Original
Modern English
Here is the place, my lord; good my lord, enter: The tyranny of the open night’s too rough For nature to endure.
This is the place, my lord; please, my lord, go inside: The harshness of the open night is too much For anyone to bear.
Let me alone.
Leave me alone.
Good my lord, enter here.
Please, my lord, go inside.
Wilt break my heart?
Are you trying to break my heart?
I had rather break mine own. Good my lord, enter.
I’d rather break my own. Please, my lord, come inside.
Thou think’st ’tis much that this contentious storm Invades us to the skin: so ’tis to thee; But where the greater malady is fix’d, The lesser is scarce felt. Thou’ldst shun a bear; But if thy flight lay toward the raging sea, Thou’ldst meet the bear i’ the mouth. When the mind’s free, The body’s delicate: the tempest in my mind Doth from my senses take all feeling else Save what beats there. Filial ingratitude! Is it not as this mouth should tear this hand For lifting food to’t? But I will punish home: No, I will weep no more. In such a night To shut me out! Pour on; I will endure. In such a night as this! O Regan, Goneril! Your old kind father, whose frank heart gave all,-- O, that way madness lies; let me shun that; No more of that.
You think it’s a lot that this fierce storm Soaks us to the skin: it feels that way to you; But when a greater pain is there, The smaller one is hardly felt. You’d run from a bear; But if escaping meant facing the raging sea, You’d rather face the bear head-on. When the mind is at peace, The body is sensitive: but the storm in my mind Takes away all other feelings Except what’s tormenting me inside. Ungrateful children! Isn’t it like if this mouth were to bite this hand For lifting food to it? But I will take revenge: No, I won’t cry anymore. On a night like this To lock me out! Let it pour; I will endure it. On a night like this! Oh, Regan, Goneril! Your old father, who generously gave you everything— Oh, that’s the road to madness; I must avoid it; No more of that.
Good my lord, enter here.
Please, my lord, come inside here.
Prithee, go in thyself: seek thine own ease: This tempest will not give me leave to ponder On things would hurt me more. But I’ll go in.
Please, go in yourself: find your own comfort: This storm won’t let me dwell on Thoughts that would hurt me more. But I’ll go in.
In, boy; go first. You houseless poverty,-- Nay, get thee in. I’ll pray, and then I’ll sleep.
Go in, boy; go first. You poor, homeless soul— No, get inside. I’ll pray, and then I’ll sleep.
Poor naked wretches, whereso’er you are, That bide the pelting of this pitiless storm, How shall your houseless heads and unfed sides, Your loop’d and window’d raggedness, defend you From seasons such as these? O, I have ta’en Too little care of this! Take physic, pomp; Expose thyself to feel what wretches feel, That thou mayst shake the superflux to them, And show the heavens more just.
Poor naked souls, wherever you are, Enduring this merciless storm, How can your bare heads and hungry bodies, Your tattered clothes with holes, protect you From harsh weather like this? Oh, I’ve taken Far too little care of this! Feel some humility, you rich; Expose yourself to what the poor endure, So you can give them your excess wealth, And show the heavens more justice.
[Within] Fathom and half, fathom and half! Poor Tom!
[From within] A fathom and a half, a fathom and a half! Poor Tom!
Come not in here, nuncle, here’s a spirit Help me, help me!
Don’t come in here, uncle, there’s a ghost! Help me, help me!
Give me thy hand. Who’s there?
Give me your hand. Who’s there?
A spirit, a spirit: he says his name’s poor Tom.
A ghost, a ghost: he says his name is poor Tom.
What art thou that dost grumble there i’ the straw? Come forth.
Who are you, mumbling there in the straw? Come out.
Away! the foul fiend follows me! Through the sharp hawthorn blows the cold wind. Hum! go to thy cold bed, and warm thee.
Get away! The evil spirit is chasing me! The cold wind blows through the sharp thorns. Hmm! Go to your cold bed and warm yourself up.
Hast thou given all to thy two daughters? And art thou come to this?
Have you given everything to your two daughters? And now you’ve ended up like this?
Who gives any thing to poor Tom? whom the foul fiend hath led through fire and through flame, and through ford and whirlipool e’er bog and quagmire; that hath laid knives under his pillow, and halters in his pew; set ratsbane by his porridge; made film proud of heart, to ride on a bay trotting-horse over four-inched bridges, to course his own shadow for a traitor. Bless thy five wits! Tom’s a-cold,--O, do de, do de, do de. Bless thee from whirlwinds, star-blasting, and taking! Do poor Tom some charity, whom the foul fiend vexes: there could I have him now,--and there,--and there again, and there.
Who gives anything to poor Tom? The evil spirit has led him through fire, and through flame, through streams and whirlpools, over bogs and swamps. It has put knives under his pillow, ropes in his pew, poisoned his porridge, made him proud and reckless, riding a bay horse over narrow bridges, chasing his own shadow like it’s a traitor. Bless your senses! Tom is cold—oh, do de, do de, do de. Bless you from whirlwinds, blight, and harm! Show poor Tom some charity, for the evil spirit torments him: I could catch him here— and here—and there again, and there!
