Original
Modern English
When shall we come to the top of that same hill?
When will we reach the top of that hill?
You do climb up it now: look, how we labour.
We’re climbing it now: look how hard we’re working.
Methinks the ground is even.
It feels like the ground is flat.
Horrible steep. Hark, do you hear the sea?
It’s terribly steep. Listen, do you hear the sea?
No, truly.
No, really.
Why, then, your other senses grow imperfect By your eyes’ anguish.
Well, then, your other senses are getting worse Because of the pain in your eyes.
So may it be, indeed: Methinks thy voice is alter’d; and thou speak’st In better phrase and matter than thou didst.
That may be true: I think your voice sounds different; and you speak In a better way and with more meaning than you did.
You’re much deceived: in nothing am I changed But in my garments.
You’re completely wrong: I haven’t changed at all Except for my clothes.
Methinks you’re better spoken.
I think you speak more clearly.
Come on, sir; here’s the place: stand still. How fearful And dizzy ’tis, to cast one’s eyes so low! The crows and choughs that wing the midway air Show scarce so gross as beetles: half way down Hangs one that gathers samphire, dreadful trade! Methinks he seems no bigger than his head: The fishermen, that walk upon the beach, Appear like mice; and yond tall anchoring bark, Diminish’d to her cock; her cock, a buoy Almost too small for sight: the murmuring surge, That on the unnumber’d idle pebbles chafes, Cannot be heard so high. I’ll look no more; Lest my brain turn, and the deficient sight Topple down headlong.
Come on, sir; here’s the place: stand still. How terrifying And dizzying it is, to look so far down! The crows and choughs flying through the air Don’t look as big as beetles: halfway down There’s someone picking samphire, a dangerous job! I think he looks no bigger than his head: The fishermen walking on the beach Look like mice; and that tall ship anchored out there, Looks like a small boat; its boat, just a buoy Almost too small to see: the murmuring waves, That crash on the countless pebbles, Can’t be heard from this high up. I won’t look anymore; Lest my mind spins, and my failing sight Causes me to fall headfirst.
Set me where you stand.
Put me where you are standing.
Give me your hand: you are now within a foot Of the extreme verge: for all beneath the moon Would I not leap upright.
Give me your hand: you’re just a foot away From the edge: I wouldn’t jump even if I could.
Let go my hand. Here, friend, ’s another purse; in it a jewel Well worth a poor man’s taking: fairies and gods Prosper it with thee! Go thou farther off; Bid me farewell, and let me hear thee going.
Let go of my hand. Here, friend, here’s another purse; it has a jewel Worth taking for a poor man: may the fairies and gods Bless it for you! Go further off; Say goodbye, and let me hear you leave.
Now fare you well, good sir.
Now goodbye, good sir.
With all my heart.
With all my heart.
Why I do trifle thus with his despair Is done to cure it.
The reason I am messing with his despair Is to help him overcome it.
[Kneeling] O you mighty gods! This world I do renounce, and, in your sights, Shake patiently my great affliction off: If I could bear it longer, and not fall To quarrel with your great opposeless wills, My snuff and loathed part of nature should Burn itself out. If Edgar live, O, bless him! Now, fellow, fare thee well.
[Kneeling] Oh, you mighty gods! I give up this world, and, in your sight, I’ll shake off my great suffering patiently: If I could stand it longer, without turning Against your unstoppable wills, My disgust and hated part of nature would Burn itself out. If Edgar lives, oh, bless him! Now, my friend, goodbye.
Gone, sir: farewell. And yet I know not how conceit may rob The treasury of life, when life itself Yields to the theft: had he been where he thought, By this, had thought been past. Alive or dead? Ho, you sir! friend! Hear you, sir! speak! Thus might he pass indeed: yet he revives. What are you, sir?
Gone, sir: goodbye. And yet I don’t know how thoughts can steal Life itself, when life itself Succumbs to the theft: if he had been where he thought, By now, thought would be past. Alive or dead? Hey, you sir! friend! Can you hear me? Speak! He might be gone for real: yet he stirs. What are you, sir?
Away, and let me die.
Go away, and let me die.
Hadst thou been aught but gossamer, feathers, air, So many fathom down precipitating, Thou’dst shiver’d like an egg: but thou dost breathe; Hast heavy substance; bleed’st not; speak’st; art sound. Ten masts at each make not the altitude Which thou hast perpendicularly fell: Thy life’s a miracle. Speak yet again.
If you had been anything but light as a feather, air, Falling from this height, you’d have shattered like an egg: But you breathe; you have weight; you don’t bleed; you speak; you’re still alive. Even ten masts wouldn’t reach the height From which you’ve just fallen: Your survival is a miracle. Speak again.
