Original
Modern English
Sweet hearts, we shall be rich ere we depart, If fairings come thus plentifully in: A lady wall’d about with diamonds! Look you what I have from the loving king.
Sweethearts, we’ll be rich before we leave, If gifts keep coming this fast: A lady surrounded by diamonds! Look at what I’ve got from the loving king.
Madame, came nothing else along with that?
Madame, was there nothing else with that?
Nothing but this! yes, as much love in rhyme As would be cramm’d up in a sheet of paper, Writ o’ both sides the leaf, margent and all, That he was fain to seal on Cupid’s name.
Nothing but this! Yes, as much love in verse As could fit on a single sheet of paper, Written on both sides, margins and all, Which he had to seal with Cupid’s name.
That was the way to make his godhead wax, For he hath been five thousand years a boy.
That’s the way to make his godliness grow, Since he’s been a boy for five thousand years.
Ay, and a shrewd unhappy gallows too.
Yes, and a troublesome, unlucky figure too.
You’ll ne’er be friends with him; a’ kill’d your sister.
You’ll never get along with him; he killed your sister.
He made her melancholy, sad, and heavy; And so she died: had she been light, like you, Of such a merry, nimble, stirring spirit, She might ha’ been a grandam ere she died: And so may you; for a light heart lives long.
He made her sad, gloomy, and heavy; And that’s how she died: if she’d been light-hearted, like you, With such a merry, lively, energetic spirit, She might have lived to be a grandmother before she died: And so might you; because a light heart lives long.
What’s your dark meaning, mouse, of this light word?
What do you mean by that dark comment, little one?
A light condition in a beauty dark.
A light nature in a beauty that’s dark.
We need more light to find your meaning out.
We need more light to understand what you mean.
You’ll mar the light by taking it in snuff; Therefore I’ll darkly end the argument.
You’ll spoil the light by sniffing it; So I’ll end this discussion in the dark.
Look what you do, you do it still i’ the dark.
Look, whatever you do, you always do it in the dark.
So do not you, for you are a light wench.
So do you, because you’re a light flirt.
Indeed I weigh not you, and therefore light.
Honestly, I don’t care about you, and that’s why you’re not important to me.
You weigh me not? O, that’s you care not for me.
You don’t care about me? Oh, so you don’t love me.
Great reason; for ’past cure is still past care.’
That makes sense; because "what can’t be fixed, isn’t worth worrying about."
Well bandied both; a set of wit well play’d. But Rosaline, you have a favour too: Who sent it? and what is it?
Well said, both of you; you’ve played the word game well. But Rosaline, you have a gift too: Who sent it? And what is it?
I would you knew: An if my face were but as fair as yours, My favour were as great; be witness this. Nay, I have verses too, I thank Biron: The numbers true; and, were the numbering too, I were the fairest goddess on the ground: I am compared to twenty thousand fairs. O, he hath drawn my picture in his letter!
I wish you knew: If my face were as pretty as yours, My gift would be just as valuable; this is proof. No, I have poems too, thanks to Biron: The counts are correct; and if the counting were also correct, I would be the most beautiful woman on earth: I’m compared to twenty thousand beauties. Oh, he’s drawn my picture in his letter!
Any thing like?
Does it look like you?
Much in the letters; nothing in the praise.
It looks like the letter; nothing like the praise.
Beauteous as ink; a good conclusion.
Beautiful as ink; a nice way to end.
Fair as a text B in a copy-book.
As pretty as the letter B in a textbook.
’Ware pencils, ho! let me not die your debtor, My red dominical, my golden letter: O, that your face were not so full of O’s!
Watch out, pencils! Don’t let me owe you anything, My red Sunday letter, my golden signature: Oh, if only your face weren’t so full of O’s!
A pox of that jest! and I beshrew all shrows.
A pox on that joke! And I curse all loudmouths.
But, Katharine, what was sent to you from fair Dumain?
But, Katharine, what did Dumain send to you?
Madam, this glove.
Madam, this glove.
Did he not send you twain?
Didn’t he send you two?
Yes, madam, and moreover Some thousand verses of a faithful lover, A huge translation of hypocrisy, Vilely compiled, profound simplicity.
Yes, madam, and also A thousand verses from a faithful lover, A huge translation of hypocrisy, Terribly written, pure simplicity.
This and these pearls to me sent Longaville: The letter is too long by half a mile.
This and these pearls were sent to me by Longaville: The letter is way too long, by about half a mile.
I think no less. Dost thou not wish in heart The chain were longer and the letter short?
I think no less. Don’t you wish, in your heart, The chain were longer and the letter shorter?
Ay, or I would these hands might never part.
Yes, or I wish these hands might never part.
We are wise girls to mock our lovers so.
We are smart girls to tease our lovers like this.
They are worse fools to purchase mocking so. That same Biron I’ll torture ere I go: O that I knew he were but in by the week! How I would make him fawn and beg and seek And wait the season and observe the times And spend his prodigal wits in bootless rhymes And shape his service wholly to my hests And make him proud to make me proud that jests! So perttaunt-like would I o’ersway his state That he should be my fool and I his fate.
They’re bigger fools to buy teasing like this. That Biron, I’ll torment before I leave: Oh, if only I knew he was here for the week! How I’d make him crawl and beg and wait And observe the right time, follow the rules And waste his cleverness on silly rhymes And turn his service entirely to my commands And make him proud to make me proud with his jokes! So mockingly, I’d control his position That he’d be my fool and I his destiny.
None are so surely caught, when they are catch’d, As wit turn’d fool: folly, in wisdom hatch’d, Hath wisdom’s warrant and the help of school And wit’s own grace to grace a learned fool.
No one is caught more surely, once caught, Than wit turned fool: foolishness, born from wisdom, Has the right of wisdom and the grace of education And wit’s own charm to make a learned fool look good.
The blood of youth burns not with such excess As gravity’s revolt to wantonness.
Youth’s passion doesn’t burn with such intensity As age’s turn to foolishness.
Folly in fools bears not so strong a note As foolery in the wise, when wit doth dote; Since all the power thereof it doth apply To prove, by wit, worth in simplicity.
Foolishness in fools isn’t as noticeable As foolishness in the wise, when their wit fades; Since all its power is used up To prove, with wit, the value of simplicity.
Here comes Boyet, and mirth is in his face.
Here comes Boyet, and he’s smiling.
O, I am stabb’d with laughter! Where’s her grace?
Oh, I’m stabbed with laughter! Where’s the princess?
Thy news Boyet?
What news, Boyet?
Prepare, madam, prepare! Arm, wenches, arm! encounters mounted are Against your peace: Love doth approach disguised, Armed in arguments; you’ll be surprised: Muster your wits; stand in your own defence; Or hide your heads like cowards, and fly hence.
Get ready, madam, get ready! Arm yourselves, ladies, arm yourselves! Encounters are coming That will disturb your peace: Love approaches in disguise, Armed with reasons; you’ll be caught off guard: Gather your wits; defend yourselves; Or hide like cowards and run away.
Saint Denis to Saint Cupid! What are they That charge their breath against us? say, scout, say.
Saint Denis, help us! What are they That threaten us? Tell me, scout, tell me.
Under the cool shade of a sycamore I thought to close mine eyes some half an hour; When, lo! to interrupt my purposed rest, Toward that shade I might behold addrest The king and his companions: warily I stole into a neighbour thicket by, And overheard what you shall overhear, That, by and by, disguised they will be here. Their herald is a pretty knavish page, That well by heart hath conn’d his embassage: Action and accent did they teach him there; ’Thus must thou speak,’ and ’thus thy body bear:’ And ever and anon they made a doubt Presence majestical would put him out, ’For,’ quoth the king, ’an angel shalt thou see; Yet fear not thou, but speak audaciously.’ The boy replied, ’An angel is not evil; I should have fear’d her had she been a devil.’ With that, all laugh’d and clapp’d him on the shoulder, Making the bold wag by their praises bolder: One rubb’d his elbow thus, and fleer’d and swore A better speech was never spoke before; Another, with his finger and his thumb, Cried, ’Via! we will do’t, come what will come;’ The third he caper’d, and cried, ’All goes well;’ The fourth turn’d on the toe, and down he fell. With that, they all did tumble on the ground, With such a zealous laughter, so profound, That in this spleen ridiculous appears, To cheque their folly, passion’s solemn tears.
