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Modern English
’Tis strange that they should so depart from home, And not send back my messenger.
It’s strange that they would leave home so suddenly, And not send my messenger back.
As I learn’d, The night before there was no purpose in them Of this remove.
From what I heard, The night before, they had no intention Of leaving like this.
Hail to thee, noble master!
Greetings, noble master!
Ha! Makest thou this shame thy pastime?
What! Do you make a joke of this humiliation?
No, my lord.
No, my lord.
Ha, ha! he wears cruel garters. Horses are tied by the heads, dogs and bears by the neck, monkeys by the loins, and men by the legs: when a man’s over-lusty at legs, then he wears wooden nether-stocks.
Ha, ha! He wears tight stockings. Horses are tied by their heads, dogs and bears by their necks, monkeys by their waists, and men by their legs. When a man’s too eager on his feet, he wears wooden leggings.
What’s he that hath so much thy place mistook To set thee here?
Who is it that so greatly misunderstood your rank to place you here?
It is both he and she; Your son and daughter.
It’s both him and her; Your son and daughter.
No.
No.
Yes.
Yes.
No, I say.
I say no.
I say, yea.
I say yes.
No, no, they would not.
No, no, they wouldn’t.
Yes, they have.
Yes, they did.
By Jupiter, I swear, no.
By Jupiter, I swear, no.
By Juno, I swear, ay.
By Juno, I swear, yes.
They durst not do ’t; They could not, would not do ’t; ’tis worse than murder, To do upon respect such violent outrage: Resolve me, with all modest haste, which way Thou mightst deserve, or they impose, this usage, Coming from us.
They wouldn’t dare; They couldn’t, they wouldn’t do it; it’s worse than murder to commit such violence out of respect. Explain to me, quickly, how you deserved this treatment or why they imposed it, coming from me.
My lord, when at their home I did commend your highness’ letters to them, Ere I was risen from the place that show’d My duty kneeling, came there a reeking post, Stew’d in his haste, half breathless, panting forth From Goneril his mistress salutations; Deliver’d letters, spite of intermission, Which presently they read: on whose contents, They summon’d up their meiny, straight took horse; Commanded me to follow, and attend The leisure of their answer; gave me cold looks: And meeting here the other messenger, Whose welcome, I perceived, had poison’d mine,-- Being the very fellow that of late Display’d so saucily against your highness,-- Having more man than wit about me, drew: He raised the house with loud and coward cries. Your son and daughter found this trespass worth The shame which here it suffers.
My lord, when at their home I delivered your letters to them, before I even rose from my kneeling position, a sweating messenger rushed in, out of breath, panting with greetings from Goneril, his mistress. He delivered letters, not waiting a moment, which they read immediately. After that, they called their servants, mounted their horses and ordered me to follow and wait for their response. They gave me cold looks, and when I met the other messenger, whose arrival I saw had ruined mine— the same man who recently spoke so rudely against your highness— I, having more courage than sense, drew my sword. He raised an uproar with loud, cowardly cries. Your son and daughter thought this crime deserved the punishment I’m now suffering.
Winter’s not gone yet, if the wild-geese fly that way. Fathers that wear rags Do make their children blind; But fathers that bear bags Shall see their children kind. Fortune, that arrant whore, Ne’er turns the key to the poor. But, for all this, thou shalt have as many dolours for thy daughters as thou canst tell in a year.
Winter’s not over if the wild geese are flying this way. Fathers who wear rags make their children ungrateful; but fathers who carry money bags will find their children loving. Fortune, that shameless whore, never unlocks her door to the poor. But despite all this, you’ll have as many sorrows from your daughters as you can count in a year.
O, how this mother swells up toward my heart! Hysterica passio, down, thou climbing sorrow, Thy element’s below! Where is this daughter?
Oh, how this feeling rises to my heart! Hysterical sorrow, calm down, you rising grief, your place is below! Where is this daughter?
With the earl, sir, here within.
With the earl, sir, here inside.
Follow me not; Stay here.
