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Modern English
How far is it, my lord, to Berkeley now?
How far is it, my lord, to Berkeley now?
Believe me, noble lord, I am a stranger here in Gloucestershire: These high wild hills and rough uneven ways Draws out our miles, and makes them wearisome, And yet your fair discourse hath been as sugar, Making the hard way sweet and delectable. But I bethink me what a weary way From Ravenspurgh to Cotswold will be found In Ross and Willoughby, wanting your company, Which, I protest, hath very much beguiled The tediousness and process of my travel: But theirs is sweetened with the hope to have The present benefit which I possess; And hope to joy is little less in joy Than hope enjoy’d: by this the weary lords Shall make their way seem short, as mine hath done By sight of what I have, your noble company.
Believe me, noble lord, I’m a stranger here in Gloucestershire: These tall, wild hills and rough, uneven roads Stretch out our journey and make it tiring, And yet your pleasant conversation has been like sugar, Making the hard road feel sweet and enjoyable. But I remember how long and tiring the trip From Ravenspurgh to Cotswold will be without you, In Ross and Willoughby, who will miss your company, Which, I must say, has really helped make the journey less tedious: But their journey is sweetened by the hope of the benefits I have, And hope of joy is almost as joyful as joy itself. With that thought, the weary lords Will find their way shorter, just like mine has, Because of the pleasure of having your noble company.
Of much less value is my company Than your good words. But who comes here?
My company is worth much less Than your kind words. But who is that approaching?
It is my son, young Harry Percy, Sent from my brother Worcester, whencesoever. Harry, how fares your uncle?
It’s my son, young Harry Percy, Sent by my brother Worcester, wherever he might be. Harry, how is your uncle?
I had thought, my lord, to have learn’d his health of you.
I thought, my lord, I would have learned of his health from you.
Why, is he not with the queen?
Why, isn’t he with the queen?
No, my good Lord; he hath forsook the court, Broken his staff of office and dispersed The household of the king.
No, my good lord; he’s left the court, Given up his office, and scattered The king’s household.
What was his reason? He was not so resolved when last we spake together.
What made him do that? He wasn’t so set on it the last time we talked.
Because your lordship was proclaimed traitor. But he, my lord, is gone to Ravenspurgh, To offer service to the Duke of Hereford, And sent me over by Berkeley, to discover What power the Duke of York had levied there; Then with directions to repair to Ravenspurgh.
Because your lordship was declared a traitor. But he, my lord, has gone to Ravenspurgh, To offer his service to the Duke of Hereford, And sent me by Berkeley to find out What forces the Duke of York had gathered there; Then with instructions to join him at Ravenspurgh.
Have you forgot the Duke of Hereford, boy?
Have you forgotten the Duke of Hereford, boy?
No, my good lord, for that is not forgot Which ne’er I did remember: to my knowledge, I never in my life did look on him.
No, my good lord, I haven’t forgotten him Because it’s not something I ever remembered: As far as I know, I’ve never seen him in my life.
Then learn to know him now; this is the duke.
Then learn to know him now; this is the duke.
My gracious lord, I tender you my service, Such as it is, being tender, raw and young: Which elder days shall ripen and confirm To more approved service and desert.
My gracious lord, I offer you my service, As much as it’s worth, though it’s still new and untried: But in time, experience will improve it, Making it more reliable and worthy of you.
I thank thee, gentle Percy; and be sure I count myself in nothing else so happy As in a soul remembering my good friends; And, as my fortune ripens with thy love, It shall be still thy true love’s recompense: My heart this covenant makes, my hand thus seals it.
Thank you, kind Percy; and be sure I consider myself most fortunate In having a soul that remembers my good friends; And as my luck grows with your love, It will always be the reward for your true love: My heart makes this promise, my hand seals it.
How far is it to Berkeley? and what stir Keeps good old York there with his men of war?
How far is it to Berkeley? And what news Keeps good old York there with his soldiers?
There stands the castle, by yon tuft of trees, Mann’d with three hundred men, as I have heard; And in it are the Lords of York, Berkeley, and Seymour; None else of name and noble estimate.