What, have his daughters brought him to this pass? Couldst thou save nothing? Didst thou give them all?
What, did his daughters bring him to this state? Couldn’t you save anything? Did you give them everything?
Nay, he reserved a blanket, else we had been all shamed.
No, he kept a blanket; otherwise, we’d all be disgraced.
Now, all the plagues that in the pendulous air Hang fated o’er men’s faults light on thy daughters!
Now, may all the curses that hover in the air over men’s sins fall on your daughters!
He hath no daughters, sir.
He doesn’t have daughters, sir.
Death, traitor! nothing could have subdued nature To such a lowness but his unkind daughters. Is it the fashion, that discarded fathers Should have thus little mercy on their flesh? Judicious punishment! ’twas this flesh begot Those pelican daughters.
Death, you traitor! Nothing could have broken him to such a low state except his cruel daughters. Is it now normal for rejected fathers to be shown so little mercy by their own blood? Fitting punishment! This body gave life to those ungrateful daughters.
Pillicock sat on Pillicock-hill: Halloo, halloo, loo, loo!
Pillicock sat on Pillicock-hill: Halloo, halloo, loo, loo!
This cold night will turn us all to fools and madmen.
This cold night will drive us all mad and foolish.
Take heed o’ the foul fiend: obey thy parents; keep thy word justly; swear not; commit not with man’s sworn spouse; set not thy sweet heart on proud array. Tom’s a-cold.
Beware of the evil spirit: obey your parents, keep your promises; don’t swear oaths; don’t cheat with another man’s wife; don’t be obsessed with fancy clothes. Tom is cold.
What hast thou been?
What were you before this?
A serving-man, proud in heart and mind; that curled my hair; wore gloves in my cap; served the lust of my mistress’ heart, and did the act of darkness with her; swore as many oaths as I spake words, and broke them in the sweet face of heaven: one that slept in the contriving of lust, and waked to do it: wine loved I deeply, dice dearly: and in woman out-paramoured the Turk: false of heart, light of ear, bloody of hand; hog in sloth, fox in stealth, wolf in greediness, dog in madness, lion in prey. Let not the creaking of shoes nor the rustling of silks betray thy poor heart to woman: keep thy foot out of brothels, thy hand out of plackets, thy pen from lenders’ books, and defy the foul fiend. Still through the hawthorn blows the cold wind: Says suum, mun, ha, no, nonny. Dolphin my boy, my boy, sessa! let him trot by.
A servant, proud in both heart and mind; I curled my hair, wore fancy decorations; I satisfied the desires of my mistress, did shameful deeds with her; I swore as many oaths as words I spoke, and broke them in God’s sight: I dreamed of sinful things, and woke up to act on them; I loved wine deeply, and gambling dearly: I outdid the Turk in pursuing women; I was false-hearted, quick to hear gossip, violent; lazy like a pig, sneaky like a fox, greedy like a wolf, mad like a dog, and predatory like a lion. Don’t let the squeak of shoes or the rustle of silk trick your heart into falling for women: keep your feet out of brothels, your hands off women’s clothes, your pen out of debt books, and resist the evil spirit. The cold wind still blows through the hawthorn: It says suum, mun, ha, no, nonny. Dolphin, my boy, my boy, sessa! Let him trot along.
Why, thou wert better in thy grave than to answer with thy uncovered body this extremity of the skies. Is man no more than this? Consider him well. Thou owest the worm no silk, the beast no hide, the sheep no wool, the cat no perfume. Ha! here’s three on ’s are sophisticated! Thou art the thing itself: unaccommodated man is no more but such a poor bare, forked animal as thou art. Off, off, you lendings! come unbutton here.
You’d be better off dead than facing this harsh weather with no clothes on. Is this all that a man is? Think about it carefully. You owe the worm no silk, the animal no hide, the sheep no wool, the cat no perfume. Ha! Here we are, all dressed up and pretending! You are the real thing: an unprotected man is just a poor, naked, two-legged creature like you are. Off, off with these borrowed clothes! Let’s unbutton here.
Prithee, nuncle, be contented; ’tis a naughty night to swim in. Now a little fire in a wild field were like an old lecher’s heart; a small spark, all the rest on’s body cold. Look, here comes a walking fire.
Please, uncle, calm down; it’s a terrible night to be out in. A small fire out here in the wild is like an old man’s heart; a tiny spark while the rest of him is cold. Look, here comes a moving light.
This is the foul fiend Flibbertigibbet: he begins at curfew, and walks till the first cock; he gives the web and the pin, squints the eye, and makes the hare-lip; mildews the white wheat, and hurts the poor creature of earth. S. Withold footed thrice the old; He met the night-mare, and her nine-fold; Bid her alight, And her troth plight, And, aroint thee, witch, aroint thee!
