Original
Modern English
Heat me these irons hot; and look thou stand Within the arras: when I strike my foot Upon the bosom of the ground, rush forth, And bind the boy which you shall find with me Fast to the chair: be heedful: hence, and watch.
Heat these irons up; and make sure you stand Behind the curtain: when I stamp my foot On the ground, rush in, And tie the boy you find with me To the chair: be careful: go now, and watch.
I hope your warrant will bear out the deed.
I hope your orders will justify what we’re doing.
Uncleanly scruples! fear not you: look to’t.
Don’t worry about doubts! Just do it.
Young lad, come forth; I have to say with you.
Young boy, come here; I need to speak with you.
Good morrow, Hubert.
Good morning, Hubert.
Good morrow, little prince.
Good morning, little prince.
As little prince, having so great a title To be more prince, as may be. You are sad.
As a little prince, with such a big title To be more of a prince, as I can be. You seem sad.
Indeed, I have been merrier.
Yes, I’ve been in better spirits.
Mercy on me! Methinks no body should be sad but I: Yet, I remember, when I was in France, Young gentlemen would be as sad as night, Only for wantonness. By my christendom, So I were out of prison and kept sheep, I should be as merry as the day is long; And so I would be here, but that I doubt My uncle practises more harm to me: He is afraid of me and I of him: Is it my fault that I was Geffrey’s son? No, indeed, is’t not; and I would to heaven I were your son, so you would love me, Hubert.
Poor me! I think no one should be sad except for me: But then I remember, when I was in France, Young men would be sad just for fun, Just for mischief. By my faith, If I were out of prison and looking after sheep, I’d be as happy as the day is long; And I’d be happy here too, if I didn’t fear My uncle means to harm me: He’s scared of me and I’m scared of him: Is it my fault that I’m Geoffrey’s son? No, really, it’s not; and I wish to heaven That I were your son, and you would love me, Hubert.
[Aside] If I talk to him, with his innocent prate He will awake my mercy which lies dead: Therefore I will be sudden and dispatch.
[Aside] If I talk to him, with all his innocent chatter He’ll awaken the mercy I’ve buried deep: So I’ll act quickly and get this over with.
Are you sick, Hubert? you look pale to-day: In sooth, I would you were a little sick, That I might sit all night and watch with you: I warrant I love you more than you do me.
Are you ill, Hubert? You look pale today: Honestly, I wish you were a little sick, So I could sit up all night and keep you company: I bet I love you more than you love me.
[Aside] His words do take possession of my bosom. Read here, young Arthur.
[Aside] His words are taking control of my heart. Read this, young Arthur.
How now, foolish rheum! Turning dispiteous torture out of door! I must be brief, lest resolution drop Out at mine eyes in tender womanish tears. Can you not read it? Is it not fair writ?
What’s this, foolish sickness? Pushing away the painful torture! I must hurry, or I’ll end up crying Tears that make me seem weak and womanly. Can’t you read it? Isn’t it written clearly?
Too fairly, Hubert, for so foul effect: Must you with hot irons burn out both mine eyes?
It’s too beautifully written, Hubert, for such a cruel purpose: Do you really have to burn my eyes out with hot irons?
Young boy, I must.
Yes, young boy, I must.
And will you?
And will you?
And I will.
Yes, I will.
Have you the heart? When your head did but ache, I knit my handercher about your brows, The best I had, a princess wrought it me, And I did never ask it you again; And with my hand at midnight held your head, And like the watchful minutes to the hour, Still and anon cheer’d up the heavy time, Saying, ’What lack you?’ and ’Where lies your grief?’ Or ’What good love may I perform for you?’ Many a poor man’s son would have lien still And ne’er have spoke a loving word to you; But you at your sick service had a prince. Nay, you may think my love was crafty love And call it cunning: do, an if you will: If heaven be pleased that you must use me ill, Why then you must. Will you put out mine eyes? These eyes that never did nor never shall So much as frown on you.
Do you have the heart for this? When your head was hurting, I tied my handkerchief around your forehead, The best one I had, made for me by a princess, And I never asked you for it again; And at midnight I held your head in my hands, And like the minutes passing by to the hour, I kept you company, trying to cheer you up, Saying, "What do you need?" and "What’s wrong?" Or "What good thing can I do for you?" Many a poor man’s son would have stayed silent And never said a kind word to you; But you, in your sickness, had a prince. No, you might think my love was just crafty love And call it cleverness: go ahead, if you like: But if heaven decides that you must treat me badly, Then so be it. Will you put out my eyes? These eyes that never frowned at you, and never will.
I have sworn to do it; And with hot irons must I burn them out.
I’ve sworn to do it; And with hot irons, I must burn them out.
Ah, none but in this iron age would do it! The iron of itself, though heat red-hot, Approaching near these eyes, would drink my tears And quench his fiery indignation Even in the matter of mine innocence; Nay, after that, consume away in rust But for containing fire to harm mine eye. Are you more stubborn-hard than hammer’d iron? An if an angel should have come to me And told me Hubert should put out mine eyes, I would not have believed him,--no tongue but Hubert’s.
Ah, no one but in this cruel time would do it! The iron, even if it’s red-hot, If it comes near these eyes, would drink my tears And cool its fiery anger Even because of my innocence; After that, it would rust away Just from holding the fire that harms my eyes. Are you harder than hammered iron? And if an angel had come to me And told me Hubert was going to put out my eyes, I wouldn’t have believed him—only Hubert’s word would make me believe.
