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My Dionyza, shall we rest us here, And by relating tales of others’ griefs, See if ’twill teach us to forget our own?
My Dionyza, shall we rest here, And by talking about other people’s sorrows, See if it will help us forget our own?
That were to blow at fire in hope to quench it; For who digs hills because they do aspire Throws down one mountain to cast up a higher. O my distressed lord, even such our griefs are; Here they’re but felt, and seen with mischief’s eyes, But like to groves, being topp’d, they higher rise.
That’s like trying to blow out a fire by making it bigger; For who digs hills because they want to rise Just knocks down one mountain to build another. Oh my poor lord, our sorrows are just like that; Here they’re only felt, and seen through troubled eyes, But like trees, once they’re cut down, they grow back stronger.
O Dionyza, Who wanteth food, and will not say he wants it, Or can conceal his hunger till he famish? Our tongues and sorrows do sound deep Our woes into the air; our eyes do weep, Till tongues fetch breath that may proclaim them louder; That, if heaven slumber while their creatures want, They may awake their helps to comfort them. I’ll then discourse our woes, felt several years, And wanting breath to speak help me with tears.
Oh Dionyza, Who would go hungry and not admit it, Or hide their hunger until they starve? Our words and sorrows echo loud Our griefs into the air; our eyes cry, Until our words catch their breath and shout them out; That, if heaven sleeps while we suffer, It may wake up and send help to comfort us. I’ll then talk about our pains, felt over many years, And, short of breath to speak, help me with my tears.
I’ll do my best, sir.
I’ll do my best, sir.
This Tarsus, o’er which I have the government, A city on whom plenty held full hand, For riches strew’d herself even in the streets; Whose towers bore heads so high they kiss’d the clouds, And strangers ne’er beheld but wondered at; Whose men and dames so jetted and adorn’d, Like one another’s glass to trim them by: Their tables were stored full, to glad the sight, And not so much to feed on as delight; All poverty was scorn’d, and pride so great, The name of help grew odious to repeat.
This Tarsus, which I govern, A city that once had plenty, Where wealth spread out in the streets; Its towers were so tall they seemed to touch the sky, And strangers would come and be amazed; The men and women were so fashionable and decorated, They used each other’s appearances to improve their own: Their tables were full, to please the eye, And not just to satisfy hunger, but for pleasure; All poverty was looked down on, and pride was so great, That the very idea of offering help became repulsive.
O, ’tis too true.
Oh, it’s true, too true.
But see what heaven can do! By this our change, These mouths, who but of late, earth, sea, and air, Were all too little to content and please, Although they gave their creatures in abundance, As houses are defiled for want of use, They are now starved for want of exercise: Those palates who, not yet two summers younger, Must have inventions to delight the taste, Would now be glad of bread, and beg for it: Those mothers who, to nousle up their babes, Thought nought too curious, are ready now To eat those little darlings whom they loved. So sharp are hunger’s teeth, that man and wife Draw lots who first shall die to lengthen life: Here stands a lord, and there a lady weeping; Here many sink, yet those which see them fall Have scarce strength left to give them burial. Is not this true?
But look at what heaven can do! Now, with this change, These people, who not long ago thought earth, sea, and sky Couldn’t provide enough to satisfy them, Even though there was abundance all around, Are now starving because they have nothing to do: Those who, not two summers ago, Demanded fancy food to please their taste, Would now be happy with just some bread, and beg for it: Those mothers who, to nurse their babies, Thought nothing was too extravagant, are now ready To eat those little ones they once cherished. Hunger’s teeth are so sharp, that husband and wife Draw lots to see who will die first to save the other’s life: Here stands a lord, and there a lady crying; Here many fall, yet those who see them drop Can hardly find the strength to bury them. Is this not true?
Our cheeks and hollow eyes do witness it.
Our pale cheeks and sunken eyes show it is.
O, let those cities that of plenty’s cup And her prosperities so largely taste, With their superfluous riots, hear these tears! The misery of Tarsus may be theirs.
