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Modern English
Very reverend sport, truly; and done in the testimony of a good conscience.
A truly respectable game, indeed; and done with a good conscience.
The deer was, as you know, sanguis, in blood; ripe as the pomewater, who now hangeth like a jewel in the ear of caelo, the sky, the welkin, the heaven; and anon falleth like a crab on the face of terra, the soil, the land, the earth.
The deer was, as you know, sanguis, in blood; ripe like the pomewater, who now hangs like a jewel in the ear of the sky, the heavens; and soon falls like a crab on the face of the earth.
Truly, Master Holofernes, the epithets are sweetly varied, like a scholar at the least: but, sir, I assure ye, it was a buck of the first head.
Truly, Master Holofernes, the descriptions are sweetly varied, like a scholar at least: but, sir, I assure you, it was a buck of the first head.
Sir Nathaniel, haud credo.
Sir Nathaniel, I don’t believe you.
’Twas not a haud credo; ’twas a pricket.
It wasn’t a "haud credo"; it was a young stag.
Most barbarous intimation! yet a kind of insinuation, as it were, in via, in way, of explication; facere, as it were, replication, or rather, ostentare, to show, as it were, his inclination, after his undressed, unpolished, uneducated, unpruned, untrained, or rather, unlettered, or ratherest, unconfirmed fashion, to insert again my haud credo for a deer.
Most barbaric suggestion! Yet a sort of hint, almost like an explanation; to do, as it were, a response, or rather, to show, as it were, his tendency, in his rough, unfinished, unrefined, untrained, or rather, unlearned, or better yet, unproven way, to reintroduce my "haud credo" for a deer.
I said the deer was not a haud credo; twas a pricket.
I said the deer was not a "haud credo"; it was a young stag.
Twice-sod simplicity, his coctus! O thou monster Ignorance, how deformed dost thou look!
Twice-damn simplicity, his stupidity! Oh, you monster Ignorance, how ugly you look!
Sir, he hath never fed of the dainties that are bred in a book; he hath not eat paper, as it were; he hath not drunk ink: his intellect is not replenished; he is only an animal, only sensible in the duller parts: And such barren plants are set before us, that we thankful should be, Which we of taste and feeling are, for those parts that do fructify in us more than he. For as it would ill become me to be vain, indiscreet, or a fool, So were there a patch set on learning, to see him in a school: But omne bene, say I; being of an old father’s mind, Many can brook the weather that love not the wind.
Sir, he has never enjoyed the pleasures that come from reading; he hasn’t eaten paper, so to speak; he hasn’t drunk ink: his mind is empty; he is just an animal, only aware of the duller things: And such barren minds are placed before us, that we should be thankful, We who have taste and feeling, for the parts that grow in us more than in him. For just as it would be wrong for me to be vain, reckless, or foolish, It would be absurd to see him in a school: But, all is well, I say; in the spirit of an old father’s view, Many can handle the weather who don’t like the wind.
You two are book-men: can you tell me by your wit What was a month old at Cain’s birth, that’s not five weeks old as yet?
You two are bookish men: can you tell me with your wisdom What was a month old at Cain’s birth, and is still not five weeks old yet?
Dictynna, goodman Dull; Dictynna, goodman Dull.
Dictynna, good man Dull; Dictynna, good man Dull.
What is Dictynna?
What’s Dictynna?
A title to Phoebe, to Luna, to the moon.
A name for Phoebe, for Luna, for the moon.
The moon was a month old when Adam was no more, And raught not to five weeks when he came to five-score. The allusion holds in the exchange.
The moon was a month old when Adam was gone, And was only a little more than five weeks old when he reached the age of fifty. The comparison makes sense in this context.
’Tis true indeed; the collusion holds in the exchange.
It’s true indeed; the comparison makes sense in this context.
God comfort thy capacity! I say, the allusion holds in the exchange.
God help your understanding! I say, the comparison makes sense in this context.
And I say, the pollusion holds in the exchange; for the moon is never but a month old: and I say beside that, ’twas a pricket that the princess killed.
And I say, the confusion makes sense in the context; because the moon is always just a month old: and I also say that it was a young stag the princess killed.
Sir Nathaniel, will you hear an extemporal epitaph on the death of the deer? And, to humour the ignorant, call I the deer the princess killed a pricket.
Sir Nathaniel, would you like to hear an impromptu epitaph for the death of the deer? And, to humor the ignorant, I’ll call the deer the princess killed a young stag.
Perge, good Master Holofernes, perge; so it shall please you to abrogate scurrility.
Go ahead, good Master Holofernes, go ahead; if it pleases you to stop the insults.