But have I fall’n, or no?
But have I fallen, or not?
From the dread summit of this chalky bourn. Look up a-height; the shrill-gorged lark so far Cannot be seen or heard: do but look up.
From the terrifying edge of this steep cliff. Look up; the lark flying high Can’t be seen or heard: just look up.
Alack, I have no eyes. Is wretchedness deprived that benefit, To end itself by death? ’Twas yet some comfort, When misery could beguile the tyrant’s rage, And frustrate his proud will.
Alas, I have no eyes. Has misery lost its power To end itself with death? It was some comfort When suffering could trick the tyrant’s anger, And frustrate his proud will.
Give me your arm: Up: so. How is ’t? Feel you your legs? You stand.
Let me help you: Get up. There. How do you feel? Can you stand?
Too well, too well.
Too well, too well.
This is above all strangeness. Upon the crown o’ the cliff, what thing was that Which parted from you?
This is the strangest thing of all. What was that thing that fell from the top of the cliff?
A poor unfortunate beggar.
A poor, unfortunate beggar.
As I stood here below, methought his eyes Were two full moons; he had a thousand noses, Horns whelk’d and waved like the enridged sea: It was some fiend; therefore, thou happy father, Think that the clearest gods, who make them honours Of men’s impossibilities, have preserved thee.
When I stood down here, I thought his eyes Were like two full moons; he had a thousand noses, With horns all twisted and waving like the stormy sea: It was some demon; so, happy father, Know that the gods, who perform impossible things For people, have saved you.
I do remember now: henceforth I’ll bear Affliction till it do cry out itself ’Enough, enough,’ and die. That thing you speak of, I took it for a man; often ’twould say ’The fiend, the fiend:’ he led me to that place.
I remember now: from now on I’ll endure Suffering until it says ‘Enough, enough,’ and dies. That thing you speak of, I thought it was a man; it often said ‘The devil, the devil:’ he led me to that place.
Bear free and patient thoughts. But who comes here?
Keep calm and patient thoughts. But who is this?
The safer sense will ne’er accommodate His master thus.
The more sensible ones would never let Their master be like this.
No, they cannot touch me for coining; I am the king himself.
No, they can’t accuse me of forgery; I’m the King myself.
O thou side-piercing sight!
Oh, what a heart-piercing sight!
Nature’s above art in that respect. There’s your press-money. That fellow handles his bow like a crow-keeper: draw me a clothier’s yard. Look, look, a mouse! Peace, peace; this piece of toasted cheese will do ’t. There’s my gauntlet; I’ll prove it on a giant. Bring up the brown bills. O, well flown, bird! i’ the clout, i’ the clout: hewgh! Give the word.
Nature is superior to art in this case. Here’s your payment. That guy handles his bow like a bird catcher: give me a tailor’s measuring stick. Look, look, a mouse! Quiet, quiet; this piece of toasted cheese will do it. There’s my glove; I’ll fight a giant with it. Bring me the weapons. Oh, well done, bird! In the target, in the target: ha! Give the order.
Sweet marjoram.
Sweet marjoram.
Pass.
Go ahead.
I know that voice.
I recognize that voice.
Ha! Goneril, with a white beard! They flattered me like a dog; and told me I had white hairs in my beard ere the black ones were there. To say ’ay’ and ’no’ to every thing that I said!--’Ay’ and ’no’ too was no good divinity. When the rain came to wet me once, and the wind to make me chatter; when the thunder would not peace at my bidding; there I found ’em, there I smelt ’em out. Go to, they are not men o’ their words: they told me I was every thing; ’tis a lie, I am not ague-proof.
Ha! Goneril, with a white beard! They flattered me like I was a dog; and told me I had white hairs in my beard before the black ones even appeared. They said ‘yes’ and ‘no’ to everything I said!—Saying ‘yes’ and ‘no’ didn’t mean anything. When the rain came to wet me, and the wind made me shiver; when the thunder wouldn’t stop when I asked it to; that’s when I found them, that’s when I figured them out. They’re not men of their word: they told me I was everything; it’s a lie, I’m not immune to sickness.
The trick of that voice I do well remember: Is ’t not the king?
I remember that voice well: Isn’t it the king?