Under the cool shade of a sycamore I planned to rest for half an hour; When, suddenly, I saw the king and his men approaching: Quietly, I hid in a nearby thicket And overheard what you’re about to hear, That, soon, they’ll be here in disguise. Their messenger is a cheeky little page, Who knows his part by heart: They taught him how to act and speak like this: ’This is how you should talk,’ and ’this is how you stand:’ And every now and then, they worried That his majestic presence might confuse him, ‘For,’ said the king, ‘you’ll see an angel; But don’t be afraid, just speak boldly.’ The boy replied, ‘An angel isn’t bad; I would’ve feared her if she’d been a devil.’ With that, they all laughed and patted him on the back, Making the cheeky boy even bolder with their praise: One rubbed his elbow, laughed, and swore That no speech had ever been better said; Another, with his finger and thumb, Shouted, ‘Let’s do it, whatever happens;’ The third jumped around, shouting, ‘Everything’s great;’ The fourth spun on his heel, and fell down. Then they all tumbled to the ground, Laughing so hard, so deeply, That this ridiculous scene seems more like A serious moment, where passion’s tears should flow.
But what, but what, come they to visit us?
But what, what, are they here to visit us?
They do, they do: and are apparell’d thus. Like Muscovites or Russians, as I guess. Their purpose is to parle, to court and dance; And every one his love-feat will advance Unto his several mistress, which they’ll know By favours several which they did bestow.
Yes, yes, they are: and they’re dressed like this. Like Russians, I suppose. Their plan is to talk, to court, and dance; And each of them will try to show their love To his particular lady, who they’ll recognize By the special favors they gave her.
And will they so? the gallants shall be task’d; For, ladies, we shall every one be mask’d; And not a man of them shall have the grace, Despite of suit, to see a lady’s face. Hold, Rosaline, this favour thou shalt wear, And then the king will court thee for his dear; Hold, take thou this, my sweet, and give me thine, So shall Biron take me for Rosaline. And change your favours too; so shall your loves Woo contrary, deceived by these removes.
And will they really? The gentlemen will be assigned tasks; Because, ladies, we will each wear a mask; And not a single one of them will have the chance, No matter how hard they try, to see a lady’s face. Here, Rosaline, you will wear this token, And then the king will court you as his beloved; Here, take this, my sweet, and give me yours, That way Biron will think I’m Rosaline. And you change your tokens too; that way your suitors Will pursue the wrong ladies, tricked by these exchanges.
Come on, then; wear the favours most in sight.
Alright, then; wear the tokens that are most visible.
But in this changing what is your intent?
But what is your real intention behind all this switching?
The effect of my intent is to cross theirs: They do it but in mocking merriment; And mock for mock is only my intent. Their several counsels they unbosom shall To loves mistook, and so be mock’d withal Upon the next occasion that we meet, With visages displayed, to talk and greet.
My purpose is to confuse theirs: They’re only doing it for fun and games; And my goal is just to mock them right back. They’ll reveal their plans to loves they mistake, And be mocked in turn. When we meet again, We’ll greet them with our faces uncovered, to talk and greet.
But shall we dance, if they desire to’t?
But should we dance, if they want to?
No, to the death, we will not move a foot; Nor to their penn’d speech render we no grace, But while ’tis spoke each turn away her face.
No, not at all; we won’t move a step; Nor will we give any grace to their prepared speeches, But while they’re speaking, each of us will turn our face away.
Why, that contempt will kill the speaker’s heart, And quite divorce his memory from his part.
But that kind of contempt will break the speaker’s heart, And totally erase his memory of his lines.
Therefore I do it; and I make no doubt The rest will ne’er come in, if he be out There’s no such sport as sport by sport o’erthrown, To make theirs ours and ours none but our own: So shall we stay, mocking intended game, And they, well mock’d, depart away with shame.
That’s exactly why I’m doing it; I’m sure The rest will never join in if he’s left out. There’s no better game than one where you overturn the rules, To make theirs ours and ours stay only ours: This way, we stay, mocking their intended fun, And they, thoroughly mocked, will leave in shame.
The trumpet sounds: be mask’d; the maskers come.
The trumpet sounds: get ready; the maskers are coming.
All hail, the richest beauties on the earth!--
Hail to the richest beauties on earth!--
Beauties no richer than rich taffeta.
Beauties no richer than rich silk.
A holy parcel of the fairest dames.
A holy group of the fairest ladies.
That ever turn’d their--backs--to mortal views!
That ever turn’d their--backs--to mortal views!
[Aside to MOTH] Their eyes, villain, their eyes!
[Aside to MOTH] Their eyes, villain, their eyes!
That ever turn’d their eyes to mortal views!--Out--
That ever turn’d their eyes to mortal views!--Out--
True; out indeed.
True; out indeed.
Out of your favours, heavenly spirits, vouchsafe Not to behold--
Out of your favours, heavenly spirits, vouchsafe Not to behold--
[Aside to MOTH] Once to behold, rogue.
[Aside to MOTH] Once to behold, rogue.
Once to behold with your sun-beamed eyes, --with your sun-beamed eyes--
Once to behold with your sun-beamed eyes, --with your sun-beamed eyes--
They will not answer to that epithet; You were best call it ’daughter-beamed eyes.’
They will not answer to that epithet; You were best call it ’daughter-beamed eyes.’
They do not mark me, and that brings me out.
They do not notice me, and that makes me leave.
Is this your perfectness? be gone, you rogue!
Is this your best? Be gone, you scoundrel!
What would these strangers? know their minds, Boyet: If they do speak our language, ’tis our will: That some plain man recount their purposes Know what they would.
What do these strangers want? Know their intentions, Boyet: If they speak our language, it’s what we want: Let some straightforward man tell us their plans To understand what they want.
What would you with the princess?
What do you want with the princess?
Nothing but peace and gentle visitation.
Nothing but peace and friendly visits.
What would they, say they?
What do they want, you say?
Nothing but peace and gentle visitation.
Nothing but peace and friendly visits.
Why, that they have; and bid them so be gone.
Well, they have it, and tell them to leave.
She says, you have it, and you may be gone.
She says you have it, so you can go.
Say to her, we have measured many miles To tread a measure with her on this grass.
Tell her we’ve walked many miles To dance with her on this grass.
They say, that they have measured many a mile To tread a measure with you on this grass.
They say they’ve walked many miles To dance with you on this grass.
It is not so. Ask them how many inches Is in one mile: if they have measured many, The measure then of one is easily told.
That’s not true. Ask them how many inches Are in a mile: if they’ve walked many, It’s easy to say how long one mile is.
If to come hither you have measured miles, And many miles, the princess bids you tell How many inches doth fill up one mile.
If you’ve walked miles to get here, The princess wants you to tell How many inches are in one mile.
Tell her, we measure them by weary steps.
Tell her, we measure them by tired steps.
She hears herself.
She can hear for herself.
How many weary steps, Of many weary miles you have o’ergone, Are number’d in the travel of one mile?
How many tired steps, Of many tired miles you’ve walked, Are counted in the journey of one mile?
We number nothing that we spend for you: Our duty is so rich, so infinite, That we may do it still without accompt. Vouchsafe to show the sunshine of your face, That we, like savages, may worship it.
We don’t count what we do for you: Our duty is so great, so endless, That we can keep doing it without counting. Please let us see the sunshine of your face, So we, like wild people, can worship it.
My face is but a moon, and clouded too.
My face is just like the moon, and cloudy too.
Blessed are clouds, to do as such clouds do! Vouchsafe, bright moon, and these thy stars, to shine, Those clouds removed, upon our watery eyne.
Blessed are clouds, for they do what clouds do! Please, bright moon, and all your stars, shine, When those clouds are gone, on our watery eyes.
O vain petitioner! beg a greater matter; Thou now request’st but moonshine in the water.
Oh, foolish beggar! Ask for something bigger; You’re asking for moonlight in the water.
Then, in our measure do but vouchsafe one change. Thou bid’st me beg: this begging is not strange.
Then, just grant me one small change. You told me to beg: this kind of begging isn’t strange.
Play, music, then! Nay, you must do it soon.
Play music, then! No, you must do it now.
Not yet! no dance! Thus change I like the moon.
Not yet! no dance! Thus change I like the moon.
Will you not dance? How come you thus estranged?
Won’t you dance? Why are you acting distant?
You took the moon at full, but now she’s changed.
You saw me at my best, but now I’ve changed.
Yet still she is the moon, and I the man. The music plays; vouchsafe some motion to it.
But she’s still the moon, and I’m still the man. The music’s playing; at least move to it.
Our ears vouchsafe it.
We hear it, at least.
But your legs should do it.
But your feet should move too.
Since you are strangers and come here by chance, We’ll not be nice: take hands. We will not dance.
Since you’re strangers and just here by accident, We won’t be picky: let’s shake hands. We won’t dance.
Why take we hands, then?
Why shake hands, then?
Only to part friends: Curtsy, sweet hearts; and so the measure ends.
Just to part as friends: A curtsy, sweethearts; and that’s the end of the dance.
More measure of this measure; be not nice.
That’s not enough; let’s do more. Don’t be shy.
We can afford no more at such a price.
We can’t afford to do more for such a price.
Prize you yourselves: what buys your company?
How much do you value yourselves? What will buy your company?
Your absence only.
Only your absence.
That can never be.
That will never happen.