Don’t follow me; Stay here.
Made you no more offence but what you speak of?
Did you commit any offense other than what you’ve mentioned?
None. How chance the king comes with so small a train?
None. How come the king has so few followers with him?
And thou hadst been set i’ the stocks for that question, thou hadst well deserved it.
If you had been put in the stocks for asking that, you would have deserved it.
Why, fool?
Why is that, fool?
We’ll set thee to school to an ant, to teach thee there’s no labouring i’ the winter. All that follow their noses are led by their eyes but blind men; and there’s not a nose among twenty but can smell him that’s stinking. Let go thy hold when a great wheel runs down a hill, lest it break thy neck with following it: but the great one that goes up the hill, let him draw thee after. When a wise man gives thee better counsel, give me mine again: I would have none but knaves follow it, since a fool gives it. That sir which serves and seeks for gain, And follows but for form, Will pack when it begins to rain, And leave thee in the storm, But I will tarry; the fool will stay, And let the wise man fly: The knave turns fool that runs away; The fool no knave, perdy.
We’ll send you to school to learn from an ant, to show you that there’s no point working in winter. Everyone follows their noses except the blind; and out of twenty noses, there’s not one that can’t smell something rotten. Let go when a big wheel rolls downhill, or it will break your neck if you try to follow it. But if a big one is climbing up, let it pull you along. When a wise man gives you better advice, give me back mine: only fools would follow it if a fool gave it. The one who serves for profit, And follows just for show, Will leave when it starts to rain, And abandon you in the storm, But I’ll stick around; the fool will stay, And let the wise man run away: The servant becomes a fool when he runs; But the fool, not a servant—truly.
Where learned you this, fool?
Where did you learn this, fool?
Not i’ the stocks, fool.
Not while I was in the stocks, fool.
Deny to speak with me? They are sick? they are weary? They have travell’d all the night? Mere fetches; The images of revolt and flying off. Fetch me a better answer.
They refuse to speak with me? They’re sick? They’re tired? They’ve been traveling all night? Just excuses; Signs of rebellion and desertion. Give me a better answer.
My dear lord, You know the fiery quality of the duke; How unremoveable and fix’d he is In his own course.
My dear lord, You know how hot-tempered the duke is; How stubborn and unchanging he is in his decisions.
Vengeance! plague! death! confusion! Fiery? what quality? Why, Gloucester, Gloucester, I’ld speak with the Duke of Cornwall and his wife.
Vengeance! Plague! Death! Chaos! Hot-tempered? What do you mean? Why, Gloucester, Gloucester, I want to speak with the Duke of Cornwall and his wife.
Well, my good lord, I have inform’d them so.
Well, my good lord, I have told them that.
Inform’d them! Dost thou understand me, man?
Told them! Do you understand me, man?
Ay, my good lord.
Yes, my good lord.
The king would speak with Cornwall; the dear father Would with his daughter speak, commands her service: Are they inform’d of this? My breath and blood! Fiery? the fiery duke? Tell the hot duke that-- No, but not yet: may be he is not well: Infirmity doth still neglect all office Whereto our health is bound; we are not ourselves When nature, being oppress’d, commands the mind To suffer with the body: I’ll forbear; And am fall’n out with my more headier will, To take the indisposed and sickly fit For the sound man. Death on my state! wherefore
The king wants to speak with Cornwall; the loving father Wants to speak with his daughter, demands her presence: Are they told about this? By my life! Angry? The hot-tempered duke? Tell that fiery duke that-- No, not yet: maybe he’s not feeling well. Sickness often ignores all duties That our health binds us to; we aren’t ourselves When our body’s weakness forces the mind To suffer along with it. I’ll wait; I’ve been too hasty in my stubborn will, Mistaking a sick man for a healthy one. Damn my authority! Why
Should he sit here? This act persuades me That this remotion of the duke and her Is practise only. Give me my servant forth. Go tell the duke and ’s wife I’ld speak with them, Now, presently: bid them come forth and hear me, Or at their chamber-door I’ll beat the drum Till it cry sleep to death.
