Original
Modern English
Was that the king, that spurred his horse so hard Against the steep uprising of the hill?
Was that the king, who rode his horse so fast Up the steep hill?
I know not; but I think it was not he.
I don’t know; but I don’t think it was him.
Whoe’er a’ was, a’ show’d a mounting mind. Well, lords, to-day we shall have our dispatch: On Saturday we will return to France. Then, forester, my friend, where is the bush That we must stand and play the murderer in?
Whoever it was, he had a determined mind. Well, lords, today we will finish our business: On Saturday we’ll go back to France. Then, forester, my friend, where’s the bush Where we’ll pretend to be murderers?
Hereby, upon the edge of yonder coppice; A stand where you may make the fairest shoot.
Right here, by the edge of that thicket; A spot where you can make the best shot.
I thank my beauty, I am fair that shoot, And thereupon thou speak’st the fairest shoot.
I thank you for the compliment, I’m pretty enough to take the shot, And that’s why you say I’m the best shot.
Pardon me, madam, for I meant not so.
Forgive me, madam, I didn’t mean it that way.
What, what? first praise me and again say no? O short-lived pride! Not fair? alack for woe!
What’s this? You praise me, then take it back? Oh, short-lived pride! Not pretty? Alas, what a shame!
Yes, madam, fair.
Yes, madam, you’re pretty.
Nay, never paint me now: Where fair is not, praise cannot mend the brow. Here, good my glass, take this for telling true: Fair payment for foul words is more than due.
Don’t try to flatter me now: Where beauty’s not, praise can’t fix the face. Here, good mirror, take this for speaking truth: You owe me more than just words for that.
Nothing but fair is that which you inherit.
Nothing but beauty is what you possess.
See see, my beauty will be saved by merit! O heresy in fair, fit for these days! A giving hand, though foul, shall have fair praise. But come, the bow: now mercy goes to kill, And shooting well is then accounted ill. Thus will I save my credit in the shoot: Not wounding, pity would not let me do’t; If wounding, then it was to show my skill, That more for praise than purpose meant to kill. And out of question so it is sometimes, Glory grows guilty of detested crimes, When, for fame’s sake, for praise, an outward part, We bend to that the working of the heart; As I for praise alone now seek to spill The poor deer’s blood, that my heart means no ill.
Look, look, my beauty will be saved by my merits! Oh, what a heresy to think beauty comes from merit, in these times! A generous hand, even if ugly, will still get praise. But come, the bow: now mercy is about to kill, And shooting well is then considered wrong. This is how I’ll save my reputation in the shot: If I don’t wound, pity will stop me from doing it; But if I do wound, it will be to show my skill, A wound that meant more for praise than to kill. And without a doubt, sometimes this is true, Glory gets mixed up with hateful crimes, When, for fame, for praise, we act on the outside, But the heart feels something else inside; Just like I’m now trying to kill the poor deer’s blood, Even though my heart means no harm.
Do not curst wives hold that self-sovereignty Only for praise sake, when they strive to be Lords o’er their lords?
Don’t cursed wives claim to be in charge Just for the sake of praise, when they try to rule Over their husbands?
Only for praise: and praise we may afford To any lady that subdues a lord.
Only for praise: and we can praise Any woman who brings a man to his knees.
Here comes a member of the commonwealth.
Here comes a member of the community.
God dig-you-den all! Pray you, which is the head lady?
Hello, everyone! Please, which one is the main lady?
Thou shalt know her, fellow, by the rest that have no heads.
You’ll know her, fellow, by the others who don’t have heads.
Which is the greatest lady, the highest?
Which one is the most important lady, the highest-ranking?
The thickest and the tallest.
The biggest and the tallest.
The thickest and the tallest! it is so; truth is truth. An your waist, mistress, were as slender as my wit, One o’ these maids’ girdles for your waist should be fit. Are not you the chief woman? you are the thickest here.
The biggest and the tallest! Yes, that’s true; truth is truth. If your waist, madam, were as slim as my mind, One of these girls’ belts would fit you perfectly. Aren’t you the main woman? You are the tallest here.
What’s your will, sir? what’s your will?
What do you want, sir? What do you want?
I have a letter from Monsieur Biron to one Lady Rosaline.
I have a letter from Monsieur Biron for Lady Rosaline.
O, thy letter, thy letter! he’s a good friend of mine: Stand aside, good bearer. Boyet, you can carve; Break up this capon.