Then cannot we be bought: and so, adieu; Twice to your visor, and half once to you.
Then we can’t be bought: goodbye; Twice to your mask, and half a bow to you.
If you deny to dance, let’s hold more chat.
If you won’t dance, let’s talk some more.
In private, then.
In private, then.
I am best pleased with that.
I’m happy with that.
White-handed mistress, one sweet word with thee.
White-handed lady, one sweet word with you.
Honey, and milk, and sugar; there is three.
Honey, milk, and sugar; that makes three.
Nay then, two treys, and if you grow so nice, Metheglin, wort, and malmsey: well run, dice! There’s half-a-dozen sweets.
No, then, two threes, and if you’re going to be so picky, Metheglin, wort, and malmsey: well played, dice! That’s half a dozen sweets.
Seventh sweet, adieu: Since you can cog, I’ll play no more with you.
Seventh sweet, goodbye: Since you can cheat, I’ll play no more with you.
One word in secret.
One word in private.
Let it not be sweet.
Don’t make it sweet.
Thou grievest my gall.
You’re making me angry.
Gall! bitter.
Angry? Bitter.
Therefore meet.
That’s why we meet.
Will you vouchsafe with me to change a word?
Will you kindly let me speak with you for a moment?
Name it.
Say it.
Fair lady,--
Fair lady,--
Say you so? Fair lord,-- Take that for your fair lady.
Is that so? Gentle lord,-- Take this as a gift for your beautiful lady.
Please it you, As much in private, and I’ll bid adieu.
If you wish, I’ll say even more privately, and then I’ll say goodbye.
What, was your vizard made without a tongue?
What, was your mask made without a tongue?
I know the reason, lady, why you ask.
I know why, lady, you’re asking this.
O for your reason! quickly, sir; I long.
Oh, tell me your reason! Hurry, sir; I’m eager.
You have a double tongue within your mask, And would afford my speechless vizard half.
You have two tongues behind your mask, And you’d give my silent mask just one of them.
Veal, quoth the Dutchman. Is not ’veal’ a calf?
Veal, says the Dutchman. Isn’t ’veal’ just a calf?
A calf, fair lady!
A calf, fair lady!
No, a fair lord calf.
No, a beautiful young bull.
Let’s part the word.
Let’s split the word.
No, I’ll not be your half Take all, and wean it; it may prove an ox.
No, I won’t be your half. Take everything, and raise it; it might turn into an ox.
Look, how you butt yourself in these sharp mocks! Will you give horns, chaste lady? do not so.
Look at how you hurt yourself with these sharp jokes! Will you give yourself horns, chaste lady? Don’t do that.
Then die a calf, before your horns do grow.
Then die a calf, before your horns even start to grow.
One word in private with you, ere I die.
One word with you, privately, before I die.
Bleat softly then; the butcher hears you cry.
Bleat quietly then; the butcher will hear you cry.
The tongues of mocking wenches are as keen As is the razor’s edge invisible, Cutting a smaller hair than may be seen, Above the sense of sense; so sensible Seemeth their conference; their conceits have wings Fleeter than arrows, bullets, wind, thought, swifter things.
The tongues of mocking girls are as sharp As a razor’s edge that you can’t see, Cutting a hair finer than you can see, Beyond what you can actually feel; their talk Seems so full of meaning; their thoughts are so fast They’re quicker than arrows, bullets, wind, and even faster than thoughts.
Not one word more, my maids; break off, break off.
No more talking, my girls; stop, stop.
By heaven, all dry-beaten with pure scoff!
By heaven, I’m all beaten down with pure mockery!
Farewell, mad wenches; you have simple wits.
Goodbye, crazy girls; you have simple minds.
Twenty adieus, my frozen Muscovits.
Twenty goodbyes, my cold Russians.
Are these the breed of wits so wonder’d at?
Are these the kinds of wits that everyone talks about?
Tapers they are, with your sweet breaths puff’d out.
They’re like candles, blown out by your sweet breath.
Well-liking wits they have; gross, gross; fat, fat.
They have charming wits, but they’re stupid, stupid; heavy, heavy.
O poverty in wit, kingly-poor flout! Will they not, think you, hang themselves tonight? Or ever, but in vizards, show their faces? This pert Biron was out of countenance quite.
Oh, how poor their wits are, like a king’s poor joke! Don’t you think they’ll try to kill themselves tonight? Or will they only ever show their faces behind masks? This cheeky Biron was completely embarrassed.
O, they were all in lamentable cases! The king was weeping-ripe for a good word.
Oh, they were all in such pathetic states! The king was on the verge of tears, just waiting for a kind word.
Biron did swear himself out of all suit.
Biron swore he was done with all of it.
Dumain was at my service, and his sword: No point, quoth I; my servant straight was mute.
Dumain was at my service, and with his sword: I said, “No need,” and he immediately went silent.
Lord Longaville said, I came o’er his heart; And trow you what he called me?
Lord Longaville said I won his heart; And do you know what he called me?
Qualm, perhaps.
Maybe "Qualm."
Yes, in good faith.
Yes, really.
Go, sickness as thou art!
Go, sickness, just as you are!
Well, better wits have worn plain statute-caps. But will you hear? the king is my love sworn.
Well, smarter people have worn simple hats. But will you listen? The king has sworn his love to me.
And quick Biron hath plighted faith to me.
And quick Biron has promised his faith to me.
And Longaville was for my service born.
And Longaville was born to serve me.
Dumain is mine, as sure as bark on tree.
Dumain is mine, as sure as bark on a tree.
Madam, and pretty mistresses, give ear: Immediately they will again be here In their own shapes; for it can never be They will digest this harsh indignity.
Ladies, and lovely mistresses, listen: They will be back soon, In their true forms; it’s impossible that They’ll be able to accept this harsh insult.
Will they return?
Will they come back?
They will, they will, God knows, And leap for joy, though they are lame with blows: Therefore change favours; and, when they repair, Blow like sweet roses in this summer air.
Yes, yes, God knows, And jump for joy, even though they’re sore from the blows: So, change your favours; and, when they return, Be like sweet roses in this summer air.
How blow? how blow? speak to be understood.
How be like roses? How? Speak so I understand.
Fair ladies mask’d are roses in their bud; Dismask’d, their damask sweet commixture shown, Are angels vailing clouds, or roses blown.
Fair ladies, masked, are like roses in their buds; Unmasked, their damask colour shows its sweet mix, Like angels hiding behind clouds, or roses in full bloom.
Avaunt, perplexity! What shall we do, If they return in their own shapes to woo?
Enough, confusion! What will we do, If they return in their true forms to court us?
Good madam, if by me you’ll be advised, Let’s, mock them still, as well known as disguised: Let us complain to them what fools were here, Disguised like Muscovites, in shapeless gear; And wonder what they were and to what end Their shallow shows and prologue vilely penn’d And their rough carriage so ridiculous, Should be presented at our tent to us.
Good madam, if you’ll take my advice, Let’s keep mocking them, as we did when they were disguised: Let’s complain to them how foolish they were, Disguised like Russians, in shapeless clothes; And wonder what they were and what they were trying to achieve With their silly performances and poorly written prologue And their awkward behaviour, so absurd, Should have been presented to us in our tent.
Ladies, withdraw: the gallants are at hand.
Ladies, step aside: the gentlemen are coming.
Whip to our tents, as roes run o’er land.
Run to our tents, like deer running across the land.
Fair sir, God save you! Where’s the princess?
Good sir, God bless you! Where is the princess?
Gone to her tent. Please it your majesty Command me any service to her thither?
She’s gone to her tent. Would you like me to Do anything for her there, your majesty?
That she vouchsafe me audience for one word.
I just need her to listen to me for one moment.
I will; and so will she, I know, my lord.
I will, and I’m sure she will, my lord.
This fellow pecks up wit as pigeons pease, And utters it again when God doth please: He is wit’s pedler, and retails his wares At wakes and wassails, meetings, markets, fairs; And we that sell by gross, the Lord doth know, Have not the grace to grace it with such show. This gallant pins the wenches on his sleeve; Had he been Adam, he had tempted Eve; A’ can carve too, and lisp: why, this is he That kiss’d his hand away in courtesy; This is the ape of form, monsieur the nice, That, when he plays at tables, chides the dice In honourable terms: nay, he can sing A mean most meanly; and in ushering Mend him who can: the ladies call him sweet; The stairs, as he treads on them, kiss his feet: This is the flower that smiles on every one, To show his teeth as white as whale’s bone; And consciences, that will not die in debt, Pay him the due of honey-tongued Boyet.
