Original
Modern English
We did observe. Cousin Aumerle, How far brought you high Hereford on his way?
We did observe. Cousin Aumerle, How far did you take high Hereford on his way?
I brought high Hereford, if you call him so, But to the next highway, and there I left him.
I took high Hereford, if you call him that, Only to the next highway, and there I left him.
And say, what store of parting tears were shed?
And tell me, how many tears were shed when parting?
Faith, none for me; except the north-east wind, Which then blew bitterly against our faces, Awaked the sleeping rheum, and so by chance Did grace our hollow parting with a tear.
Honestly, none for me; except the north-east wind, Which blew coldly against our faces, Awoke my tears, and so by chance Gave our sad farewell a tear.
What said our cousin when you parted with him?
What did our cousin say when you left him?
’Farewell:’ And, for my heart disdained that my tongue Should so profane the word, that taught me craft To counterfeit oppression of such grief That words seem’d buried in my sorrow’s grave. Marry, would the word ’farewell’ have lengthen’d hours And added years to his short banishment, He should have had a volume of farewells; But since it would not, he had none of me.
"Goodbye:" And, because my heart was too proud for my tongue To speak that word, which taught me how to fake The false appearance of such deep grief That words seemed buried in the grave of my sorrow. Really, if the word "goodbye" could have stretched time And added years to his brief exile, He would have had a whole book of goodbyes; But since it couldn’t, he got none from me.
He is our cousin, cousin; but ’tis doubt, When time shall call him home from banishment, Whether our kinsman come to see his friends. Ourself and Bushy, Bagot here and Green Observed his courtship to the common people; How he did seem to dive into their hearts With humble and familiar courtesy, What reverence he did throw away on slaves, Wooing poor craftsmen with the craft of smiles And patient underbearing of his fortune, As ’twere to banish their affects with him. Off goes his bonnet to an oyster-wench; A brace of draymen bid God speed him well And had the tribute of his supple knee, With ’Thanks, my countrymen, my loving friends;’ As were our England in reversion his, And he our subjects’ next degree in hope.
He is our cousin, cousin; but I doubt, When time calls him back from exile, Whether our relative will come to visit his friends. Myself, Bushy, Bagot, and Green Watched how he courted the common people; How he seemed to reach into their hearts With humble and familiar kindness, What respect he showed even to slaves, Flattering poor workers with his fake smiles And acting like he was patiently bearing his misfortune, As if to share their emotions with him. Off went his hat to a fishmonger; A couple of cart drivers wished him well And got the tribute of his bowing knee, With "Thank you, my fellow countrymen, my dear friends;" As if all of England would one day belong to him, And he was the next ruler in the eyes of our people.
Well, he is gone; and with him go these thoughts. Now for the rebels which stand out in Ireland, Expedient manage must be made, my liege, Ere further leisure yield them further means For their advantage and your highness’ loss.
Well, he’s gone; and with him go these thoughts. Now, for the rebels still standing in Ireland, We must act quickly, my lord, Before they gain any more time or resources That would give them an advantage and cause you even greater loss.
We will ourself in person to this war: And, for our coffers, with too great a court And liberal largess, are grown somewhat light, We are inforced to farm our royal realm; The revenue whereof shall furnish us For our affairs in hand: if that come short, Our substitutes at home shall have blank charters; Whereto, when they shall know what men are rich, They shall subscribe them for large sums of gold And send them after to supply our wants; For we will make for Ireland presently.
I will go myself in person to this war: And since our treasury is getting low From maintaining such a large court And generous gifts, we are forced to rent out our kingdom; The income from it will support us In handling our current matters: if that isn’t enough, Our agents at home will have blank documents; When they find out who the wealthy people are, They can get them to sign over large sums of gold And send it back to cover our needs; For we will head to Ireland immediately.
Bushy, what news?
Bushy, what’s the news?
Old John of Gaunt is grievous sick, my lord, Suddenly taken; and hath sent post haste To entreat your majesty to visit him.
Old John of Gaunt is seriously ill, my lord, Suddenly taken sick; and he’s sent a messenger To ask your majesty to visit him.
Where lies he?
Where is he?
At Ely House.
At Ely House.
Now put it, God, in the physician’s mind To help him to his grave immediately! The lining of his coffers shall make coats To deck our soldiers for these Irish wars. Come, gentlemen, let’s all go visit him: Pray God we may make haste, and come too late!
Now, God help the doctor, To get him to his grave quickly! The money from his estate will be used To make uniforms for our soldiers in the Irish wars. Come, gentlemen, let’s all go visit him: Pray God we hurry, and arrive just in time!
Amen.
Amen.