I will something affect the letter, for it argues facility. The preyful princess pierced and prick’d a pretty pleasing pricket; Some say a sore; but not a sore, till now made sore with shooting. The dogs did yell: put L to sore, then sorel jumps from thicket; Or pricket sore, or else sorel; the people fall a-hooting. If sore be sore, then L to sore makes fifty sores one sorel. Of one sore I an hundred make by adding but one more L.
I’ll try to affect the style, because it shows ease. The royal princess pierced and killed a lovely little young stag; Some say a wound; but it wasn’t a wound, until now it became a wound from the shooting. The dogs were howling: add L to wound, and sore becomes a young stag; Or stag wound, or else sore; people start to shout. If sore is sore, adding L makes fifty wounds into one stag.
A rare talent!
A rare talent!
[Aside] If a talent be a claw, look how he claws him with a talent.
[Aside] If talent is like a claw, look how he’s grabbing onto him with it.
This is a gift that I have, simple, simple; a foolish extravagant spirit, full of forms, figures, shapes, objects, ideas, apprehensions, motions, revolutions: these are begot in the ventricle of memory, nourished in the womb of pia mater, and delivered upon the mellowing of occasion. But the gift is good in those in whom it is acute, and I am thankful for it.
This is a gift I have, simple, simple; a foolish, extravagant mind, full of shapes, figures, ideas, impressions, movements, changes: these are created in the heart of memory, nourished in the brain, and shown when the time is right. But the gift is good in those who use it well, and I’m thankful for it.
Sir, I praise the Lord for you; and so may my parishioners; for their sons are well tutored by you, and their daughters profit very greatly under you: you are a good member of the commonwealth.
Sir, I thank God for you; and so may my parishioners; for their sons are well taught by you, and their daughters learn greatly from you: you are a good member of the community.
Mehercle, if their sons be ingenuous, they shall want no instruction; if their daughters be capable, I will put it to them: but vir sapit qui pauca loquitur; a soul feminine saluteth us.
By Hercules, if their sons are smart, they will need no more teaching; if their daughters are smart, I will give it to them: but a wise man speaks little, a gentle woman greets us.
God give you good morrow, master Parson.
Good morning, master Parson.
Master Parson, quasi pers-on. An if one should be pierced, which is the one?
Master Parson, like "pers-on." If one is to be pierced, which one is it?
Marry, master schoolmaster, he that is likest to a hogshead.
Well, master schoolmaster, the one most like a barrel.
Piercing a hogshead! a good lustre of conceit in a tuft of earth; fire enough for a flint, pearl enough for a swine: ’tis pretty; it is well.
Piercing a barrel! A good example of wit in a clump of dirt; enough fire for a flint, enough pearl for a pig: it’s funny; it’s good.
Good master Parson, be so good as read me this letter: it was given me by Costard, and sent me from Don Armado: I beseech you, read it.
Good master Parson, could you kindly read me this letter? It was given to me by Costard, and sent by Don Armado: please, read it.
Fauste, precor gelida quando pecus omne sub umbra Ruminat,--and so forth. Ah, good old Mantuan! I may speak of thee as the traveller doth of Venice; Venetia, Venetia, Chi non ti vede non ti pretia. Old Mantuan, old Mantuan! who understandeth thee not, loves thee not. Ut, re, sol, la, mi, fa. Under pardon, sir, what are the contents? or rather, as Horace says in his--What, my soul, verses?
Ah, I pray, when all the cattle lie under the shade, chewing,--and so on. Ah, good old Mantuan! I can speak of you like a traveler does of Venice; Venice, Venice, Those who don’t see you, don’t appreciate you. Old Mantuan, old Mantuan! who doesn’t understand you doesn’t love you. Do, re, mi, fa. Excuse me, sir, what’s in this letter? Or, as Horace says in his--What, my soul, verses?
Ay, sir, and very learned.
Yes, sir, and very learned.
Let me hear a staff, a stanze, a verse; lege, domine.
Let me hear a verse, a stanza, a line; read on, sir.
[Reads] If love make me forsworn, how shall I swear to love? Ah, never faith could hold, if not to beauty vow’d! Though to myself forsworn, to thee I’ll faithful prove: Those thoughts to me were oaks, to thee like osiers bow’d. Study his bias leaves and makes his book thine eyes, Where all those pleasures live that art would comprehend: If knowledge be the mark, to know thee shall suffice; Well learned is that tongue that well can thee commend, All ignorant that soul that sees thee without wonder; Which is to me some praise that I thy parts admire: Thy eye Jove’s lightning bears, thy voice his dreadful thunder, Which not to anger bent, is music and sweet fire. Celestial as thou art, O, pardon, love, this wrong, That sings heaven’s praise with such an earthly tongue.