Ay, every inch a king: When I do stare, see how the subject quakes. I pardon that man’s life. What was thy cause? Adultery? Thou shalt not die: die for adultery! No: The wren goes to ’t, and the small gilded fly Does lecher in my sight. Let copulation thrive; for Gloucester’s bastard son Was kinder to his father than my daughters Got ’tween the lawful sheets. To ’t, luxury, pell-mell! for I lack soldiers. Behold yond simpering dame, Whose face between her forks presages snow; That minces virtue, and does shake the head To hear of pleasure’s name; The fitchew, nor the soiled horse, goes to ’t With a more riotous appetite. Down from the waist they are Centaurs, Though women all above: But to the girdle do the gods inherit, Beneath is all the fiends’; There’s hell, there’s darkness, there’s the sulphurous pit, Burning, scalding, stench, consumption; fie, fie, fie! pah, pah! Give me an ounce of civet, good apothecary, to sweeten my imagination: there’s money for thee.
Yes, every inch a king: When I stare, see how the people tremble. I’ll forgive that man’s life. What was your crime? Adultery? You won’t die for adultery! No: The wren does it, and the tiny golden fly does it in front of me. Let sex thrive; because Gloucester’s illegitimate son was kinder to his father than my daughters born in wedlock. To hell with it, let there be indulgence! I need soldiers. Look at that simpering lady, whose face looks like snow between her cheeks; She pretends to be virtuous, and shakes her head when she hears the word ‘pleasure’; The polecat, nor the dirty horse, doesn’t do it with a more wild desire. From the waist down, they’re like Centaurs, though women above the waist: But from the waist down, the gods own them, Below, it’s all the devils’; There’s hell, there’s darkness, there’s the burning pit, stench, disease, decay; ugh, ugh, ugh! Give me an ounce of civet, good apothecary, to sweeten my thoughts: Here’s money for you.
O, let me kiss that hand!
Oh, let me kiss that hand!
Let me wipe it first; it smells of mortality.
Let me wipe it first; it smells of death.
O ruin’d piece of nature! This great world Shall so wear out to nought. Dost thou know me?
Oh ruined piece of humanity! This great world will end up as nothing. Do you know who I am?
I remember thine eyes well enough. Dost thou squiny at me? No, do thy worst, blind Cupid! I’ll not love. Read thou this challenge; mark but the penning of it.
I remember your eyes well enough. Are you glaring at me? No, do your worst, blind Cupid! I won’t love. Read this challenge; just pay attention to the way it’s written.
Were all the letters suns, I could not see one.
If all the letters were suns, I wouldn’t be able to see one.
I would not take this from report; it is, And my heart breaks at it.
I wouldn’t take this from hearsay; it’s, and it breaks my heart to hear it.
Read.
Read.
What, with the case of eyes?
What, with no eyes?
O, ho, are you there with me? No eyes in your head, nor no money in your purse? Your eyes are in a heavy case, your purse in a light; yet you see how this world goes.
Oh, are you here with me? No eyes in your head, and no money in your pocket? Your eyes are in a bad state, your purse is light; still, you see how this world works.
I see it feelingly.
I feel it, I see it through my heart.
What, art mad? A man may see how this world goes with no eyes. Look with thine ears: see how yond justice rails upon yond simple thief. Hark, in thine ear: change places; and, handy-dandy, which is the justice, which is the thief? Thou hast seen a farmer’s dog bark at a beggar?
What, are you crazy? A person can see how this world works without even using their eyes. Look with your ears: see how that justice complains about that simple thief. Listen, in your ear: switch places; and, without thinking, which is the justice, and which is the thief? Have you ever seen a farmer’s dog bark at a beggar?
Ay, sir.
Yes, sir.
And the creature run from the cur? There thou mightst behold the great image of authority: a dog’s obeyed in office. Thou rascal beadle, hold thy bloody hand! Why dost thou lash that whore? Strip thine own back; Thou hotly lust’st to use her in that kind For which thou whipp’st her. The usurer hangs the cozener. Through tatter’d clothes small vices do appear; Robes and furr’d gowns hide all. Plate sin with gold, And the strong lance of justice hurtless breaks: Arm it in rags, a pigmy’s straw does pierce it. None does offend, none, I say, none; I’ll able ’em: Take that of me, my friend, who have the power To seal the accuser’s lips. Get thee glass eyes; And like a scurvy politician, seem To see the things thou dost not. Now, now, now, now: Pull off my boots: harder, harder: so.
And the dog runs away from the beggar? There you might see the true image of authority: a dog’s obeyed in office. You scoundrel, stop your bloody hand! Why are you whipping that woman? Strip off your own shirt; You’re so eager to use her the way you’re whipping her. The moneylender hangs the swindler. Through tattered clothes, small sins show; Rich robes and fur coats hide everything. Coat sin in gold, and the strong arm of justice can’t touch it: Dress it in rags, and a small twig can pierce it. No one does wrong, no one, I say, no one; I’ll prove them wrong: Take that from me, my friend, I have the power to silence the accuser. Get yourself glass eyes; And, like a rotten politician, pretend to see things you don’t. Now, now, now, now: Take off my boots: harder, harder: there.