Should he be sitting here? This action convinces me That this departure of the duke and her Is just a scheme. Bring my servant out. Go tell the duke and his wife I want to speak with them, Right now, immediately: tell them to come here and listen to me, Or I’ll beat a drum at their door Until it shouts them awake.
I would have all well betwixt you.
I hope everything will be well between you.
O me, my heart, my rising heart! but, down!
Oh my, my heart, my rising anger! But, calm down!
Cry to it, nuncle, as the cockney did to the eels when she put ’em i’ the paste alive; she knapped ’em o’ the coxcombs with a stick, and cried ’Down, wantons, down!’ ’Twas her brother that, in pure kindness to his horse, buttered his hay.
Shout at it, uncle, like that lady did to the eels when she put them in the dough alive; she smacked them on the heads with a stick, and cried, ‘Down, you wild ones, down!’ It was her brother who, out of pure kindness to his horse, put butter on its hay.
Good morrow to you both.
Good morning to both of you.
Hail to your grace!
Greetings to your grace!
I am glad to see your highness.
I’m glad to see you, your highness.
Regan, I think you are; I know what reason I have to think so: if thou shouldst not be glad, I would divorce me from thy mother’s tomb, Sepulchring an adultress.
Regan, I think you are; I know what reason I have to believe that: if you weren’t glad, I would separate myself from your mother’s grave, Burying an unfaithful woman there.
O, are you free? Some other time for that. Beloved Regan, Thy sister’s naught: O Regan, she hath tied Sharp-tooth’d unkindness, like a vulture, here:
Oh, are you free? We’ll talk about that later. Dearest Regan, Your sister is awful: oh Regan, she has bound Cruel unkindness, like a vulture, right here:
I can scarce speak to thee; thou’lt not believe With how depraved a quality--O Regan!
I can hardly speak to you; you won’t believe How badly she treated me—Oh Regan!
I pray you, sir, take patience: I have hope. You less know how to value her desert Than she to scant her duty.
Please, sir, be patient: I have hope. You understand her worth less Than she falls short in her duties.
Say, how is that?
What do you mean by that?
I cannot think my sister in the least Would fail her obligation: if, sir, perchance She have restrain’d the riots of your followers, ’Tis on such ground, and to such wholesome end, As clears her from all blame.
I can’t imagine my sister would ever Neglect her duties. If, sir, by chance She’s restricted the wild behavior of your followers, It was for good reason, and with a good purpose, That clears her of all blame.
My curses on her!
Damn her!
O, sir, you are old. Nature in you stands on the very verge Of her confine: you should be ruled and led By some discretion, that discerns your state Better than you yourself. Therefore, I pray you, That to our sister you do make return; Say you have wrong’d her, sir.
Oh, sir, you’re old. Nature in you is on the brink Of its limit: you should be guided By someone who understands your condition Better than you do yourself. So, I beg you, Go back to our sister; Admit you’ve wronged her, sir.
Ask her forgiveness? Do you but mark how this becomes the house: ’Dear daughter, I confess that I am old;
Ask her for forgiveness? Just consider how this would go in the household: ‘Dear daughter, I admit that I am old;
Age is unnecessary: on my knees I beg That you’ll vouchsafe me raiment, bed, and food.’
Age is a burden: on my knees, I beg That you’ll give me clothing, a bed, and food.’
Good sir, no more; these are unsightly tricks: Return you to my sister.
Please, sir, stop; this is shameful behavior. Go back to my sister.
[Rising] Never, Regan: She hath abated me of half my train; Look’d black upon me; struck me with her tongue, Most serpent-like, upon the very heart: All the stored vengeances of heaven fall On her ingrateful top! Strike her young bones, You taking airs, with lameness!
[Rising] Never, Regan! She’s cut my followers in half, Gave me harsh looks; wounded me with her words, Like a snake, right in my heart: May all the punishments of heaven rain down On her ungrateful head! Strike her young bones, You winds, and make her lame!