This guy picks up jokes like pigeons pick up peas, And says them again whenever it’s convenient: He’s a peddler of wit, selling his goods At wakes, parties, gatherings, markets, fairs; And we who sell in bulk, the Lord knows, Don’t have the style to sell it with such flair. This guy flaunts the ladies with his charm; If he’d been Adam, he would’ve tempted Eve; He can carve, too, and speak in a cute way: why, this is him Who kissed his hand to be polite; He’s the definition of style, Monsieur Perfect, Who, when he plays dice, scolds the dice In a very noble way: and yes, he can sing A really bad song very badly; and when it comes to introducing Someone, only someone perfect can fix him: the ladies all call him sweet; The stairs, as he walks up them, kiss his feet: This is the guy who smiles at everyone, To show off his white teeth, like whale bone; And those with guilty consciences, who won’t admit their debts, Give him the reward of his honeyed words.
A blister on his sweet tongue, with my heart, That put Armado’s page out of his part!
I wish a curse on his sweet words, with all my heart, For making Armado’s page lose his part!
See where it comes! Behavior, what wert thou Till this madman show’d thee? and what art thou now?
Look, here it comes! Behavior, what were you Before this madman showed you? And what are you now?
All hail, sweet madam, and fair time of day!
Greetings, sweet madam, and a lovely day to you!
’Fair’ in ’all hail’ is foul, as I conceive.
’Fair’ in ’all hail’ is ugly, as I see it.
Construe my speeches better, if you may.
Please understand my words better, if you can.
Then wish me better; I will give you leave.
Then wish me better; I’ll let you.
We came to visit you, and purpose now To lead you to our court; vouchsafe it then.
We came to visit you, and we now plan To take you to our court; please allow it.
This field shall hold me; and so hold your vow: Nor God, nor I, delights in perjured men.
This field will be my home; and you must keep your promise: Neither God nor I take pleasure in liars.
Rebuke me not for that which you provoke: The virtue of your eye must break my oath.
Don’t blame me for what you encourage: The power of your gaze makes me break my promise.
You nickname virtue; vice you should have spoke; For virtue’s office never breaks men’s troth. Now by my maiden honour, yet as pure As the unsullied lily, I protest, A world of torments though I should endure, I would not yield to be your house’s guest; So much I hate a breaking cause to be Of heavenly oaths, vow’d with integrity.
You call it virtue; you should have called it vice; Because virtue’s job never makes people break their word. Now, by my virgin honor, still as pure As the untarnished lily, I swear, Even if I had to suffer a world of torments, I would not agree to be your guest; I hate breaking an oath, especially one Made with sincerity.
O, you have lived in desolation here, Unseen, unvisited, much to our shame.
Oh, you’ve lived in isolation here, Unseen, unvisited, and it’s shameful for us.
Not so, my lord; it is not so, I swear; We have had pastimes here and pleasant game: A mess of Russians left us but of late.
Not at all, my lord; it’s not true, I swear; We’ve had fun here and enjoyed ourselves: A group of Russians left us just recently.
How, madam! Russians!
What, madam! Russians!?
Ay, in truth, my lord; Trim gallants, full of courtship and of state.
Yes, truly, my lord; Handsome young men, full of politeness and dignity.
Madam, speak true. It is not so, my lord: My lady, to the manner of the days, In courtesy gives undeserving praise. We four indeed confronted were with four In Russian habit: here they stay’d an hour, And talk’d apace; and in that hour, my lord, They did not bless us with one happy word. I dare not call them fools; but this I think, When they are thirsty, fools would fain have drink.
Madam, tell the truth. It’s not like that, my lord: My lady, in line with the customs of the time, Shows courtesy where it’s not deserved. We four were indeed faced with four In Russian clothes: they stayed for an hour, And talked quickly; and in that hour, my lord, They didn’t say a single kind word. I wouldn’t call them fools; but here’s what I think, When they’re thirsty, fools would gladly have a drink.
This jest is dry to me. Fair gentle sweet, Your wit makes wise things foolish: when we greet, With eyes best seeing, heaven’s fiery eye, By light we lose light: your capacity Is of that nature that to your huge store Wise things seem foolish and rich things but poor.
This joke is dry to me. Fair, gentle one, Your wit makes wise things seem foolish: when we greet, With eyes that see the best, heaven’s fiery eye, By light, we lose light: your mind Is such that to your great knowledge, Wise things seem foolish, and rich things seem poor.
This proves you wise and rich, for in my eye,--
This shows you are wise and rich, for in my eyes,--
I am a fool, and full of poverty.
I am a fool, and completely poor.
But that you take what doth to you belong, It were a fault to snatch words from my tongue.
But if you take what belongs to you, It would be wrong to take words from my mouth.
O, I am yours, and all that I possess!
Oh, I’m yours, and everything I have!
All the fool mine?
All the fool, mine?
I cannot give you less.
I can’t give you any less.
Which of the vizards was it that you wore?
Which of the disguises were you wearing?
Where? when? what vizard? why demand you this?
Where? When? What disguise? Why are you asking this?
There, then, that vizard; that superfluous case That hid the worse and show’d the better face.
There, then, that disguise; that unnecessary cover That hid the worse and showed the better face.
We are descried; they’ll mock us now downright.
We’ve been spotted; they’ll make fun of us now.
Let us confess and turn it to a jest.
Let’s admit it and turn it into a joke.
Amazed, my lord? why looks your highness sad?
Surprised, my lord? Why do you look so sad?
Help, hold his brows! he’ll swoon! Why look you pale? Sea-sick, I think, coming from Muscovy.
Help, hold his head! He’s going to faint! Why do you look so pale? Sea-sick, I think, coming from Russia.
Thus pour the stars down plagues for perjury. Can any face of brass hold longer out?
This is how the stars send down punishment for lying. Can any face of brass stand up to this longer?
lady, dart thy skill at me; Bruise me with scorn, confound me with a flout; Thrust thy sharp wit quite through my ignorance; Cut me to pieces with thy keen conceit; And I will wish thee never more to dance, Nor never more in Russian habit wait. O, never will I trust to speeches penn’d, Nor to the motion of a schoolboy’s tongue, Nor never come in vizard to my friend, Nor woo in rhyme, like a blind harper’s song! Taffeta phrases, silken terms precise, Three-piled hyperboles, spruce affectation, Figures pedantical; these summer-flies Have blown me full of maggot ostentation: I do forswear them; and I here protest, By this white glove;--how white the hand, God knows!-- Henceforth my wooing mind shall be express’d In russet yeas and honest kersey noes: And, to begin, wench,--so God help me, la!-- My love to thee is sound, sans crack or flaw.
Lady, throw your clever words at me; Hurt me with scorn, confuse me with an insult; Use your sharp wit to cut through my ignorance; Tear me apart with your sharp wit; And I will wish you never dance again, Nor wear Russian clothes ever again. Oh, never will I trust written speeches, Nor the chatter of a schoolboy’s tongue, Nor ever wear a disguise in front of my friend, Nor try to woo with rhymes like a blind musician’s song! Fancy phrases, precise terms, three-fold exaggerations, stylish affectations, Pedantic figures; these shallow things Have filled me with showy nonsense: I swear off all of them; and I here declare, By this white glove;--how white the hand, God knows!-- From now on my courtship will be plain With simple yeses and honest noes: And, to start, girl,--so help me, God!-- My love for you is solid, without any flaws.
Sans sans, I pray you.
Without without, I beg you.
Yet I have a trick Of the old rage: bear with me, I am sick; I’ll leave it by degrees. Soft, let us see: Write, ’Lord have mercy on us’ on those three; They are infected; in their hearts it lies; They have the plague, and caught it of your eyes; These lords are visited; you are not free, For the Lord’s tokens on you do I see.
Yet I have a way Of the old madness: bear with me, I am unwell; I’ll get over it slowly. Wait, let me see: Write, ’Lord have mercy on us’ on these three; They’re infected; the disease is in their hearts; They’ve caught the plague from looking into your eyes; These lords are stricken; you’re not safe, For I see the marks of the Lord’s punishment on you.
No, they are free that gave these tokens to us.
No, they’re safe because they gave us these signs.
Our states are forfeit: seek not to undo us.
Our fates are lost: don’t try to save us.
It is not so; for how can this be true, That you stand forfeit, being those that sue?
That’s not true; how can it be true, That you’re in danger, when you’re the ones making the demands?
Peace! for I will not have to do with you.
Silence! I don’t want to deal with you.
Nor shall not, if I do as I intend.
And you won’t, if I do as I plan.
Speak for yourselves; my wit is at an end.
Speak for yourselves; my wit has run out.
Teach us, sweet madam, for our rude transgression Some fair excuse.
Teach us, sweet lady, to excuse our rude behavior With some gracious explanation.
The fairest is confession. Were not you here but even now disguised?
The best thing to do is admit the truth. Weren’t you just here a moment ago, disguised?
Madam, I was.
Yes, Madam, I was.
And were you well advised?
And were you sure about it?
I was, fair madam.
Yes, I was, fair Madam.
When you then were here, What did you whisper in your lady’s ear?
When you were here before, What did you whisper in your lady’s ear?
That more than all the world I did respect her.
