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Modern English
When I would pray and think, I think and pray To several subjects. Heaven hath my empty words; Whilst my invention, hearing not my tongue, Anchors on Isabel: Heaven in my mouth, As if I did but only chew his name; And in my heart the strong and swelling evil Of my conception. The state, whereon I studied Is like a good thing, being often read, Grown fear’d and tedious; yea, my gravity, Wherein--let no man hear me--I take pride, Could I with boot change for an idle plume, Which the air beats for vain. O place, O form, How often dost thou with thy case, thy habit, Wrench awe from fools and tie the wiser souls To thy false seeming! Blood, thou art blood: Let’s write good angel on the devil’s horn: ’Tis not the devil’s crest.
When I want to pray and think, I think and pray About different things. Heaven hears my empty words; While my mind, not hearing my own voice, Focuses on Isabel: Heaven’s name in my mouth, As if I’m just repeating His name; And in my heart, the dark and growing evil Of my desires. The duty I thought I understood Is like something good that gets worn out from overuse, Becoming fearful and boring; yes, even my seriousness, In which--let no one hear me say it--I take pride, If I could trade it for something useless like a feather, Which the wind blows around for no purpose. Oh position, oh appearance, How often do you, with your power, your outward form, Make fools respect you and trap the wiser ones In your false appearance! Blood, you are blood: Let’s write ‘good angel’ on the devil’s horn: It’s not the devil’s mark.
How now! who’s there?
How’s it going? Who’s there?
One Isabel, a sister, desires access to you.
A woman named Isabel, a sister, wants to see you.
Teach her the way.
Show her in.
O heavens! Why does my blood thus muster to my heart, Making both it unable for itself, And dispossessing all my other parts Of necessary fitness? So play the foolish throngs with one that swoons; Come all to help him, and so stop the air By which he should revive: and even so The general, subject to a well-wish’d king, Quit their own part, and in obsequious fondness Crowd to his presence, where their untaught love Must needs appear offence.
Oh heavens! Why does my blood rush to my heart like this, Making it incapable of doing its job, And draining all my other parts Of their necessary strength? It’s like how a crowd behaves when someone faints; Everyone rushes in to help, and in doing so, Blocks the very air that could revive the person: and just like that, The people, under the rule of a well-meaning king, Neglect their own duties, crowding around him, Where their misguided love Becomes an offense.
How now, fair maid?
How are you, beautiful lady?
I am come to know your pleasure.
I’ve come to find out what you want from me.
That you might know it, would much better please me Than to demand what ’tis. Your brother cannot live.
It would please me much more if you knew it Than if you just asked what it is. Your brother can’t survive.
Even so. Heaven keep your honour!
Even so. May God protect your honour!
Yet may he live awhile; and, it may be,
But maybe he can live for a while; and, perhaps,
yet he must die.
but still, he must die.
Under your sentence?
Under your judgement?
Yea.
Yes.
When, I beseech you? that in his reprieve, Longer or shorter, he may be so fitted That his soul sicken not.
When, please? so that during his temporary stay, whether it’s longer or shorter, he might be in a state that his soul doesn’t suffer.
Ha! fie, these filthy vices! It were as good To pardon him that hath from nature stolen A man already made, as to remit Their saucy sweetness that do coin heaven’s image In stamps that are forbid: ’tis all as easy Falsely to take away a life true made As to put metal in restrained means To make a false one.
Ha! Shame, these disgusting vices! It would be as bad to pardon him who has stolen a completed man from nature as it would be to forgive those rude pleasures that deface heaven’s image with illegal marks: it’s just as easy to falsely take away a well-made life as it is to use limited means to create a false one.
’Tis set down so in heaven, but not in earth.
That may be true in heaven, but not on earth.
Say you so? then I shall pose you quickly. Which had you rather, that the most just law Now took your brother’s life; or, to redeem him, Give up your body to such sweet uncleanness As she that he hath stain’d?
Is that what you say? then I’ll challenge you quickly. Which would you prefer: that the most just law should now take your brother’s life; or, to save him, give up your body to the same kind of impurity as the woman he has corrupted?
Sir, believe this, I had rather give my body than my soul.
Sir, believe me, I would rather give my body than my soul.
I talk not of your soul: our compell’d sins Stand more for number than for accompt.
I’m not talking about your soul: our forced sins count more for the number than the actual weight.
How say you?
What do you mean?
Nay, I’ll not warrant that; for I can speak Against the thing I say. Answer to this: I, now the voice of the recorded law, Pronounce a sentence on your brother’s life: Might there not be a charity in sin To save this brother’s life?