Fie, sir, fie!
Shame on you, sir, shame!
You nimble lightnings, dart your blinding flames Into her scornful eyes! Infect her beauty, You fen-suck’d fogs, drawn by the powerful sun, To fall and blast her pride!
You quick lightnings, strike her eyes With your blinding flames! Ruin her beauty, You swamp-born fogs, pulled by the sun, To fall and destroy her pride!
O the blest gods! so will you wish on me, When the rash mood is on.
Oh, the blessed gods! You’ll curse me like this too, When your anger flares up.
No, Regan, thou shalt never have my curse: Thy tender-hefted nature shall not give Thee o’er to harshness: her eyes are fierce; but thine Do comfort and not burn. ’Tis not in thee To grudge my pleasures, to cut off my train, To bandy hasty words, to scant my sizes, And in conclusion to oppose the bolt Against my coming in: thou better know’st The offices of nature, bond of childhood, Effects of courtesy, dues of gratitude; Thy half o’ the kingdom hast thou not forgot, Wherein I thee endow’d.
No, Regan, I’ll never curse you: Your gentle nature won’t allow you To turn harsh: her eyes are fierce, but yours Bring comfort, not pain. It’s not in you To deny me my pleasures, to cut down my followers, To trade harsh words, to reduce my allowance, And in the end, to shut the door Against me. You better understand The bonds of family, a child’s duty, Acts of kindness, and gratitude owed. You haven’t forgotten your half of the kingdom That I gave you.
Good sir, to the purpose.
Good sir, get to the point.
Who put my man i’ the stocks?
Who put my servant in the stocks?
What trumpet’s that?
Whose trumpet is that?
I know’t, my sister’s: this approves her letter, That she would soon be here.
I know, it’s my sister’s: this confirms her letter That she’d arrive soon.
Is your lady come?
Has your lady arrived?
This is a slave, whose easy-borrow’d pride Dwells in the fickle grace of her he follows. Out, varlet, from my sight!
This man is a worthless servant, whose borrowed arrogance Comes from the unstable favor of the woman he serves. Get out of my sight, scoundrel!
What means your grace?
What do you mean, Your Grace?
Who stock’d my servant? Regan, I have good hope Thou didst not know on’t. Who comes here? O heavens,
Who put my servant in the stocks? Regan, I hoped You didn’t know about it. Who is arriving now? Oh, heavens!
If you do love old men, if your sweet sway Allow obedience, if yourselves are old, Make it your cause; send down, and take my part!
If you care for old men, if your power Requires obedience, if you yourselves are old, Stand up for me; send help, and support me!
Art not ashamed to look upon this beard? O Regan, wilt thou take her by the hand?
Aren’t you ashamed to face this old man? Oh Regan, will you really hold her hand?
Why not by the hand, sir? How have I offended? All’s not offence that indiscretion finds And dotage terms so.
Why shouldn’t I take her hand, sir? How have I wronged you? Not everything is an offense just because your foolishness And old age say so.
O sides, you are too tough; Will you yet hold? How came my man i’ the stocks?
Oh, my heart, you’re too strong; Will you still hold out? How did my servant end up in the stocks?
I set him there, sir: but his own disorders Deserved much less advancement.
I put him there, sir, but his own behavior Deserved much less of a promotion.
You! did you?
You! Did you?
I pray you, father, being weak, seem so. If, till the expiration of your month, You will return and sojourn with my sister, Dismissing half your train, come then to me: I am now from home, and out of that provision Which shall be needful for your entertainment.
Please, father, if you’re weak, act like it. If, until the end of the month, You go back and stay with my sister, Reducing half your followers, then come to me: I’m not at home right now and don’t have What is needed to host you properly.
Return to her, and fifty men dismiss’d? No, rather I abjure all roofs, and choose To wage against the enmity o’ the air; To be a comrade with the wolf and owl,-- Necessity’s sharp pinch! Return with her? Why, the hot-blooded France, that dowerless took Our youngest born, I could as well be brought To knee his throne, and, squire-like; pension beg To keep base life afoot. Return with her? Persuade me rather to be slave and sumpter To this detested groom.