That’s the evil spirit Flibbertigibbet: he starts roaming at nightfall and stays out until dawn; he causes blindness, makes people squint, and causes cleft lips; he ruins crops and harms innocent creatures. St. Withold walked three times around; He met the nightmare and her nine forms; Ordered her down, And made her swear an oath, And, get lost, witch, get lost!
How fares your grace?
How are you feeling, sir?
What’s he?
Who is that?
Who’s there? What is’t you seek?
Who’s there? What do you want?
What are you there? Your names?
Who’s out there? Tell me your names!
Poor Tom; that eats the swimming frog, the toad, the tadpole, the wall-newt and the water; that in the fury of his heart, when the foul fiend rages, eats cow-dung for sallets; swallows the old rat and the ditch-dog; drinks the green mantle of the standing pool; who is whipped from tithing to tithing, and stock- punished, and imprisoned; who hath had three suits to his back, six shirts to his body, horse to ride, and weapon to wear; But mice and rats, and such small deer, Have been Tom’s food for seven long year. Beware my follower. Peace, Smulkin; peace, thou fiend!
Poor Tom; who eats frogs, toads, tadpoles, lizards, and water creatures; who, in his madness, when demons torment him, eats cow dung for salads; swallows old rats and stray dogs; drinks the scum off stagnant ponds; who’s been whipped from place to place, locked in stocks, and jailed; who once had three suits of clothes, six shirts, a horse to ride, and weapons; But for the past seven years, Mice and rats have been Tom’s only food. Beware my companion. Be quiet, Smulkin; be quiet, you demon!
What, hath your grace no better company?
What, is there no one better for your company?
The prince of darkness is a gentleman: Modo he’s call’d, and Mahu.
The devil is quite the gentleman: His names are Modo and Mahu.
Our flesh and blood is grown so vile, my lord, That it doth hate what gets it.
Our own kind has become so wicked, my lord, That it hates the very people who gave it life.
Poor Tom’s a-cold.
Poor Tom is freezing.
Go in with me: my duty cannot suffer To obey in all your daughters’ hard commands: Though their injunction be to bar my doors, And let this tyrannous night take hold upon you, Yet have I ventured to come seek you out, And bring you where both fire and food is ready.
Come with me: I can’t follow all of your daughters’ harsh commands: Even though they ordered me to lock my doors and let this cruel night take you, I still came to find you and bring you to where there’s warmth and food.
First let me talk with this philosopher. What is the cause of thunder?
First, let me speak with this philosopher. What causes thunder?
Good my lord, take his offer; go into the house.
My good lord, accept his offer; go inside.
I’ll talk a word with this same learned Theban. What is your study?
I’d like to have a word with this wise Theban. What are you studying?
How to prevent the fiend, and to kill vermin.
How to ward off evil and kill pests.
Let me ask you one word in private.
Let me speak with you privately for a moment.
Importune him once more to go, my lord; His wits begin to unsettle.
Please urge him once more to leave, my lord; He’s starting to lose his mind.
Canst thou blame him?
Can you blame him?
His daughters seek his death: ah, that good Kent! He said it would be thus, poor banish’d man! Thou say’st the king grows mad; I’ll tell thee, friend, I am almost mad myself: I had a son, Now outlaw’d from my blood; he sought my life, But lately, very late: I loved him, friend; No father his son dearer: truth to tell thee, The grief hath crazed my wits. What a night’s this! I do beseech your grace,--
His daughters want him dead: oh, good Kent! He warned this would happen, poor exiled man! You say the king is losing his mind; I’ll tell you, my friend, I’m almost losing mine too: I had a son, But now he’s disowned; he tried to kill me, Just recently. I loved him, friend; No father loved his son more: honestly, The pain has driven me mad. What a terrible night! I beg of you, your grace--
O, cry your mercy, sir. Noble philosopher, your company.
Oh, I beg your pardon, sir. Noble philosopher, I ask for your company.
Tom’s a-cold.
Poor Tom is freezing.
In, fellow, there, into the hovel: keep thee warm.
Get inside, friend, into the shelter; stay warm.
Come let’s in all.
Come on, let’s all go in.
This way, my lord.
This way, my lord.
With him; I will keep still with my philosopher.
I’m going with him; I’ll stay close to my philosopher.
Good my lord, soothe him; let him take the fellow.
Please, my lord, calm him; let him take the man with him.
Take him you on.
You take him yourself.
Sirrah, come on; go along with us.
Come on, sir, come along with us.
Come, good Athenian.
Come along, good Athenian.
No words, no words: hush.
No talking, no talking: quiet.
Child Rowland to the dark tower came, His word was still,--Fie, foh, and fum, I smell the blood of a British man.
Young Rowland came to the dark tower, He kept saying,--Fie, foh, and fum, I can smell the blood of an Englishman.