No, I won’t guarantee that; because I can argue against what I’m saying. Answer this: I, now the voice of the law in writing, pronounce a judgement on your brother’s life: Could there not be charity in sin to save this brother’s life?
Please you to do’t, I’ll take it as a peril to my soul, It is no sin at all, but charity.
If you choose to do that, I’ll see it as a risk to my soul, but it’s no sin at all, just charity.
Pleased you to do’t at peril of your soul, Were equal poise of sin and charity.
If you choose to do that at the risk of your soul, it would weigh equally between sin and charity.
That I do beg his life, if it be sin, Heaven let me bear it! you granting of my suit, If that be sin, I’ll make it my morn prayer To have it added to the faults of mine, And nothing of your answer.
If asking for his life is a sin, then I accept that it’s mine to bear! If you grant my request, And that’s a sin, I’ll pray about it in the morning, And add it to my own faults, And have nothing more to say about your answer.
Nay, but hear me. Your sense pursues not mine: either you are ignorant, Or seem so craftily; and that’s not good.
No, but listen to me. You don’t understand what I mean: either you’re ignorant, Or you’re pretending to be, which isn’t good.
Let me be ignorant, and in nothing good, But graciously to know I am no better.
Let me be ignorant, and let me be bad at everything, But at least I’m humble enough to know I’m no better.
Thus wisdom wishes to appear most bright When it doth tax itself; as these black masks Proclaim an enshield beauty ten times louder Than beauty could, display’d. But mark me; To be received plain, I’ll speak more gross: Your brother is to die.
That’s how wisdom tries to appear its brightest, When it judges itself; like these black masks That make the beauty underneath them seem ten times louder Than the beauty could if it were shown plainly. But listen: To speak plainly, I’ll be blunt: Your brother is going to die.
So.
I see.
And his offence is so, as it appears, Accountant to the law upon that pain.
And his crime is such that, as it seems, The law must punish him for it.
True.
True.
Admit no other way to save his life,-- As I subscribe not that, nor any other, But in the loss of question,--that you, his sister, Finding yourself desired of such a person, Whose credit with the judge, or own great place, Could fetch your brother from the manacles Of the all-building law; and that there were No earthly mean to save him, but that either You must lay down the treasures of your body To this supposed, or else to let him suffer; What would you do?
There’s no other way to save him— I won’t agree to any other solution, Except the one I’m about to propose— that you, his sister, Realizing you’re desired by a person, Whose reputation with the judge or his high position Could free your brother from the grip of the law; And there’s no earthly way to save him except that You must give your body up to this man, Or let him suffer; What would you do?
As much for my poor brother as myself: That is, were I under the terms of death, The impression of keen whips I’ld wear as rubies, And strip myself to death, as to a bed That longing have been sick for, ere I’ld yield My body up to shame.
I would do as much for my brother as for myself: That is, if I were under the sentence of death, I would wear the marks of cruel whips like jewels, And strip myself of all dignity, as if I were dying in bed, That I’d longed for, before I’d give my body to shame.
Then must your brother die.
Then your brother must die.
And ’twere the cheaper way: Better it were a brother died at once, Than that a sister, by redeeming him, Should die for ever.
And that would be the cheaper way: It would be better if he died quickly, Than for a sister, by saving him, To ruin herself forever.
Were not you then as cruel as the sentence That you have slander’d so?
Wouldn’t you then be as cruel as the judgment You’ve just condemned so harshly?
Ignomy in ransom and free pardon Are of two houses: lawful mercy Is nothing kin to foul redemption.
Shame in ransom and a free pardon Come from two different places: true mercy Has nothing in common with ugly redemption.
You seem’d of late to make the law a tyrant; And rather proved the sliding of your brother A merriment than a vice.
Not long ago, you seemed to think the law was a tyrant; And you even mocked your brother’s wrongdoing, Making it seem like a joke instead of a vice.
O, pardon me, my lord; it oft falls out, To have what we would have, we speak not what we mean: I something do excuse the thing I hate, For his advantage that I dearly love.
Oh, forgive me, my lord; it often happens, That to get what we want, we don’t always speak what we mean: I sometimes excuse the thing I hate, For the sake of the person I dearly love.
We are all frail.
We are all weak.
Else let my brother die, If not a feodary, but only he Owe and succeed thy weakness.
Then let my brother die, If he’s not a servant, but only if he Is responsible for your weakness.
Nay, women are frail too.
No, women are weak too.