Oh, your letter, your letter! He’s a good friend of mine: Step aside, good messenger. Boyet, you can carve; Cut up this chicken.
I am bound to serve. This letter is mistook, it importeth none here; It is writ to Jaquenetta.
I’m here to serve. This letter is a mistake, it’s not meant for anyone here; It’s written to Jaquenetta.
We will read it, I swear. Break the neck of the wax, and every one give ear.
We’ll read it, I swear. Break the wax seal, and everyone listen closely.
’By heaven, that thou art fair, is most infallible; true, that thou art beauteous; truth itself, that thou art lovely. More fairer than fair, beautiful than beauteous, truer than truth itself, have commiseration on thy heroical vassal! The magnanimous and most illustrate king Cophetua set eye upon the pernicious and indubitate beggar Zenelophon; and he it was that might rightly say, Veni, vidi, vici; which to annothanize in the vulgar,--O base and obscure vulgar!--videlicet, He came, saw, and overcame: he came, one; saw two; overcame, three. Who came? the king: why did he come? to see: why did he see? to overcome: to whom came he? to the beggar: what saw he? the beggar: who overcame he? the beggar. The conclusion is victory: on whose side? the king’s. The captive is enriched: on whose side? the beggar’s. The catastrophe is a nuptial: on whose side? the king’s: no, on both in one, or one in both. I am the king; for so stands the comparison: thou the beggar; for so witnesseth thy lowliness. Shall I command thy love? I may: shall I enforce thy love? I could: shall I entreat thy love? I will. What shalt thou exchange for rags? robes; for tittles? titles; for thyself? me. Thus, expecting thy reply, I profane my lips on thy foot, my eyes on thy picture. and my heart on thy every part. Thine, in the dearest design of industry, DON ADRIANO DE ARMADO.’ Thus dost thou hear the Nemean lion roar ’Gainst thee, thou lamb, that standest as his prey. Submissive fall his princely feet before, And he from forage will incline to play: But if thou strive, poor soul, what art thou then? Food for his rage, repasture for his den.
"By heaven, that you are beautiful is absolutely certain; true, that you are pretty; truth itself, that you are lovely. Fairer than fair, more beautiful than pretty, truer than truth itself, have pity on your noble servant! The noble and most illustrious King Cophetua laid his eyes on the stubborn and clearly poor beggar Zenelophon; and it was he who could truly say, ’I came, I saw, I conquered’; which, to put it simply, O lowly and humble common folk!—he came, saw, and overcame: he came, one; saw two; overcame, three. Who came? The king: why did he come? To see: why did he see? To conquer: to whom did he come? To the beggar: what did he see? The beggar: whom did he conquer? The beggar. The result is victory: on whose side? The king’s. The captured is enriched: on whose side? The beggar’s. The outcome is a marriage: on whose side? The king’s: no, on both in one, or one in both. I am the king; for so stands the comparison: thou art the beggar; for so shows your lowly state. Shall I command your love? I may: shall I force your love? I could: shall I beg for your love? I will. What will you trade for rags? Robes; for titles? Titles; for yourself? Me. Thus, waiting for your reply, I kiss your foot, my eyes on your picture, and my heart on every part of you. Yours, in the most earnest intention, DON ADRIANO DE ARMADO." Thus you hear the mighty lion roar Against you, you lamb, who stand as his prey. Submissively fall at his feet, And he will pause from his hunt to play: But if you resist, poor soul, what are you then? Food for his fury, and a meal for his den.
What plume of feathers is he that indited this letter? What vane? what weathercock? did you ever hear better?
What kind of person wrote this letter? What a windbag! Have you ever heard anything more ridiculous?
I am much deceived but I remember the style.
I’m terribly mistaken, but I think I recognize the style.
Else your memory is bad, going o’er it erewhile.
Otherwise, your memory is bad, going over it just now.
This Armado is a Spaniard, that keeps here in court; A phantasime, a Monarcho, and one that makes sport To the prince and his bookmates.
This Armado is a Spaniard, who stays here in court; A ghost, a madman, and someone who amuses The prince and his friends.
Thou fellow, a word: Who gave thee this letter?
You, fellow, one word: Who gave you this letter?
I told you; my lord.
I told you; my lord.
To whom shouldst thou give it?
To whom were you supposed to give it?
From my lord to my lady.
From my lord to my lady.
From which lord to which lady?
From which lord to which lady?