The castle stands there, by that group of trees, Manned with three hundred men, as I’ve heard; And inside are the Lords of York, Berkeley, and Seymour; No others of notable name and rank.
Here come the Lords of Ross and Willoughby, Bloody with spurring, fiery-red with haste.
Here come the Lords of Ross and Willoughby, Covered in blood from spurring, red-faced with haste.
Welcome, my lords. I wot your love pursues A banish’d traitor: all my treasury Is yet but unfelt thanks, which more enrich’d Shall be your love and labour’s recompense.
Welcome, my lords. I know your love pursues A banished traitor: all my wealth Is still just a token of thanks, which, when increased, Shall be your love and effort’s reward.
Your presence makes us rich, most noble lord.
Your presence makes us feel rich, most noble lord.
And far surmounts our labour to attain it.
And far exceeds our efforts to gain it.
Evermore thanks, the exchequer of the poor; Which, till my infant fortune comes to years, Stands for my bounty. But who comes here?
Forever thanks, the bank of the poor; Which, until my fortune matures, Stands for my generosity. But who is this?
It is my Lord of Berkeley, as I guess.
It is my Lord of Berkeley, I believe.
My Lord of Hereford, my message is to you.
My Lord of Hereford, I have a message for you.
My lord, my answer is--to Lancaster; And I am come to seek that name in England; And I must find that title in your tongue, Before I make reply to aught you say.
My lord, my answer is--to Lancaster; And I have come to seek that name in England; And I must find that title in your speech, Before I respond to anything you say.
Mistake me not, my lord; ’tis not my meaning To raze one title of your honour out: To you, my lord, I come, what lord you will, From the most gracious regent of this land, The Duke of York, to know what pricks you on To take advantage of the absent time And fright our native peace with self-born arms.
Don’t misunderstand me, my lord; it’s not my intention To take away any of your titles: To you, my lord, I come, whatever title you claim, From the most gracious ruler of this land, The Duke of York, to understand what drives you To take advantage of this moment And disturb our peaceful land with your own armed force.
I shall not need transport my words by you; Here comes his grace in person. My noble uncle!
I won’t need to carry my words through you; Here comes his grace himself. My noble uncle!
Show me thy humble heart, and not thy knee, Whose duty is deceiveable and false.
Show me your humble heart, not just your knee, Because your duty can be easily fooled and false.
My gracious uncle--
My dear uncle--
Tut, tut! Grace me no grace, nor uncle me no uncle: I am no traitor’s uncle; and that word ’grace.’ In an ungracious mouth is but profane. Why have those banish’d and forbidden legs Dared once to touch a dust of England’s ground? But then more ’why?’ why have they dared to march So many miles upon her peaceful bosom, Frighting her pale-faced villages with war And ostentation of despised arms? Comest thou because the anointed king is hence? Why, foolish boy, the king is left behind, And in my loyal bosom lies his power. Were I but now the lord of such hot youth As when brave Gaunt, thy father, and myself Rescued the Black Prince, that young Mars of men, From forth the ranks of many thousand French, O, then how quickly should this arm of mine. Now prisoner to the palsy, chastise thee And minister correction to thy fault!
No, no! Don’t give me false kindness, don’t call me uncle: I’m no traitor’s uncle; and that word ’grace’ Is only a mockery in the mouth of someone unworthy. Why have those who were banished dared to set foot On England’s soil again? But even more: why have they dared to march So far across her peaceful land, Scaring her innocent villages with war And the show of rejected weapons? Have you come here because the anointed king is gone? Foolish boy, the king is left behind, And his power lies in my loyal heart. If I were still the strong man I was when Your father, brave Gaunt, and I Saved the Black Prince, that young warrior of men, From the thousands of French soldiers, Oh, how quickly would I use my arm now, Though it’s weak with palsy, to punish you And correct your wrongs!
My gracious uncle, let me know my fault: On what condition stands it and wherein?
My dear uncle, please tell me my fault: What is it, and where do I stand?
Even in condition of the worst degree, In gross rebellion and detested treason: Thou art a banish’d man, and here art come Before the expiration of thy time, In braving arms against thy sovereign.