That I respected her more than anything in the world.
When she shall challenge this, you will reject her.
When she asks you about this, will you deny it?
Upon mine honour, no.
On my honor, no.
Peace, peace! forbear: Your oath once broke, you force not to forswear.
Enough, enough! Stop: Once you break your oath, you can’t stop yourself from lying.
Despise me, when I break this oath of mine.
Hate me, if I break this oath.
I will: and therefore keep it. Rosaline, What did the Russian whisper in your ear?
I will: so keep it. Rosaline, What did the Russian whisper in your ear?
Madam, he swore that he did hold me dear As precious eyesight, and did value me Above this world; adding thereto moreover That he would wed me, or else die my lover.
Madam, he swore that he held me as dear As his own sight, and that I meant more to him Than anything in the world; adding that he would marry me, or die as my lover.
God give thee joy of him! the noble lord Most honourably doth unhold his word.
God give you joy of him! The noble lord Has honored his word in the best way.
What mean you, madam? by my life, my troth, I never swore this lady such an oath.
What do you mean, madam? I swear on my life, I never swore such an oath to this lady.
By heaven, you did; and to confirm it plain, You gave me this: but take it, sir, again.
By heaven, you did; and to prove it clearly, You gave me this: but take it back, sir.
My faith and this the princess I did give: I knew her by this jewel on her sleeve.
I gave the princess my word, and this is the token I gave her: I recognized her by this jewel on her sleeve.
Pardon me, sir, this jewel did she wear; And Lord Biron, I thank him, is my dear. What, will you have me, or your pearl again?
Excuse me, sir, this jewel was hers to wear; And Lord Biron, I thank him, is my dear. So, what will you have—me, or your pearl back again?
Neither of either; I remit both twain. I see the trick on’t: here was a consent, Knowing aforehand of our merriment, To dash it like a Christmas comedy: Some carry-tale, some please-man, some slight zany, Some mumble-news, some trencher-knight, some Dick, That smiles his cheek in years and knows the trick To make my lady laugh when she’s disposed, Told our intents before; which once disclosed, The ladies did change favours: and then we, Following the signs, woo’d but the sign of she. Now, to our perjury to add more terror, We are again forsworn, in will and error. Much upon this it is: and might not you
Neither one or the other; I give up both. I see the trick in this: there was an agreement, Knowing in advance about our fun, To spoil it like a Christmas play: Some gossip, some flatterer, some silly fool, Some servant, some knight who jokes around, some guy, Who smiles with old age and knows the trick To make my lady laugh when she’s in the mood, Told our plans before; and once they were revealed, The ladies changed their tokens: and then we, Following the signs, only wooed the sign of her. Now, to our false oaths, adding more fear, We are again swearing falsely, both in intent and mistake. It’s mostly about this: and couldn’t you
Forestall our sport, to make us thus untrue? Do not you know my lady’s foot by the squier, And laugh upon the apple of her eye? And stand between her back, sir, and the fire, Holding a trencher, jesting merrily? You put our page out: go, you are allow’d; Die when you will, a smock shall be your shroud. You leer upon me, do you? there’s an eye Wounds like a leaden sword.
Spoil our fun, making us act this way? Don’t you know my lady’s walk by the way she steps, And laugh at the sparkle in her eye? And stand between her and the fire, sir, Holding a plate, joking around happily? You’re making our servant leave: go, you’re excused; Die whenever you want, a shift will be your grave-cloth. You’re staring at me, aren’t you? There’s an eye That hurts like a heavy sword.
Full merrily Hath this brave manage, this career, been run.
It’s been quite the show This brave performance, this run, has been a lot of fun.
Lo, he is tilting straight! Peace! I have done.
Look, he’s charging straight for it! Quiet! I’m done.
Welcome, pure wit! thou partest a fair fray.
Welcome, clever wit! You’ve jumped into a great fight.
O Lord, sir, they would know Whether the three Worthies shall come in or no.
Oh Lord, sir, they want to know If the three Worthies are coming in or not.
What, are there but three?
What, are there only three?
No, sir; but it is vara fine, For every one pursents three.
No, sir; but it’s very fine, Because everyone presents three.
And three times thrice is nine.
And three times three is nine.
Not so, sir; under correction, sir; I hope it is not so. You cannot beg us, sir, I can assure you, sir we know what we know: I hope, sir, three times thrice, sir,--
Not quite, sir; with all due respect, sir, I don’t think so. You can’t convince us, sir, I’m sure we know what we know: I think, sir, three times three, sir,--
Is not nine.
That’s not nine.
Under correction, sir, we know whereuntil it doth amount.
With all due respect, sir, we know the true total.
By Jove, I always took three threes for nine.
By Jove, I’ve always thought three threes make nine.
O Lord, sir, it were pity you should get your living by reckoning, sir.
Oh, sir, it would be a shame if you had to make a living by counting, sir.
How much is it?
How much is it?
O Lord, sir, the parties themselves, the actors, sir, will show whereuntil it doth amount: for mine own part, I am, as they say, but to parfect one man in one poor man, Pompion the Great, sir.
Oh, sir, the people involved, the actors, sir, will show you how much it comes to: as for me, I’m, as they say, just here to perfect one man in one poor man, Pompion the Great, sir.
Art thou one of the Worthies?
Are you one of the Worthies?
It pleased them to think me worthy of Pompion the Great: for mine own part, I know not the degree of the Worthy, but I am to stand for him.
They thought me worthy of Pompion the Great: as for me, I don’t know what makes someone worthy, but I’m here to stand in for him.
Go, bid them prepare.
Go, tell them to get ready.
We will turn it finely off, sir; we will take some care.
We’ll do it just right, sir; we’ll take some care with it.
Biron, they will shame us: let them not approach.
Biron, they’ll embarrass us: don’t let them come near.
We are shame-proof, my lord: and tis some policy To have one show worse than the king’s and his company.
We can’t be embarrassed, my lord: and it’s a smart move to have one show worse than the king’s and his group.
I say they shall not come.
I say they shall not come.
Nay, my good lord, let me o’errule you now: That sport best pleases that doth least know how: Where zeal strives to content, and the contents Dies in the zeal of that which it presents: Their form confounded makes most form in mirth, When great things labouring perish in their birth.
No, my good lord, let me have the final say now: That kind of play is best when no one knows how it goes: Where passion tries to please, but the result Dies in the effort of trying to do so: Their chaotic form makes the most laughter, When big ideas fail before they even start.
A right description of our sport, my lord.
A perfect description of our play, my lord.
DON
DON
Anointed, I implore so much expense of thy royal sweet breath as will utter a brace of words.
Anointed one, I beg for so much of your royal sweet breath as will allow me to say a couple of words.
Doth this man serve God?
Does this man serve God?
Why ask you?
Why do you ask?
He speaks not like a man of God’s making. DON
He doesn’t speak like someone made by God. DON
That is all one, my fair, sweet, honey monarch; for, I protest, the schoolmaster is exceeding fantastical; too, too vain, too too vain: but we will put it, as they say, to fortuna de la guerra. I wish you the peace of mind, most royal couplement!
It doesn’t matter, my beautiful, sweet, honey monarch; because, I swear, the schoolmaster is very strange; too, too full of himself, way too full of himself: but we will, as they say, leave it to the luck of war. I wish you peace of mind, most royal couple!
Here is like to be a good presence of Worthies. He presents Hector of Troy; the swain, Pompey the Great; the parish curate, Alexander; Armado’s page, Hercules; the pedant, Judas Maccabaeus: And if these four Worthies in their first show thrive, These four will change habits, and present the other five.
Looks like there will be a good show of Worthies. He presents Hector of Troy; the peasant, Pompey the Great; the local priest, Alexander; Armado’s page, Hercules; the teacher, Judas Maccabeus: And if these four Worthies do well in their first performance, These four will change costumes, and play the other five.
There is five in the first show.
There are five in the first show.
You are deceived; ’tis not so.
You’re mistaken; it’s not like that.
The pedant, the braggart, the hedge-priest, the fool and the boy:-- Abate throw at novum, and the whole world again Cannot pick out five such, take each one in his vein.
The teacher, the bragging man, the makeshift priest, the fool and the boy:-- Cut away the novelty, and the whole world still Can’t find five like these, each one in his own style.
The ship is under sail, and here she comes amain.
The ship is setting sail, and here she comes fast.
I Pompey am,--
I am Pompey,--
You lie, you are not he.
You’re lying, you’re not him.
I Pompey am,--
I am Pompey,--
With libbard’s head on knee.
With a leopard’s head on your knee.
Well said, old mocker: I must needs be friends with thee.
Well said, old mocker: I must be friends with you.
I Pompey am, Pompey surnamed the Big--
I am Pompey, Pompey the Big--
The Great.
The Great.
