up, And rise even higher by their retreat. Take him to the Tower; don’t let him speak.
And, lords, towards Coventry bend we our course Where peremptory Warwick now remains: The sun shines hot; and, if we use delay, Cold biting winter mars our hoped-for hay.
And, lords, let’s head towards Coventry Where stubborn Warwick is now waiting: The sun is hot, and if we delay, Cold, biting winter will ruin our expected hay.
Away betimes, before his forces join, And take the great-grown traitor unawares: Brave warriors, march amain towards Coventry.
Leave early, before his forces come together, And catch the traitor off guard: Brave soldiers, march quickly towards Coventry.