O, matter and impertinency mix’d! Reason in madness!
Oh, what a mix of logic and nonsense! Reason in madness!
If thou wilt weep my fortunes, take my eyes. I know thee well enough; thy name is Gloucester: Thou must be patient; we came crying hither: Thou know’st, the first time that we smell the air, We wawl and cry. I will preach to thee: mark.
If you want to cry over my misfortune, take my eyes. I know you well enough; your name is Gloucester: You must be patient; we came here crying: You know, the first time we breathe the air, we wail and cry. I’ll preach to you: listen.
Alack, alack the day!
Oh, oh, what a day!
When we are born, we cry that we are come To this great stage of fools: this a good block; It were a delicate stratagem, to shoe A troop of horse with felt: I’ll put ’t in proof; And when I have stol’n upon these sons-in-law, Then, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill!
When we’re born, we cry that we’ve come to this great stage of fools: this is a good block; It would be a clever trick, to put felt on a horse’s feet: I’ll prove it; And when I’ve sneaked up on these sons-in-law, Then, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill!
O, here he is: lay hand upon him. Sir, Your most dear daughter--
Oh, here he is: lay a hand on him. Sir, Your most dear daughter--
No rescue? What, a prisoner? I am even The natural fool of fortune. Use me well; You shall have ransom. Let me have surgeons; I am cut to the brains.
No help? What, a prisoner? I’m just the natural fool of fortune. Treat me well; You’ll get a ransom. Let me have doctors; I’ve been hit in the head.
You shall have any thing.
You’ll have anything.
No seconds? all myself? Why, this would make a man a man of salt, To use his eyes for garden water-pots, Ay, and laying autumn’s dust.
No backup? All on my own? Well, this would make a man tough, to use his eyes like watering cans, Yes, and to lay down the autumn dust.
Good sir,--
Good sir,--
I will die bravely, like a bridegroom. What! I will be jovial: come, come; I am a king, My masters, know you that.
I will die bravely, like a groom. What! I’ll be cheerful: come, come; I’m a king, My friends, do you know that?
You are a royal one, and we obey you.
You are a royal one, and we obey you.
Then there’s life in’t. Nay, if you get it, you shall get it with running. Sa, sa, sa, sa.
Then there’s hope. No, if you get it, you will get it running. Ha, ha, ha, ha.
A sight most pitiful in the meanest wretch, Past speaking of in a king! Thou hast one daughter, Who redeems nature from the general curse Which twain have brought her to.
A sight so sad in the lowest person, Impossible to describe in a king! You have one daughter, Who restores what’s good in the world, From the curse that both of her parents have put on her.
Hail, gentle sir.
Hello, good sir.
Sir, speed you: what’s your will?
Sir, hurry up: what do you need?
Do you hear aught, sir, of a battle toward?
Have you heard anything, sir, about a battle nearby?
Most sure and vulgar: every one hears that, Which can distinguish sound.
Absolutely, it’s well-known: everyone hears about it, Anyone who can recognize sound.
But, by your favour, How near’s the other army?
But, if you don’t mind me asking, How close is the other army?
Near and on speedy foot; the main descry Stands on the hourly thought.
Very close and moving fast; the main threat Is on everyone’s mind right now.
I thank you, sir: that’s all.
Thank you, sir: that’s all I needed.
Though that the queen on special cause is here, Her army is moved on.
Although the queen is here for a specific reason, Her army has already moved out.
I thank you, sir.
Thank you, sir.
You ever-gentle gods, take my breath from me: Let not my worser spirit tempt me again To die before you please!
You ever-kind gods, take my life from me: Don’t let my worse instincts tempt me again To end my life before you allow it!
Well pray you, father.
Please, father.
Now, good sir, what are you?
Now, good sir, who are you?
A most poor man, made tame to fortune’s blows; Who, by the art of known and feeling sorrows, Am pregnant to good pity. Give me your hand, I’ll lead you to some biding.
A very poor man, broken by fate’s blows; Who, through knowing and feeling great sorrow, Is open to deep pity. Give me your hand, I’ll take you somewhere safe.
Hearty thanks: The bounty and the benison of heaven To boot, and boot!
Thanks a lot: The kindness and the blessing of heaven On top of that, and more!
A proclaim’d prize! Most happy! That eyeless head of thine was first framed flesh To raise my fortunes. Thou old unhappy traitor, Briefly thyself remember: the sword is out That must destroy thee.
A declared prize! So lucky! That blind head of yours was made into flesh To raise my status. You old, miserable traitor, Quickly remember your own fate: the sword is out That will kill you.