It is, ’Great,’ sir:-- Pompey surnamed the Great; That oft in field, with targe and shield, did make my foe to sweat: And travelling along this coast, I here am come by chance, And lay my arms before the legs of this sweet lass of France, If your ladyship would say, ’Thanks, Pompey,’ I had done.
Yes, ’Great,’ sir:-- Pompey, called the Great; Who often in battle, with shield and sword, made my enemy sweat: And while traveling along this coast, I happened upon this place, And laid my arms before the feet of this lovely lady from France, If your ladyship would say, ’Thanks, Pompey,’ I would be done.
Great thanks, great Pompey.
Many thanks, great Pompey.
’Tis not so much worth; but I hope I was perfect: I made a little fault in ’Great.’
It’s not that important; but I hope I did well: I made a small mistake in ’Great.’
My hat to a halfpenny, Pompey proves the best Worthy.
I’ll bet a halfpenny that Pompey is the best Worthy.
When in the world I lived, I was the world’s commander; By east, west, north, and south, I spread my conquering might: My scutcheon plain declares that I am Alisander,--
When I was alive, I was the ruler of the world; From east to west, north to south, I spread my conquering might: My coat of arms plainly shows that I am Alexander,--
Your nose says, no, you are not for it stands too right.
Your nose says no, you’re not, since it stands too straight.
Your nose smells ’no’ in this, most tender-smelling knight.
Your nose smells ’no’ in this, most sweet-smelling knight.
The conqueror is dismay’d. Proceed, good Alexander.
The conqueror is discouraged. Continue, brave Alexander.
When in the world I lived, I was the world’s commander,--
When I was alive, I was the ruler of the world,--
Most true, ’tis right; you were so, Alisander.
That’s true, it’s correct; you were indeed so, Alexander.
Pompey the Great,--
Pompey the Great,--
Your servant, and Costard.
Your servant, and Costard.
Take away the conqueror, take away Alisander.
Take away the conqueror, take away Alexander.
[To SIR NATHANIEL] O, sir, you have overthrown Alisander the conqueror! You will be scraped out of the painted cloth for this: your lion, that holds his poll-axe sitting on a close-stool, will be given to Ajax: he will be the ninth Worthy. A conqueror, and afeard to speak! run away for shame, Alisander.
[To SIR NATHANIEL] Oh, sir, you’ve beaten Alexander the conqueror! You’ll be scrubbed off the painted cloth for this: your lion, holding his axe while sitting on the toilet, will be given to Ajax: he will be the ninth Worthy. A conqueror, and afraid to speak! Run away in shame, Alexander.
There, an’t shall please you; a foolish mild man; an honest man, look you, and soon dashed. He is a marvellous good neighbour, faith, and a very good bowler: but, for Alisander,--alas, you see how ’tis,--a little o’erparted. But there are Worthies a-coming will speak their mind in some other sort.
There, if it pleases you; a foolish, mild man; an honest man, you know, and easily upset. He is a really good neighbor, truly, and a very good bowler: but, as for Alexander,--oh, you see how it is,--a little overdone. But there are Worthies coming who will speak their minds in some other way.
Great Hercules is presented by this imp, Whose club kill’d Cerberus, that three-headed canis; And when he was a babe, a child, a shrimp, Thus did he strangle serpents in his manus. Quoniam he seemeth in minority, Ergo I come with this apology. Keep some state in thy exit, and vanish.
Great Hercules is played by this boy, Whose club killed Cerberus, that three-headed dog; And when he was a baby, a child, a tiny thing, He strangled serpents with his hands. Since he seems so young, That’s why I come with this explanation. Keep some dignity as you leave, and exit.
Judas I am,--
I am Judas,--
A Judas!
A Judas!
Not Iscariot, sir. Judas I am, ycliped Maccabaeus.
Not Iscariot, sir. I am Judas, called Maccabeus.
Judas Maccabaeus clipt is plain Judas.
Judas Maccabeus, called, is just plain Judas.
A kissing traitor. How art thou proved Judas?
A kissing traitor. How are you proven to be Judas?
Judas I am,--
I am Judas,--
The more shame for you, Judas.
The more shame on you, Judas.
What mean you, sir?
What do you mean, sir?
To make Judas hang himself.
To make Judas hang himself.
Begin, sir; you are my elder.
Start, sir; you’re older than me.
Well followed: Judas was hanged on an elder.
Good one: Judas was hung on a tree.
I will not be put out of countenance.
I won’t let you embarrass me.
Because thou hast no face.
That’s because you have no face.
What is this?
What’s going on here?
A cittern-head.
A cittern’s head.
The head of a bodkin.
The point of a needle.
A Death’s face in a ring.
A skull with Death’s face on a ring.
The face of an old Roman coin, scarce seen.
The face on an old Roman coin, barely visible.
The pommel of Caesar’s falchion.
The knob on Caesar’s sword.
The carved-bone face on a flask.
The carved face on a flask.
Saint George’s half-cheek in a brooch.
Saint George’s half-face on a pin.
Ay, and in a brooch of lead.
Yes, and on a pin made of lead.
Ay, and worn in the cap of a tooth-drawer. And now forward; for we have put thee in countenance.
Yes, and worn by a tooth-puller in his hat. Now let’s continue; we’ve given you some dignity.
You have put me out of countenance.
You’ve made me lose my dignity.
False; we have given thee faces.
That’s not true; we’ve given you faces.
But you have out-faced them all.
But you’ve outdone them all.
An thou wert a lion, we would do so.
If you were a lion, we’d do the same.
Therefore, as he is an ass, let him go. And so adieu, sweet Jude! nay, why dost thou stay?
So, since he’s an idiot, let him go. And goodbye, sweet Jude! No, why are you still here?
For the latter end of his name.
Because of the last part of his name.
For the ass to the Jude; give it him:--Jud-as, away!
Give it to him: the idiot to the Jude; away with him!
This is not generous, not gentle, not humble.
This is not noble, not kind, not humble.
A light for Monsieur Judas! it grows dark, he may stumble.
A light for Monsieur Judas! It’s getting dark, he might trip.
Alas, poor Maccabaeus, how hath he been baited!
Oh, poor Maccabaeus, look how they’ve tormented him!
Hide thy head, Achilles: here comes Hector in arms.
Hide your head, Achilles: here comes Hector in armor.
Though my mocks come home by me, I will now be merry.
Even if my jokes come back to me, I’ll be cheerful now.
Hector was but a Troyan in respect of this.
Hector was nothing compared to this guy.
But is this Hector?
But is this really Hector?
I think Hector was not so clean-timbered.
I don’t think Hector looked like this guy.
His leg is too big for Hector’s.
His leg is way too big for Hector’s.
More calf, certain.
More of an idiot, for sure.
No; he is best endued in the small.
No; he’s better suited to being small.
This cannot be Hector.
This can’t be Hector.
He’s a god or a painter; for he makes faces. DON
He’s either a god or a painter, because he makes faces. DON
The armipotent Mars, of lances the almighty, Gave Hector a gift,--
The mighty Mars, the all-powerful god of war, Gave Hector a gift,--
A gilt nutmeg.
A gold-plated nutmeg.
A lemon.
A lemon.
Stuck with cloves.
Poked with cloves.
No, cloven. DON
No, split. DON
Peace!-- The armipotent Mars, of lances the almighty Gave Hector a gift, the heir of Ilion; A man so breathed, that certain he would fight; yea From morn till night, out of his pavilion. I am that flower,--
Quiet! The mighty Mars, the all-powerful god of war, Gave Hector a gift, the heir of Troy; A man so determined, you knew he would fight; yes, From morning till night, outside his tent. I am that hero,--
That mint.
That mint.
That columbine. DON
That flower. DON
Sweet Lord Longaville, rein thy tongue.
Sweet Lord Longaville, hold your tongue.
I must rather give it the rein, for it runs against Hector.
I should rather let it go, because it’s against Hector.
Ay, and Hector’s a greyhound. DON
Yes, and Hector is a greyhound. DON
The sweet war-man is dead and rotten; sweet chucks, beat not the bones of the buried: when he breathed, he was a man. But I will forward with my device.
The sweet warrior is dead and rotting; sweet birds, don’t beat the bones of the buried: when he was alive, he was a man. But I’ll continue with my plan.
Sweet royalty, bestow on me the sense of hearing.
Sweet royalty, give me the ability to hear.
Speak, brave Hector: we are much delighted. DON
Speak, brave Hector: we’re really pleased. DON
I do adore thy sweet grace’s slipper.
I adore your sweet grace’s slipper.
[Aside to DUMAIN] Loves her by the foot,--
[Aside to DUMAIN] He loves her by the foot,--
[Aside to BOYET] He may not by the yard. DON
[Aside to BOYET] He may not love her by the yard. DON
This Hector far surmounted Hannibal,--
This Hector is far better than Hannibal,--
The party is gone, fellow Hector, she is gone; she is two months on her way. DON
The person is gone, fellow Hector, she’s gone; she is two months on her way. DON
What meanest thou?