Your fault is the worst kind, Pure rebellion and hated treason: You are a banished man, and here you are, Before your time is up, Coming to fight against your king.
As I was banish’d, I was banish’d Hereford; But as I come, I come for Lancaster. And, noble uncle, I beseech your grace Look on my wrongs with an indifferent eye: You are my father, for methinks in you I see old Gaunt alive; O, then, my father, Will you permit that I shall stand condemn’d A wandering vagabond; my rights and royalties Pluck’d from my arms perforce and given away To upstart unthrifts? Wherefore was I born? If that my cousin king be King of England, It must be granted I am Duke of Lancaster. You have a son, Aumerle, my noble cousin; Had you first died, and he been thus trod down, He should have found his uncle Gaunt a father, To rouse his wrongs and chase them to the bay. I am denied to sue my livery here, And yet my letters-patents give me leave: My father’s goods are all distrain’d and sold, And these and all are all amiss employ’d. What would you have me do? I am a subject, And I challenge law: attorneys are denied me; And therefore, personally I lay my claim To my inheritance of free descent.
I was banished as Hereford, But now I return as Lancaster. And, noble uncle, I beg you, Look at my wrongs without bias: You are like a father to me, for in you I see my old Gaunt alive; oh, then, my father, Will you let me be condemned As a wandering outcast, my rights stolen And given to undeserving upstarts? Why was I born? If the king truly rules England, Then I must be Duke of Lancaster. You have a son, Aumerle, my noble cousin; If you had died first, and he had been mistreated, He would have found his uncle Gaunt to fight for him, To demand justice and make things right. But I am not allowed to claim my inheritance here, Though my legal documents say I can: My father’s possessions have been taken and sold, And all these things are being misused. What should I do? I am just a subject, And I demand justice: I am denied lawyers; So I personally claim my rightful inheritance.
The noble duke hath been too much abused.
The noble duke has been badly wronged.
It stands your grace upon to do him right.
It is your duty, your grace, to right this wrong.
Base men by his endowments are made great.
Men of low birth have been made great through him.
My lords of England, let me tell you this: I have had feeling of my cousin’s wrongs And laboured all I could to do him right; But in this kind to come, in braving arms, Be his own carver and cut out his way, To find out right with wrong, it may not be; And you that do abet him in this kind Cherish rebellion and are rebels all.
My lords of England, listen to me: I have felt my cousin’s pain And tried all I could to help him; But to come here and rebel with weapons, Seeking justice through wrong, that cannot be; And those of you who support him in this, Are supporting rebellion and are rebels too.
The noble duke hath sworn his coming is But for his own; and for the right of that We all have strongly sworn to give him aid; And let him ne’er see joy that breaks that oath!
The noble duke has sworn that he comes Only for his own cause; and for that We have all sworn to help him; And may he never find joy who breaks this oath!
Well, well, I see the issue of these arms: I cannot mend it, I must needs confess, Because my power is weak and all ill left: But if I could, by Him that gave me life, I would attach you all and make you stoop Unto the sovereign mercy of the king; But since I cannot, be it known to you I do remain as neuter. So, fare you well; Unless you please to enter in the castle And there repose you for this night.
Well, well, I see how things will end: I can’t fix it, I must admit, Because I am too weak and all seems lost: But if I could, by Him who gave me life, I would arrest you all and make you bow To the king’s mercy; But since I cannot, know this: I will stay neutral. Farewell; Unless you want to come into the castle And stay there for the night.
An offer, uncle, that we will accept: But we must win your grace to go with us To Bristol castle, which they say is held By Bushy, Bagot and their complices, The caterpillars of the commonwealth, Which I have sworn to weed and pluck away.
An offer, uncle, that we will accept: But we need to convince you to come with us To Bristol castle, which is said to be held By Bushy, Bagot, and their supporters, The parasites of the commonwealth, Who I have sworn to get rid of.
It may be I will go with you: but yet I’ll pause; For I am loath to break our country’s laws. Nor friends nor foes, to me welcome you are: Things past redress are now with me past care.
Maybe I will go with you: but I’ll think about it; I’m reluctant to break our country’s laws. Neither friends nor enemies are truly welcome here: Things that can’t be fixed are no longer my concern.