From my lord Biron, a good master of mine, To a lady of France that he call’d Rosaline.
From my lord Biron, a good master of mine, To a lady from France, whom he calls Rosaline.
Thou hast mistaken his letter. Come, lords, away.
You’ve got his letter wrong. Come on, lords, let’s go.
Here, sweet, put up this: ’twill be thine another day.
Here, sweet, take this back: you’ll have it another day.
Who is the suitor? who is the suitor?
Who is the suitor? Who is the suitor?
Shall I teach you to know?
Should I teach you to recognize him?
Ay, my continent of beauty.
Yes, my complete package of beauty.
Why, she that bears the bow. Finely put off!
Why, she who carries the bow. Nicely done!
My lady goes to kill horns; but, if thou marry, Hang me by the neck, if horns that year miscarry. Finely put on!
My lady is going to break hearts; but if you marry, Hang me by the neck if things go wrong that year. Very well said!
Well, then, I am the shooter.
Well, then, I’m the one doing the aiming.
And who is your deer?
And who is your target?
If we choose by the horns, yourself come not near. Finely put on, indeed!
If we choose by the horns, you’d better stay away. Very well said, indeed!
You still wrangle with her, Boyet, and she strikes at the brow.
You’re still arguing with her, Boyet, and she’s aiming at your head.
But she herself is hit lower: have I hit her now?
But she’s aiming lower: have I hit her now?
Shall I come upon thee with an old saying, that was a man when King Pepin of France was a little boy, as touching the hit it?
Shall I come at you with an old saying, one that was used when King Pepin of France was a little boy, about hitting the target?
So I may answer thee with one as old, that was a woman when Queen Guinover of Britain was a little wench, as touching the hit it.
Then I’ll answer you with one just as old, one that was used when Queen Guinevere of Britain was a little girl, about hitting the target.
Thou canst not hit it, hit it, hit it, Thou canst not hit it, my good man.
You can’t hit it, can’t hit it, can’t hit it, You can’t hit it, my good man.
An I cannot, cannot, cannot, An I cannot, another can.
If I can’t, can’t, can’t, If I can’t, someone else can.
By my troth, most pleasant: how both did fit it!
Truly, it was most amusing: how well they both played it!
A mark marvellous well shot, for they both did hit it.
A remarkably well-aimed shot, because they both hit it.
A mark! O, mark but that mark! A mark, says my lady! Let the mark have a prick in’t, to mete at, if it may be.
A shot! Oh, look at that shot! A shot, says my lady! Let the target have a mark on it, to measure, if it’s possible.
Wide o’ the bow hand! i’ faith, your hand is out.
Wide of the mark! Honestly, your aim is off.
Indeed, a’ must shoot nearer, or he’ll ne’er hit the clout.
Indeed, he needs to aim closer, or he’ll never hit the target.
An if my hand be out, then belike your hand is in.
If my hand is out, then it’s probably your hand that’s in.
Then will she get the upshoot by cleaving the pin.
Then she’ll get the upper hand by splitting the difference.
Come, come, you talk greasily; your lips grow foul.
Come on, you’re talking nonsense; your words are dirty.
She’s too hard for you at pricks, sir: challenge her to bowl.
She’s too skilled for you at this, sir: challenge her to bowl instead.
I fear too much rubbing. Good night, my good owl.
I’m afraid that might get too physical. Good night, my good owl.
By my soul, a swain! a most simple clown! Lord, Lord, how the ladies and I have put him down! O’ my troth, most sweet jests! most incony vulgar wit! When it comes so smoothly off, so obscenely, as it were, so fit. Armado o’ th’ one side,--O, a most dainty man! To see him walk before a lady and to bear her fan! To see him kiss his hand! and how most sweetly a’ will swear! And his page o’ t’ other side, that handful of wit! Ah, heavens, it is a most pathetical nit! Sola, sola!
By my soul, what a country boy! A complete fool! Lord, how the ladies and I have made a fool of him! Oh, my word, such sweet jokes! Such simple, foolish wit! When it all comes out so smoothly, so ridiculously, and so perfectly fitting. Armado on one side,--Oh, what a dandy he is! To see him walk in front of a lady and carry her fan! To watch him kiss his hand! And how sweetly he swears! And his page on the other side, that little bit of wit! Ah, heaven, he’s a pathetic idiot! Alone, alone!
LOVE’S LABOURS LOST
LOVE’S LABOURS LOST