What do you mean?
Faith, unless you play the honest Troyan, the poor wench is cast away: she’s quick; the child brags in her belly already: tis yours. DON
Honestly, unless you act like the honest Trojan, the poor girl is ruined: she’s pregnant; the baby is already bragging in her belly: it’s yours. DON
Dost thou infamonize me among potentates? thou shalt die.
Are you slandering me among powerful people? you’ll die.
Then shall Hector be whipped for Jaquenetta that is quick by him and hanged for Pompey that is dead by him.
Then Hector will be whipped for Jaquenetta who’s pregnant by him and hanged for Pompey who is dead because of him.
Most rare Pompey!
Most rare Pompey!
Renowned Pompey!
Renowned Pompey!
Greater than great, great, great, great Pompey! Pompey the Huge!
Greater than great, great, great, great Pompey! Pompey the Huge!
Hector trembles.
Hector trembles.
Pompey is moved. More Ates, more Ates! stir them on! stir them on!
Pompey is upset. More Ates, more Ates! Keep them going! Keep them going!
Hector will challenge him.
Hector will challenge him.
Ay, if a’ have no man’s blood in’s belly than will sup a flea. DON
Yeah, if he has no man’s blood in his belly, then he’ll be able to eat a flea. DON
By the north pole, I do challenge thee.
By the North Pole, I challenge you.
I will not fight with a pole, like a northern man: I’ll slash; I’ll do it by the sword. I bepray you, let me borrow my arms again.
I won’t fight with a pole like someone from the North: I’ll slash; I’ll do it with a sword. Please, let me borrow my weapons again.
Room for the incensed Worthies!
Make room for the angry Worthies!
I’ll do it in my shirt.
I’ll do it in my shirt.
Most resolute Pompey!
Very determined Pompey!
Master, let me take you a buttonhole lower. Do you not see Pompey is uncasing for the combat? What mean you? You will lose your reputation. DON
Master, let me lower you a bit. Don’t you see Pompey is undressing for the fight? What are you doing? You’ll ruin your reputation. DON
Gentlemen and soldiers, pardon me; I will not combat in my shirt.
Gentlemen and soldiers, forgive me; I won’t fight in my shirt.
You may not deny it: Pompey hath made the challenge. DON
You can’t refuse: Pompey has made the challenge. DON
Sweet bloods, I both may and will.
Sweet gentlemen, I can and I will.
What reason have you for’t? DON
What’s your reason for that? DON
The naked truth of it is, I have no shirt; I go woolward for penance.
The simple truth is, I have no shirt; I’m going around in wool as penance.
True, and it was enjoined him in Rome for want of linen: since when, I’ll be sworn, he wore none but a dishclout of Jaquenetta’s, and that a’ wears next his heart for a favour.
That’s true, and it was ordered for him in Rome because he had no linen: since then, I swear, he’s worn nothing but a dishcloth from Jaquenetta, and he wears it close to his heart as a token of affection.
God save you, madam!
God bless you, madam!
Welcome, Mercade; But that thou interrupt’st our merriment.
Welcome, Mercade; But you’re interrupting our fun.
I am sorry, madam; for the news I bring Is heavy in my tongue. The king your father--
I’m sorry, madam; the news I bring Is hard to say. The king, your father—
Dead, for my life!
Dead, I swear!
Even so; my tale is told.
Yes, that’s right; my story is done.
Worthies, away! the scene begins to cloud. DON
Gentlemen, leave! The mood is changing. DON
For mine own part, I breathe free breath. I have seen the day of wrong through the little hole of discretion, and I will right myself like a soldier.
As for me, I’m breathing easy. I’ve seen the wrongs of the world through the small window of discretion, and I’ll defend myself like a soldier.
How fares your majesty?
How are you, your majesty?
Boyet, prepare; I will away tonight.
Boyet, get ready; I’m leaving tonight.
Madam, not so; I do beseech you, stay.
Madam, not yet; please, I beg you, stay.
Prepare, I say. I thank you, gracious lords, For all your fair endeavors; and entreat, Out of a new-sad soul, that you vouchsafe In your rich wisdom to excuse or hide The liberal opposition of our spirits, If over-boldly we have borne ourselves In the converse of breath: your gentleness Was guilty of it. Farewell worthy lord! A heavy heart bears not a nimble tongue: Excuse me so, coming too short of thanks For my great suit so easily obtain’d.
Get ready, I said. Thank you, gracious lords, For all your kind efforts; and I ask, From a sad heart, that you kindly forgive Or hide the way we’ve acted, If we’ve been too bold in our words: your kindness Was the cause of it. Goodbye, noble lord! A heavy heart can’t speak quickly: Forgive me for not expressing more thanks For my great wish granted so easily.
The extreme parts of time extremely forms All causes to the purpose of his speed, And often at his very loose decides That which long process could not arbitrate: And though the mourning brow of progeny Forbid the smiling courtesy of love The holy suit which fain it would convince, Yet, since love’s argument was first on foot, Let not the cloud of sorrow justle it From what it purposed; since, to wail friends lost Is not by much so wholesome-profitable As to rejoice at friends but newly found.
The most difficult times bring out extreme actions, And often what lengthy debate couldn’t settle, Time quickly decides: And though mourning for the lost ones Might stop us from smiling with love And the holy cause we want to pursue, Still, since love first began, Don’t let sadness push it aside From its goal; because grieving over lost friends Isn’t as helpful as celebrating new friends found.
I understand you not: my griefs are double.
I don’t understand you: my grief is doubled.
Honest plain words best pierce the ear of grief; And by these badges understand the king. For your fair sakes have we neglected time, Play’d foul play with our oaths: your beauty, ladies, Hath much deform’d us, fashioning our humours Even to the opposed end of our intents: And what in us hath seem’d ridiculous,-- As love is full of unbefitting strains, All wanton as a child, skipping and vain, Form’d by the eye and therefore, like the eye, Full of strange shapes, of habits and of forms, Varying in subjects as the eye doth roll To every varied object in his glance: Which parti-coated presence of loose love Put on by us, if, in your heavenly eyes, Have misbecomed our oaths and gravities, Those heavenly eyes, that look into these faults, Suggested us to make. Therefore, ladies, Our love being yours, the error that love makes Is likewise yours: we to ourselves prove false, By being once false for ever to be true To those that make us both,--fair ladies, you: And even that falsehood, in itself a sin, Thus purifies itself and turns to grace.
Simple, honest words cut through grief best; And with these signs, understand the king. For your sake, ladies, we’ve ignored time, And broken our oaths: your beauty, ladies, Has changed us, shaping our feelings In ways that go against our original intentions: And what has seemed ridiculous in us— As love is full of strange contradictions, Like a child, silly and vain, Shaped by the eye and, like the eye, Full of odd shapes, habits, and forms, Changing constantly like the eye does, Looking at whatever is before it: This confusing behavior of love, If it has looked foolish in your eyes, Those same eyes that see our faults, Suggested we act this way. So, ladies, Our love being yours, the mistakes love makes Are also yours: we prove ourselves false, By being once false, to always be true To those who made us—beautiful ladies, to you: And even that falsehood, though it’s a sin, Purifies itself and turns into grace.
We have received your letters full of love; Your favours, the ambassadors of love; And, in our maiden council, rated them At courtship, pleasant jest and courtesy, As bombast and as lining to the time: But more devout than this in our respects Have we not been; and therefore met your loves In their own fashion, like a merriment.
We’ve received your letters full of love; Your gifts, the messengers of love; And, in our maiden council, we rated them As playful, light-hearted gestures, As silly talk and polite courtesies, To match the times: But we’ve been more serious in our feelings, And therefore we’ve treated your love In its own way, like a joke.
Our letters, madam, show’d much more than jest.
Our letters, madam, showed more than just a joke.
So did our looks.
So did our looks.
We did not quote them so.
We didn’t say it that way.
Now, at the latest minute of the hour, Grant us your loves.
Now, at the last minute, Grant us your love.
A time, methinks, too short To make a world-without-end bargain in. No, no, my lord, your grace is perjured much, Full of dear guiltiness; and therefore this: If for my love, as there is no such cause, You will do aught, this shall you do for me: Your oath I will not trust; but go with speed To some forlorn and naked hermitage, Remote from all the pleasures of the world; There stay until the twelve celestial signs Have brought about the annual reckoning. If this austere insociable life Change not your offer made in heat of blood; If frosts and fasts, hard lodging and thin weeds Nip not the gaudy blossoms of your love, But that it bear this trial and last love; Then, at the expiration of the year, Come challenge me, challenge me by these deserts, And, by this virgin palm now kissing thine I will be thine; and till that instant shut My woeful self up in a mourning house, Raining the tears of lamentation For the remembrance of my father’s death. If this thou do deny, let our hands part, Neither entitled in the other’s heart.