Ay, as the glasses where they view themselves; Which are as easy broke as they make forms. Women! Help Heaven! men their creation mar In profiting by them. Nay, call us ten times frail; For we are soft as our complexions are, And credulous to false prints.
Yes, like the mirrors in which they see themselves; Which are as easily broken as they create shapes. Women! Help Heaven! Men spoil their creation By using us. No, call us frail ten times; For we are as soft as our looks are, And gullible to false images.
I think it well: And from this testimony of your own sex,-- Since I suppose we are made to be no stronger Than faults may shake our frames,--let me be bold; I do arrest your words. Be that you are, That is, a woman; if you be more, you’re none; If you be one, as you are well express’d By all external warrants, show it now, By putting on the destined livery.
I think that’s fair: And from this testimony of your own sex,-- Since I suppose we are made to be no stronger Than faults can shake us,--let me be bold; I arrest your words. Be what you are, That is, a woman; if you’re more, then you’re not; If you are one, as you are well represented By all external signs, show it now, By wearing the expected uniform.
I have no tongue but one: gentle my lord, Let me entreat you speak the former language.
I have only one voice: please, my lord, Let me beg you to speak in the way you did before.
Plainly conceive, I love you.
Plainly put, I love you.
My brother did love Juliet, And you tell me that he shall die for it.
My brother loved Juliet, And you tell me he must die for it.
He shall not, Isabel, if you give me love.
He will not, Isabel, if you give me love.
I know your virtue hath a licence in’t, Which seems a little fouler than it is, To pluck on others.
I know your virtue has a license in it, Which seems a little worse than it really is, To make others go along with it.
Believe me, on mine honour, My words express my purpose.
Believe me, on my honour, My words show my true intention.
Ha! little honour to be much believed, And most pernicious purpose! Seeming, seeming! I will proclaim thee, Angelo; look for’t: Sign me a present pardon for my brother, Or with an outstretch’d throat I’ll tell the world aloud What man thou art.
Ha! Little honour is easy to believe, And such a harmful purpose! Seeming, seeming! I will expose you, Angelo; watch for it: Sign a pardon for my brother now, Or with a loud voice, I’ll tell the world What kind of man you are.
Who will believe thee, Isabel? My unsoil’d name, the austereness of my life, My vouch against you, and my place i’ the state, Will so your accusation overweigh, That you shall stifle in your own report And smell of calumny. I have begun, And now I give my sensual race the rein: Fit thy consent to my sharp appetite; Lay by all nicety and prolixious blushes, That banish what they sue for; redeem thy brother By yielding up thy body to my will; Or else he must not only die the death, But thy unkindness shall his death draw out To lingering sufferance. Answer me to-morrow, Or, by the affection that now guides me most, I’ll prove a tyrant to him. As for you, Say what you can, my false o’erweighs your true.
Who would believe you, Isabel? My spotless name, the strictness of my life, My reputation against you, and my position in the state, Will weigh down your accusation, And you will choke on your own words And be known for slander. I have begun, And now I will let my desires take control: Align your consent with my sharp hunger; Set aside all modesty and embarrassed blushes, That only prevent what you’re asking for; save your brother By giving your body to my will; Or else he must not only die the usual death, But your cruelty will stretch his death out Into a long suffering. Answer me tomorrow, Or, by the desire that now drives me most, I’ll become a tyrant to him. As for you, Say what you like, my lies outweigh your truth.
To whom should I complain? Did I tell this, Who would believe me? O perilous mouths, That bear in them one and the self-same tongue, Either of condemnation or approof; Bidding the law make court’sy to their will: Hooking both right and wrong to the appetite, To follow as it draws! I’ll to my brother: Though he hath fallen by prompture of the blood, Yet hath he in him such a mind of honour. That, had he twenty heads to tender down On twenty bloody blocks, he’ld yield them up, Before his sister should her body stoop To such abhorr’d pollution. Then, Isabel, live chaste, and, brother, die: More than our brother is our chastity. I’ll tell him yet of Angelo’s request, And fit his mind to death, for his soul’s rest.
Who can I complain to? If I tell this, Who would believe me? Oh dangerous mouths, That speak with the same tongue, Either condemning or approving; Telling the law to bow to their will: Tying both right and wrong to the desires, To follow wherever they lead! I’ll go to my brother: Though he has fallen because of his blood’s impulse, He still has in him such a sense of honour. That, if he had twenty heads to offer up On twenty bloody blocks, he’d give them up, Before his sister would let her body bow To such a hateful disgrace. Then, Isabel, live pure, and brother, die: More important than our brother is our chastity. I’ll tell him about Angelo’s request, And prepare him for death, for his soul’s peace.