Come forth.
Come here.
Do as I bid you do.
Do as I told you.
O, save me, Hubert, save me! my eyes are out Even with the fierce looks of these bloody men.
Oh, save me, Hubert, save me! My eyes are already gone Just from the fierce stares of these bloody men.
Give me the iron, I say, and bind him here.
Give me the iron, I said, and tie him up here.
Alas, what need you be so boisterous-rough? I will not struggle, I will stand stone-still. For heaven sake, Hubert, let me not be bound! Nay, hear me, Hubert, drive these men away, And I will sit as quiet as a lamb; I will not stir, nor wince, nor speak a word, Nor look upon the iron angerly: Thrust but these men away, and I’ll forgive you, Whatever torment you do put me to.
Oh no, why do you have to be so harsh and rough? I won’t struggle, I’ll stay perfectly still. For heaven’s sake, Hubert, don’t tie me up! No, listen to me, Hubert, send these men away, And I’ll sit as still as a lamb; I won’t move, flinch, or say a word, Or look at the iron with anger: Just send these men away, and I’ll forgive you, No matter what pain you put me through.
Go, stand within; let me alone with him.
Go inside; leave me alone with him.
I am best pleased to be from such a deed.
I’d rather not be part of such a deed.
Alas, I then have chid away my friend! He hath a stern look, but a gentle heart: Let him come back, that his compassion may Give life to yours.
Oh no, I’ve just chased away my friend! He looks stern, but he has a kind heart: Let him come back, so his compassion can Give life to yours.
Come, boy, prepare yourself.
Come on, boy, get ready.
Is there no remedy?
Is there no way out of this?
None, but to lose your eyes.
No, except for losing your eyes.
O heaven, that there were but a mote in yours, A grain, a dust, a gnat, a wandering hair, Any annoyance in that precious sense! Then feeling what small things are boisterous there, Your vile intent must needs seem horrible.
Oh heaven, I wish there was even a speck in your eyes, A tiny grain, a speck of dust, a gnat, a stray hair, Any irritation in that precious sense! Then, feeling how even the smallest things can hurt there, Your wicked intentions would seem truly awful.
Is this your promise? go to, hold your tongue.
Is this your promise? Go on, hold your tongue.
Hubert, the utterance of a brace of tongues Must needs want pleading for a pair of eyes: Let me not hold my tongue, let me not, Hubert; Or, Hubert, if you will, cut out my tongue, So I may keep mine eyes: O, spare mine eyes. Though to no use but still to look on you! Lo, by my truth, the instrument is cold And would not harm me.
Hubert, the words of two mouths Can’t beg enough for a pair of eyes: Don’t make me hold my tongue, don’t, Hubert; Or, Hubert, if you want, cut out my tongue, So I can keep my eyes: Oh, spare my eyes. Even if it’s just to keep looking at you! Look, by my word, the tool is cold And won’t hurt me.
I can heat it, boy.
I can heat it, boy.
No, in good sooth: the fire is dead with grief, Being create for comfort, to be used In undeserved extremes: see else yourself; There is no malice in this burning coal; The breath of heaven has blown his spirit out And strew’d repentent ashes on his head.
No, truly: the fire is dead with sorrow, Created to bring comfort, but now used In undeserved extremes: look for yourself; There’s no malice in this burning coal; The breath of heaven has blown out its flame And scattered repentant ashes on its head.
But with my breath I can revive it, boy.
But with my breath, I can bring it back, boy.
An if you do, you will but make it blush And glow with shame of your proceedings, Hubert: Nay, it perchance will sparkle in your eyes; And like a dog that is compell’d to fight, Snatch at his master that doth tarre him on. All things that you should use to do me wrong Deny their office: only you do lack That mercy which fierce fire and iron extends, Creatures of note for mercy-lacking uses.
And if you do, you’ll only make it blush And burn with shame for what you’re doing, Hubert: No, it might even sparkle in your eyes; Like a dog that’s forced to fight, It might lash out at its master who urges it on. All the things you want to use to hurt me Will refuse to do their job: only you lack The mercy that fierce fire and iron show, Creatures known for being merciless.
Well, see to live; I will not touch thine eye For all the treasure that thine uncle owes: Yet am I sworn and I did purpose, boy, With this same very iron to burn them out.
Well, I’ll make sure you stay alive; I won’t touch your eye For all the treasure your uncle owes me: But I am sworn, and I did plan, boy, To burn them out with this very iron.
O, now you look like Hubert! all this while You were disguised.
Oh, now you look like Hubert! All this time You were pretending to be someone else.
Peace; no more. Adieu. Your uncle must not know but you are dead; I’ll fill these dogged spies with false reports: And, pretty child, sleep doubtless and secure, That Hubert, for the wealth of all the world, Will not offend thee.
Quiet; no more. Goodbye. Your uncle must not know you are alive; I’ll feed these nasty spies with lies: And, dear child, sleep safe and sound, Because Hubert, for all the wealth in the world, Will not harm you.
O heaven! I thank you, Hubert.
Oh, thank God! I thank you, Hubert.
Silence; no more: go closely in with me: Much danger do I undergo for thee.
Silence; no more: come with me quietly: I risk a lot for you.