Oh, let those cities that have plenty, And enjoy all the prosperity of abundance, With their wasteful celebrations, hear these cries! The misery of Tarsus could be theirs too.
Where’s the lord governor?
Where’s the governor?
Here. Speak out thy sorrows which thou bring’st in haste, For comfort is too far for us to expect.
I’m here. Speak your troubles, which you bring so urgently, Because we can’t expect any comfort now.
We have descried, upon our neighbouring shore, A portly sail of ships make hitherward.
We’ve spotted a large group of ships heading our way, Approaching from the shore.
I thought as much. One sorrow never comes but brings an heir, That may succeed as his inheritor; And so in ours: some neighbouring nation, Taking advantage of our misery, Hath stuff’d these hollow vessels with their power, To beat us down, the which are down already; And make a conquest of unhappy me, Whereas no glory’s got to overcome.
I thought as much. Misfortune never comes alone; it brings its heir, To take its place. And so it is with us: some nearby country, Seeing our misery, has sent these ships, To attack us while we are already down; To conquer the miserable me, Although no glory comes from defeating the weak.
That’s the least fear; for, by the semblance Of their white flags display’d, they bring us peace, And come to us as favourers, not as foes.
That’s the least of our worries; from the looks of their white flags, They’re bringing us peace, And coming as allies, not enemies.
Thou speak’st like him’s untutor’d to repeat: Who makes the fairest show means most deceit. But bring they what they will and what they can, What need we fear? The ground’s the lowest, and we are half way there. Go tell their general we attend him here, To know for what he comes, and whence he comes, And what he craves.
You speak like someone who doesn’t know better: The ones who make the sweetest promises are often the most deceptive. But let them bring whatever they want, What do we have to fear? We’ve already hit rock bottom, and we’re halfway gone. Go tell their leader we’re waiting here, To find out why they’ve come, where they’ve come from, And what they want.
I go, my lord.
I’ll go, my lord.
Welcome is peace, if he on peace consist; If wars, we are unable to resist.
Peace is welcome, if they come in peace; But if it’s war, we’re not strong enough to fight.
Lord governor, for so we hear you are, Let not our ships and number of our men Be like a beacon fired to amaze your eyes. We have heard your miseries as far as Tyre, And seen the desolation of your streets: Nor come we to add sorrow to your tears, But to relieve them of their heavy load; And these our ships, you happily may think Are like the Trojan horse was stuff’d within With bloody veins, expecting overthrow, Are stored with corn to make your needy bread, And give them life whom hunger starved half dead.
Governor, as we’ve heard you are, Don’t let our ships and the number of men we have Be like a beacon set to shock your eyes. We’ve heard about your troubles all the way from Tyre, And seen how your streets are in ruin: We’re not here to add to your sorrow, But to help ease your burden; And these ships of ours, you might think Are like the Trojan horse, stuffed with Bloody veins, ready to bring doom, But they’re filled with grain to feed your starving people, And give life to those nearly dead from hunger.
The gods of Greece protect you! And we’ll pray for you.
May the gods of Greece protect you! And we’ll pray for you.
Arise, I pray you, rise: We do not look for reverence, but to love, And harbourage for ourself, our ships, and men.
Please rise, I beg you, rise: We’re not looking for respect, just love, And shelter for ourselves, our ships, and men.
The which when any shall not gratify, Or pay you with unthankfulness in thought, Be it our wives, our children, or ourselves, The curse of heaven and men succeed their evils! Till when,--the which I hope shall ne’er be seen,-- Your grace is welcome to our town and us.
And if anyone refuses to show gratitude, Or repays you with ingratitude in their thoughts, Whether it’s our wives, our children, or us, May the curse of heaven and mankind fall upon them! Until then,--which I hope will never happen-- Your grace is welcome to our town and to us.
Which welcome we’ll accept; feast here awhile, Until our stars that frown lend us a smile.
We accept your welcome; we’ll feast here for a while, Until our bad luck gives way to a smile from the heavens.