I think the time is too short To make a forever deal. No, no, my lord, you’re seriously mistaken, Full of guilt; and so here’s what I’ll say: If there’s no reason for my love, Then do this for me: I won’t trust your oath; but go quickly To some lonely and bare hermitage, Far from all the pleasures of the world; Stay there until the twelve zodiac signs Have completed their yearly cycle. If this harsh and lonely life Doesn’t change the offer made in the heat of passion; If cold and fasting, hard lodging and thin clothes Don’t diminish your love, But it still endures and remains true; Then, at the end of the year, Come challenge me, challenge me by these deeds, And by this virgin hand now touching yours, I will be yours; and until then, lock Myself away in mourning, Shedding tears for the death of my father. If you refuse, let us part, And no longer be bound to each other.
If this, or more than this, I would deny, To flatter up these powers of mine with rest, The sudden hand of death close up mine eye! Hence ever then my heart is in thy breast.
If I deny this, or anything more, To comfort myself with rest, Let death close my eyes! Then my heart will always be with you.
But what to me, my love? but what to me? A wife?
But what about me, my love? What about me? A wife?
A beard, fair health, and honesty; With three-fold love I wish you all these three.
A beard, good health, and honesty; With three kinds of love, I wish you all three.
O, shall I say, I thank you, gentle wife?
Oh, should I say, I thank you, dear wife?
Not so, my lord; a twelvemonth and a day I’ll mark no words that smooth-faced wooers say: Come when the king doth to my lady come; Then, if I have much love, I’ll give you some.
Not yet, my lord; for a year and a day I won’t pay attention to what smooth-talking suitors say: Come when the king comes to my lady; Then, if I love you much, I’ll give you some.
I’ll serve thee true and faithfully till then.
I’ll serve you truly and faithfully until then.
Yet swear not, lest ye be forsworn again.
But don’t swear, or you might break your promise.
What says Maria?
What does Maria say?
At the twelvemonth’s end I’ll change my black gown for a faithful friend.
At the end of the year, I’ll trade my black gown for a true friend.
I’ll stay with patience; but the time is long.
I’ll wait with patience; but the time is long.
The liker you; few taller are so young.
That’s like you; few young men are so tall.
Studies my lady? mistress, look on me; Behold the window of my heart, mine eye, What humble suit attends thy answer there: Impose some service on me for thy love.
Are you studying, my lady? Mistress, look at me; Look at the window of my heart, my eye, See what humble request is waiting for your answer there: Ask something of me in return for your love.
Oft have I heard of you, my Lord Biron, Before I saw you; and the world’s large tongue Proclaims you for a man replete with mocks, Full of comparisons and wounding flouts, Which you on all estates will execute That lie within the mercy of your wit. To weed this wormwood from your fruitful brain, And therewithal to win me, if you please, Without the which I am not to be won, You shall this twelvemonth term from day to day Visit the speechless sick and still converse With groaning wretches; and your task shall be, With all the fierce endeavor of your wit To enforce the pained impotent to smile.
I’ve often heard of you, my Lord Biron, Before I saw you; and the world’s wide mouth Says you’re a man full of jokes, Always comparing things and mocking others, And you’ll do this to anyone you can, regardless of their rank, As long as they’re within the reach of your wit. To remove this bitterness from your clever mind, And, with that, to win me, if you want, Without which I cannot be won, You’ll spend this whole year, day after day, Visiting the silent sick and talking with Groaning poor people; and your task will be, Using all your wit’s power, To make the suffering, helpless people smile.
To move wild laughter in the throat of death? It cannot be; it is impossible: Mirth cannot move a soul in agony.
Make people laugh when they’re dying? That’s impossible; it can’t be done: Laughter can’t move a soul in pain.
Why, that’s the way to choke a gibing spirit, Whose influence is begot of that loose grace Which shallow laughing hearers give to fools: A jest’s prosperity lies in the ear Of him that hears it, never in the tongue Of him that makes it: then, if sickly ears, Deaf’d with the clamours of their own dear groans, Will hear your idle scorns, continue then, And I will have you and that fault withal; But if they will not, throw away that spirit, And I shall find you empty of that fault, Right joyful of your reformation.
Well, that’s the way to defeat a mocking spirit, Which comes from that silly grace That shallow listeners give to fools: A joke’s success depends on the listener, Not the person telling it: So, if sick ears, Deafened by the sounds of their own painful moans, Will listen to your foolish insults, then continue, And I’ll accept you, and that fault with you; But if they won’t listen, throw away that attitude, And I’ll be happy with your improvement.
A twelvemonth! well; befall what will befall, I’ll jest a twelvemonth in an hospital.
A year! Fine; whatever happens, happens, I’ll joke around in a hospital for a year.
[To FERDINAND] Ay, sweet my lord; and so I take my leave.
[To FERDINAND] Yes, my sweet lord; and now I’ll take my leave.
No, madam; we will bring you on your way.
No, madam; we’ll accompany you on your way.
Our wooing doth not end like an old play; Jack hath not Jill: these ladies’ courtesy Might well have made our sport a comedy.
Our courting doesn’t end like an old play; Jack doesn’t marry Jill: these ladies’ kindness Could have turned our fun into a comedy.
Come, sir, it wants a twelvemonth and a day, And then ’twill end.
Come, sir, it’s only a year and a day, And then it will be over.
That’s too long for a play.
That’s too long for a play.
DON
DON
Sweet majesty, vouchsafe me,--
Sweet majesty, grant me, --
Was not that Hector?
Wasn’t that Hector?
The worthy knight of Troy. DON
The great knight of Troy. DON
I will kiss thy royal finger, and take leave. I am a votary; I have vowed to Jaquenetta to hold the plough for her sweet love three years. But, most esteemed greatness, will you hear the dialogue that the two learned men have compiled in praise of the owl and the cuckoo? It should have followed in the end of our show.
I will kiss your royal finger and take my leave. I am a devoted man; I have promised Jaquenetta to plow for her sweet love for three years. But, most honored greatness, would you like to hear the dialogue that the two learned men have put together in praise of the owl and the cuckoo? It was supposed to come at the end of our show.
Call them forth quickly; we will do so. DON
Call them out quickly; we’ll do that. DON
Holla! approach.
Hey! Come here.
This side is Hiems, Winter, this Ver, the Spring; the one maintained by the owl, the other by the cuckoo. Ver, begin.
This side is Winter, this side is Spring; one is ruled by the owl, the other by the cuckoo. Spring, start.
SPRING. When daisies pied and violets blue And lady-smocks all silver-white And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue Do paint the meadows with delight, The cuckoo then, on every tree, Mocks married men; for thus sings he, Cuckoo; Cuckoo, cuckoo: O word of fear, Unpleasing to a married ear! When shepherds pipe on oaten straws And merry larks are ploughmen’s clocks, When turtles tread, and rooks, and daws, And maidens bleach their summer smocks The cuckoo then, on every tree, Mocks married men; for thus sings he, Cuckoo; Cuckoo, cuckoo: O word of fear, Unpleasing to a married ear! WINTER. When icicles hang by the wall And Dick the shepherd blows his nail And Tom bears logs into the hall And milk comes frozen home in pail, When blood is nipp’d and ways be foul, Then nightly sings the staring owl, Tu-whit; Tu-who, a merry note, While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. When all aloud the wind doth blow And coughing drowns the parson’s saw And birds sit brooding in the snow And Marian’s nose looks red and raw, When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl, Then nightly sings the staring owl, Tu-whit; Tu-who, a merry note, While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. DON
SPRING. When daisies with different colors and violets are blue And lady-smocks are all white as silver And cuckoo-buds are yellow And the meadows are filled with joy, The cuckoo then, on every tree, Teases married men; for this is his song, Cuckoo; Cuckoo, cuckoo: Oh, what a scary word, Unpleasant to a married person’s ear! When shepherds play their pipes on reed straws And happy larks are the farmers’ clocks, When doves walk, and crows, and jackdaws, And young women bleach their summer dresses, The cuckoo then, on every tree, Teases married men; for this is his song, Cuckoo; Cuckoo, cuckoo: Oh, what a scary word, Unpleasant to a married person’s ear! WINTER. When icicles hang from the walls And Dick the shepherd blows his horn And Tom brings logs into the house And milk comes frozen home in a bucket, When the air is cold and the roads are muddy, Then the owl, wide-eyed, sings at night, Tu-whit; Tu-who, a happy song, While greasy Joan stirs the pot. When the wind blows loudly And coughing drowns the priest’s sermon And birds sit still in the snow And Marian’s nose is red and sore, When roasted apples hiss in the bowl, Then the owl, wide-eyed, sings at night, Tu-whit; Tu-who, a happy song, While greasy Joan stirs the pot. DON
The words of Mercury are harsh after the songs of Apollo. You that way: we this way.
Mercury’s words sound harsh after Apollo’s songs. You go that way, we’ll go this way.