Now let thy friendly hand Put strength enough to’t.
Now let your friendly hand Put enough force into it.
Wherefore, bold peasant, Darest thou support a publish’d traitor? Hence; Lest that the infection of his fortune take Like hold on thee. Let go his arm.
Why, bold peasant, Do you dare to help a known traitor? Get away; Or else the curse of his fate will grip You too. Let go of his arm.
Ch’ill not let go, zir, without vurther ’casion.
I won’t let go, sir, without more reason.
Let go, slave, or thou diest!
Let go, slave, or you’ll die!
Good gentleman, go your gait, and let poor volk pass. An chud ha’ bin zwaggered out of my life, ’twould not ha’ bin zo long as ’tis by a vortnight. Nay, come not near th’ old man; keep out, che vor ye, or ise try whether your costard or my ballow be the harder: ch’ill be plain with you.
Good sir, go on your way, and let poor people pass. If I had been knocked out of my life, it wouldn’t have taken as long as it’s been—a fortnight. No, don’t come near the old man; stay back, or I’ll see if your head or my fist is the harder: I’ll be straightforward with you.
Out, dunghill!
Get lost, you dung heap!
Ch’ill pick your teeth, zir: come; no matter vor your foins.
I’ll clean your teeth, sir: come on; it doesn’t matter to me what kind of attack you try.
Slave, thou hast slain me: villain, take my purse: If ever thou wilt thrive, bury my body; And give the letters which thou find’st about me To Edmund earl of Gloucester; seek him out Upon the British party: O, untimely death!
Slave, you’ve killed me: villain, take my purse: If you ever want to prosper, bury my body; And give the letters you find on me To Edmund, Earl of Gloucester; find him On the side of the British: Oh, untimely death!
I know thee well: a serviceable villain; As duteous to the vices of thy mistress As badness would desire.
I know you well: a useful villain; As loyal to your mistress’s vices As evil could ever ask for.
What, is he dead?
What, is he dead?
Sit you down, father; rest you Let’s see these pockets: the letters that he speaks of May be my friends. He’s dead; I am only sorry He had no other death’s-man. Let us see: Leave, gentle wax; and, manners, blame us not: To know our enemies’ minds, we’ld rip their hearts; Their papers, is more lawful.
Sit down, father; rest now. Let’s look at these pockets: the letters he talked about Might be from my friends. He’s dead; I’m only sorry He didn’t have someone else to kill him. Let’s see: Leave it, gentle wax; and don’t blame us, manners: If we wanted to know our enemies’ thoughts, we’d rip their hearts out; But reading their papers is more lawful.
’Let our reciprocal vows be remembered. You have many opportunities to cut him off: if your will want not, time and place will be fruitfully offered. There is nothing done, if he return the conqueror: then am I the prisoner, and his bed my goal; from the loathed warmth whereof deliver me, and supply the place for your labour. ’Your--wife, so I would say-- ’Affectionate servant, ’GONERIL.’ O undistinguish’d space of woman’s will! A plot upon her virtuous husband’s life; And the exchange my brother! Here, in the sands, Thee I’ll rake up, the post unsanctified Of murderous lechers: and in the mature time With this ungracious paper strike the sight Of the death practised duke: for him ’tis well That of thy death and business I can tell.
’Let our mutual vows be remembered. You have many chances to kill him: if you’re determined, the right time and place will come easily. Nothing is done if he returns as the winner: Then I’ll be the prisoner, and his bed my prison; from the hated warmth of it, deliver me, and make room for your work. ’Your—wife, I should say— ’Loyal servant, ’GONERIL.’ Oh, the confusing space of a woman’s will! A plot against her virtuous husband’s life; And my brother in exchange! Here, in the sand, I’ll dig you up, the unholy messenger of murderous lechers: and in due time With this wicked letter, I’ll shock the eyes of the death-driven duke: for him, it’s good that I know about your death and plans.
The king is mad: how stiff is my vile sense, That I stand up, and have ingenious feeling Of my huge sorrows! Better I were distract: So should my thoughts be sever’d from my griefs, And woes by wrong imaginations lose The knowledge of themselves.
The king is mad: how can I stand, when my mind is so numb, that I can still feel the weight of my great sorrows! It would be better if I were out of my mind: Then my thoughts could be separated from my griefs, And my troubles, caused by mistaken ideas, would forget what they really are.
Give me your hand:
Give me your hand:
Far off, methinks, I hear the beaten drum: Come, father, I’ll bestow you with a friend.
Far off, I think I hear the sound of a drum: Come, father, I’ll take care of you with a friend.