Go back to her and send away fifty men? No, I’d rather give up all shelter and choose To battle against the harsh weather; To be friends with wolves and owls-- Feeling the sting of necessity! Go back to her? Why, the passionate France, who married Our youngest daughter without a dowry, I could just as easily Bow to his throne, and, like a servant, beg Just to survive. Go back to her? I’d rather be a servant and packhorse To this hateful fellow.
At your choice, sir.
It’s your choice, sir.
I prithee, daughter, do not make me mad: I will not trouble thee, my child; farewell: We’ll no more meet, no more see one another: But yet thou art my flesh, my blood, my daughter; Or rather a disease that’s in my flesh, Which I must needs call mine: thou art a boil, A plague-sore, an embossed carbuncle, In my corrupted blood. But I’ll not chide thee; Let shame come when it will, I do not call it: I do not bid the thunder-bearer shoot, Nor tell tales of thee to high-judging Jove: Mend when thou canst; be better at thy leisure: I can be patient; I can stay with Regan, I and my hundred knights.
Please, daughter, don’t drive me mad: I won’t bother you, my child; goodbye: We’ll never meet again, never see each other: But still, you are my flesh, my blood, my daughter; Or rather, a disease in my flesh, Which I am forced to call mine: you are a sore, A plague, a festering boil, In my tainted blood. But I won’t scold you; Let shame come when it will; I don’t wish for it: I won’t ask the thunder god to strike, Or complain about you to mighty Jupiter: Fix yourself when you can; change when you’re ready: I can be patient; I can stay with Regan, I and my hundred knights.
Not altogether so: I look’d not for you yet, nor am provided For your fit welcome. Give ear, sir, to my sister; For those that mingle reason with your passion Must be content to think you old, and so-- But she knows what she does.
Not quite so: I wasn’t expecting you yet, nor am I prepared To welcome you properly. Listen to my sister; For those who balance reason with your emotions Must accept that you’re old, and so-- But she knows what she’s doing.
Is this well spoken?
Is that well said?
I dare avouch it, sir: what, fifty followers? Is it not well? What should you need of more? Yea, or so many, sith that both charge and danger Speak ’gainst so great a number? How, in one house, Should many people, under two commands, Hold amity? ’Tis hard; almost impossible.
I stand by it, sir: what, fifty followers? Isn’t that enough? Why would you need more? Yes, or even that many, since both cost and risk Argue against such a large number? How, in one house, Could so many people, under two leaders, Get along? It’s hard; almost impossible.
Why might not you, my lord, receive attendance From those that she calls servants or from mine?
Why couldn’t you, my lord, accept being attended By those she calls her servants or mine?
Why not, my lord? If then they chanced to slack you, We could control them. If you will come to me,-- For now I spy a danger,--I entreat you To bring but five and twenty: to no more Will I give place or notice.
Why not, my lord? If they happened to neglect you, We could control them. If you come to me-- Because I see a risk here--I ask you To bring only twenty-five: no more Will I allow or acknowledge.
I gave you all--
I gave you everything--
And in good time you gave it.
And you gave it at the right time.
Made you my guardians, my depositaries; But kept a reservation to be follow’d With such a number. What, must I come to you With five and twenty, Regan? said you so?
Made you my guardians, my trustees; But I kept a right to be followed By a certain number. What, must I come to you With just twenty-five, Regan? Did you say that?
And speak’t again, my lord; no more with me.
And I say it again, my lord; no more with me.
Those wicked creatures yet do look well-favour’d, When others are more wicked: not being the worst Stands in some rank of praise.
Even bad people can look good When compared to those who are worse: not being the worst Deserves some praise.
I’ll go with thee: Thy fifty yet doth double five and twenty, And thou art twice her love.
I’ll go with you: Your fifty followers are double her twenty-five, And you love me twice as much.