[Reads] If love makes me swear falsely, how can I swear to love? Ah, no promise could last, if it’s not vowed to beauty! Though I’ve sworn falsely to myself, I’ll prove faithful to you: Those thoughts to me were strong, to you like soft willows. Study his crooked words and make his book your eyes, Where all the pleasures that art can grasp live: If knowledge is the goal, to know you will be enough; Well learned is the tongue that can praise you well, All ignorant is the soul that sees you without awe; Which is some praise to me, since I admire your qualities: Your eyes hold Jove’s lightning, your voice his awful thunder, Which, when not bent on anger, is music and sweet fire. As heavenly as you are, O, forgive me, love, for this wrong, That sings heaven’s praise with such an earthly voice.
You find not the apostraphas, and so miss the accent: let me supervise the canzonet. Here are only numbers ratified; but, for the elegancy, facility, and golden cadence of poesy, caret. Ovidius Naso was the man: and why, indeed, Naso, but for smelling out the odouriferous flowers of fancy, the jerks of invention? Imitari is nothing: so doth the hound his master, the ape his keeper, the tired horse his rider. But, damosella virgin, was this directed to you?
You missed the apostrophes, so you missed the emphasis: let me take a look at the song. Here are only numbers confirmed; but for the elegance, ease, and golden rhythm of poetry, nothing. Ovid was the man: and why, really, Ovid, but for sniffing out the fragrant flowers of imagination, the sparks of invention? Imitating is nothing: just like the hound follows his master, the ape his keeper, the tired horse his rider. But, young lady, was this letter meant for you?
Ay, sir, from one Monsieur Biron, one of the strange queen’s lords.
Yes, sir, from a man named Monsieur Biron, one of the strange queen’s lords.
I will overglance the superscript: ’To the snow-white hand of the most beauteous Lady Rosaline.’ I will look again on the intellect of the letter, for the nomination of the party writing to the person written unto: ’Your ladyship’s in all desired employment, BIRON.’ Sir Nathaniel, this Biron is one of the votaries with the king; and here he hath framed a letter to a sequent of the stranger queen’s, which accidentally, or by the way of progression, hath miscarried. Trip and go, my sweet; deliver this paper into the royal hand of the king: it may concern much. Stay not thy compliment; I forgive thy duty; adieu.
I will quickly skim the address: ’To the snow-white hand of the most beautiful Lady Rosaline.’ I will read again the meaning of the letter, to see who it’s from and who it’s for: ’Your ladyship’s in all desired employment, BIRON.’ Sir Nathaniel, this Biron is one of the king’s followers; and here he has written a letter to a servant of the stranger queen’s, which, by chance or by accident, has gotten lost. Hurry up and go, my sweet; give this letter to the royal hand of the king: it might be important. Don’t worry about formalities; I forgive you for not doing your duty; goodbye.
Good Costard, go with me. Sir, God save your life!
Good Costard, come with me. Sir, God bless you!
Have with thee, my girl.
I’m coming with you, my girl.
Sir, you have done this in the fear of God, very religiously; and, as a certain father saith,--
Sir, you’ve done this in the fear of God, very religiously; and as a certain father says,--
Sir tell me not of the father; I do fear colourable colours. But to return to the verses: did they please you, Sir Nathaniel?
Sir, don’t talk to me about the father; I’m suspicious of false appearances. But let’s get back to the verses: did they please you, Sir Nathaniel?
Marvellous well for the pen.
Very well for the writing.
I do dine to-day at the father’s of a certain pupil of mine; where, if, before repast, it shall please you to gratify the table with a grace, I will, on my privilege I have with the parents of the foresaid child or pupil, undertake your ben venuto; where I will prove those verses to be very unlearned, neither savouring of poetry, wit, nor invention: I beseech your society.
I’m having dinner today at the house of a certain student of mine; where, if, before the meal, you would be kind enough to say a prayer, I will, because of the privilege I have with the parents of the mentioned student, take on the responsibility for your welcome; where I will prove those verses to be very unlearned, not showing any poetry, wit, or creativity: I ask for your company.
And thank you too; for society, saith the text, is the happiness of life.
And I thank you too; for, as the text says, companionship is the happiness of life.
And, certes, the text most infallibly concludes it.
And indeed, the text certainly proves it.
Sir, I do invite you too; you shall not say me nay: pauca verba. Away! the gentles are at their game, and we will to our recreation.
Sir, I invite you as well; you won’t refuse me: a few words. Away! the nobles are at their game, and we will go to our fun.
LOVE’S LABOURS LOST
LOVE’S LABOURS LOST