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Modern English
Heaven, from thy endless goodness, send prosperous life, long, and ever happy, to the high and mighty princess of England, Elizabeth!
Heaven, from your endless goodness, send a long and happy life to the high and mighty princess of England, Elizabeth!
[Kneeling] And to your royal grace, and the good queen, My noble partners, and myself, thus pray: All comfort, joy, in this most gracious lady, Heaven ever laid up to make parents happy, May hourly fall upon ye!
[Kneeling] And to your royal grace, and the good queen, My noble partners, and myself, we pray: May all comfort and joy be given to this most gracious lady, May heaven always bless what makes parents happy, And may these blessings fall upon you every hour!
Thank you, good lord archbishop: What is her name?
Thank you, good Lord Archbishop: What is her name?
Elizabeth.
Elizabeth.
Stand up, lord.
Stand up, Lord.
With this kiss take my blessing: God protect thee! Into whose hand I give thy life.
With this kiss, take my blessing: God protect you! Into whose care I give your life.
Amen.
Amen.
My noble gossips, ye have been too prodigal: I thank ye heartily; so shall this lady, When she has so much English.
My noble godparents, you’ve been too generous: I thank you from the heart; so will this lady, When she has as much English as you’ve given her.
Let me speak, sir, For heaven now bids me; and the words I utter Let none think flattery, for they’ll find ’em truth. This royal infant--heaven still move about her!-- Though in her cradle, yet now promises Upon this land a thousand thousand blessings, Which time shall bring to ripeness: she shall be-- But few now living can behold that goodness-- A pattern to all princes living with her, And all that shall succeed: Saba was never More covetous of wisdom and fair virtue Than this pure soul shall be: all princely graces, That mould up such a mighty piece as this is, With all the virtues that attend the good, Shall still be doubled on her: truth shall nurse her, Holy and heavenly thoughts still counsel her: She shall be loved and fear’d: her own shall bless her; Her foes shake like a field of beaten corn, And hang their heads with sorrow: good grows with her: In her days every man shall eat in safety, Under his own vine, what he plants; and sing The merry songs of peace to all his neighbours: God shall be truly known; and those about her From her shall read the perfect ways of honour, And by those claim their greatness, not by blood. Nor shall this peace sleep with her: but as when The bird of wonder dies, the maiden phoenix, Her ashes new create another heir, As great in admiration as herself; So shall she leave her blessedness to one, When heaven shall call her from this cloud of darkness, Who from the sacred ashes of her honour Shall star-like rise, as great in fame as she was, And so stand fix’d: peace, plenty, love, truth, terror, That were the servants to this chosen infant, Shall then be his, and like a vine grow to him: Wherever the bright sun of heaven shall shine, His honour and the greatness of his name Shall be, and make new nations: he shall flourish, And, like a mountain cedar, reach his branches To all the plains about him: our children’s children Shall see this, and bless heaven.
Let me speak, sir, For heaven has given me this duty; and the words I say Let no one think are flattery, for they will be true. This royal child—may heaven keep watch over her! Though she’s still in her cradle, she promises A thousand blessings for this land, Which time will bring to full bloom: she will be— Few of us alive today will see such goodness— A model for all rulers who live with her, And all who follow after: Saba was never More eager for wisdom and virtue Than this pure soul shall be: all noble qualities, That shape a mighty ruler, and all the virtues that Accompany goodness, will be doubled on her: truth shall raise her, Holy thoughts will guide her: She will be loved and feared: her people will bless her; Her enemies will tremble like a field of beaten corn, And bow their heads in sorrow: goodness will grow with her: In her days, every man will eat in peace, Under his own vine, what he grows; and sing Joyful songs of peace with his neighbors: God will be truly known; and those around her Will learn the perfect ways of honor from her, And by them claim their greatness, not by birth. Nor will this peace die with her: but like when The wondrous bird dies, the phoenix, Her ashes will give rise to another heir, As great in admiration as she was; So she will pass on her blessings to one, When heaven calls her from this world of darkness, Who from the sacred ashes of her honor Will rise like a star, as famous as she was, And stand firm: peace, prosperity, love, truth, and awe, That served this chosen child, Will then serve him, and like a vine, grow with him: Wherever the bright sun of heaven shines, His honor and greatness will spread, and make new nations: he will prosper, And like a towering cedar, stretch his branches Over all the land around him: our children’s children Will see this and bless heaven.
Thou speakest wonders.
You speak wonders.
She shall be, to the happiness of England, An aged princess; many days shall see her, And yet no day without a deed to crown it. Would I had known no more! but she must die, She must, the saints must have her; yet a virgin, A most unspotted lily shall she pass To the ground, and all the world shall mourn her.
She will be, for the happiness of England, An elderly princess; many days will see her, And every day will have something noble to remember. If only I didn’t know more! But she must die, She must, the saints must have her; yet as a virgin, A pure, unblemished lily will she pass From this world, and the whole world will mourn her.
O lord archbishop, Thou hast made me now a man! never, before This happy child, did I get any thing: This oracle of comfort has so pleased me, That when I am in heaven I shall desire To see what this child does, and praise my Maker. I thank ye all. To you, my good lord mayor, And your good brethren, I am much beholding; I have received much honour by your presence, And ye shall find me thankful. Lead the way, lords: Ye must all see the queen, and she must thank ye, She will be sick else. This day, no man think Has business at his house; for all shall stay: This little one shall make it holiday.
O Lord Archbishop, You’ve made me a true man! Never, before This joyful child, did I receive such blessings: This oracle of comfort has so pleased me, That when I’m in heaven, I’ll want to see What this child does, and praise my Maker. I thank you all. To you, my good Lord Mayor, And your good fellow citizens, I am deeply grateful; I have received much honor through your presence, And you will find me thankful. Lead the way, lords: You must all see the queen, and she must thank you, Or she’ll be ill. No man should think He has any business at home today; for all will stay: This little one will make it a holiday.
’Tis ten to one this play can never please All that are here: some come to take their ease, And sleep an act or two; but those, we fear, We have frighted with our trumpets; so, ’tis clear, They’ll say ’tis naught: others, to hear the city Abused extremely, and to cry ’That’s witty!’ Which we have not done neither: that, I fear, All the expected good we’re like to hear For this play at this time, is only in The merciful construction of good women; For such a one we show’d ’em: if they smile, And say ’twill do, I know, within a while All the best men are ours; for ’tis ill hap, If they hold when their ladies bid ’em clap.
It’s highly likely this play won’t please Everyone who’s here: some came to relax, And sleep through an act or two; but those, we fear, We’ve scared off with our trumpets; so, it’s obvious, They’ll say it’s terrible: others, to hear the city Criticized harshly, and to say ‘That’s clever!’ Which we haven’t done either: that, I fear, All the positive feedback we’re likely to get For this play at this time, depends on The kind understanding of good women; For such a one we’ve shown them: if they smile, And say ‘It’ll do,’ I know, after a while All the best men will agree with us; because it’s bad luck, If they don’t clap when their ladies tell them to.