Hear me, my lord; What need you five and twenty, ten, or five, To follow in a house where twice so many Have a command to tend you?
Listen to me, my lord; Why do you need twenty-five, ten, or even five men In a house where twice as many Are already here to serve you?
What need one?
Why do you need even one?
O, reason not the need: our basest beggars Are in the poorest thing superfluous: Allow not nature more than nature needs, Man’s life’s as cheap as beast’s: thou art a lady; If only to go warm were gorgeous, Why, nature needs not what thou gorgeous wear’st, Which scarcely keeps thee warm. But, for true need,-- You heavens, give me that patience, patience I need! You see me here, you gods, a poor old man, As full of grief as age; wretched in both! If it be you that stir these daughters’ hearts Against their father, fool me not so much To bear it tamely; touch me with noble anger, And let not women’s weapons, water-drops, Stain my man’s cheeks! No, you unnatural hags, I will have such revenges on you both, That all the world shall--I will do such things,-- What they are, yet I know not: but they shall be The terrors of the earth. You think I’ll weep No, I’ll not weep: I have full cause of weeping; but this heart Shall break into a hundred thousand flaws, Or ere I’ll weep. O fool, I shall go mad!
Oh, don’t question why we need things: even the poorest beggars Have things they don’t really need: If you only give people what they absolutely need, Life is as cheap as that of an animal. You are a lady; If just being warm was enough, Why wear fancy clothes you don’t really need, Which barely keep you warm? But, for real needs-- Heavens, give me the patience I need! You see me here, gods, a poor old man, As full of sorrow as years; wretched in both! If it’s you who have made my daughters’ hearts Turn against their father, don’t make me Endure it quietly; fill me with noble anger, And let me not cry like a woman, Let tears stain my cheeks! No, you unnatural witches, I will have such revenge on you both, That the whole world will--I will do such things-- I don’t know yet what they’ll be, but they will be Terrifying. You think I’ll cry? No, I won’t cry: Even though I have every reason to; instead, this heart Will break into a hundred thousand pieces, Before I’ll shed a tear. Oh, fool, I’m going mad!
Let us withdraw; ’twill be a storm.
Let’s go inside; a storm is coming.
This house is little: the old man and his people Cannot be well bestow’d.
This house is small: the old man and his people Won’t fit comfortably.
’Tis his own blame; hath put himself from rest, And must needs taste his folly.
It’s his own fault; he brought this on himself, Now he must suffer for his foolishness.
For his particular, I’ll receive him gladly, But not one follower.
I’ll welcome him, just him, But not a single follower.
So am I purposed. Where is my lord of Gloucester?
I’m of the same mind. Where is the Duke of Gloucester?
Follow’d the old man forth: he is return’d.
He followed the old man outside; he’s just returned.
The king is in high rage.
The king is in a furious rage.
Whither is he going?
Where is he going?
He calls to horse; but will I know not whither.
He’s calling for his horse; but I don’t know where he’s headed.
’Tis best to give him way; he leads himself.
It’s best to let him go; he’ll lead himself.
My lord, entreat him by no means to stay.
My lord, don’t try to make him stay.
Alack, the night comes on, and the bleak winds Do sorely ruffle; for many miles a bout There’s scarce a bush.
Oh no, the night is coming, and the cold winds Are blowing harshly; for miles around There’s hardly a bush in sight.
O, sir, to wilful men, The injuries that they themselves procure Must be their schoolmasters. Shut up your doors: He is attended with a desperate train; And what they may incense him to, being apt To have his ear abused, wisdom bids fear.
Oh sir, stubborn men Must learn from the troubles they bring upon themselves. Lock your doors: He’s surrounded by a desperate group; And since they’re likely to provoke him, it’s wise To be cautious, as he’s easily influenced.
Shut up your doors, my lord; ’tis a wild night: My Regan counsels well; come out o’ the storm.
Lock your doors, my lord; it’s a wild night: Regan is right; let’s get out of the storm.