Original
Modern English
So that by this intelligence we learn The Welshmen are dispersed, and Salisbury Is gone to meet the king, who lately landed With some few private friends upon this coast.
So, from this news, we learn That the Welshmen are scattered, and Salisbury Has gone to meet the king, who recently landed With just a few close friends on this shore.
The news is very fair and good, my lord: Richard not far from hence hath hid his head.
The news is very good, my lord: Richard is hiding not far from here.
It would beseem the Lord Northumberland To say ’King Richard:’ alack the heavy day When such a sacred king should hide his head.
It would be more fitting for Lord Northumberland To say "King Richard." Alas, the sad day When such a holy king should hide his face.
Your grace mistakes; only to be brief Left I his title out.
Your grace is mistaken; I simply left out His title to be brief.
The time hath been, Would you have been so brief with him, he would Have been so brief with you, to shorten you, For taking so the head, your whole head’s length.
There was a time, When if you had been this brief with him, he would Have been just as brief with you, shortening your life, For speaking that way, he’d take off your head.
Mistake not, uncle, further than you should.
Don’t make that mistake, uncle, by going too far.
Take not, good cousin, further than you should. Lest you mistake the heavens are o’er our heads.
Don’t push it, good cousin, by going too far. Lest you forget, the heavens are above us all.
I know it, uncle, and oppose not myself Against their will. But who comes here?
I know, uncle, and I will not go against Their will. But who is coming here?
Welcome, Harry: what, will not this castle yield?
Welcome, Harry. What, is this castle not going to surrender?
The castle royally is mann’d, my lord, Against thy entrance.
The castle is well defended, my lord, To prevent your entry.
Royally! Why, it contains no king?
Well defended! But there’s no king inside, is there?
Yes, my good lord, It doth contain a king; King Richard lies Within the limits of yon lime and stone: And with him are the Lord Aumerle, Lord Salisbury, Sir Stephen Scroop, besides a clergyman Of holy reverence; who, I cannot learn.
Yes, my good lord, There is a king inside; King Richard lies Within these walls of lime and stone: And with him are Lord Aumerle, Lord Salisbury, Sir Stephen Scroop, and a clergyman Of holy standing, whose name I cannot learn.
O, belike it is the Bishop of Carlisle.
Oh, it’s probably the Bishop of Carlisle.
Noble lords, Go to the rude ribs of that ancient castle; Through brazen trumpet send the breath of parley Into his ruin’d ears, and thus deliver: Henry Bolingbroke On both his knees doth kiss King Richard’s hand And sends allegiance and true faith of heart To his most royal person, hither come Even at his feet to lay my arms and power, Provided that my banishment repeal’d And lands restored again be freely granted: If not, I’ll use the advantage of my power And lay the summer’s dust with showers of blood Rain’d from the wounds of slaughter’d Englishmen: The which, how far off from the mind of Bolingbroke It is, such crimson tempest should bedrench The fresh green lap of fair King Richard’s land, My stooping duty tenderly shall show. Go, signify as much, while here we march Upon the grassy carpet of this plain. Let’s march without the noise of threatening drum, That from this castle’s tatter’d battlements Our fair appointments may be well perused. Methinks King Richard and myself should meet With no less terror than the elements Of fire and water, when their thundering shock At meeting tears the cloudy cheeks of heaven. Be he the fire, I’ll be the yielding water: The rage be his, whilst on the earth I rain My waters; on the earth, and not on him. March on, and mark King Richard how he looks.
Noble lords, Go to the old castle’s walls; Through a loud trumpet, send the message of peace Into his ruined ears, and say: Henry Bolingbroke On both his knees kisses King Richard’s hand And pledges allegiance and true faith of heart To his most royal person, and comes here To lay down my arms and power at his feet, If my banishment is lifted And my lands are freely returned: If not, I’ll use my power And flood the land with blood From the bodies of slaughtered Englishmen: This is far from my mind, but should this happen, My actions will show how deeply I regret it. Go, tell him this, while we march Upon this field. Let’s march without the sound of drums, So our preparations can be clearly seen. I think King Richard and I should meet With no less force than fire and water, When their clash tears the sky apart. He can be the fire, I’ll be the water: He’ll rage, while I rain my waters, On the earth, not on him. Let’s march on and see how King Richard looks.
See, see, King Richard doth himself appear, As doth the blushing discontented sun From out the fiery portal of the east, When he perceives the envious clouds are bent To dim his glory and to stain the track Of his bright passage to the occident.
See, King Richard appears, Like the blushing sun rising from the east, When he sees the clouds trying to hide his glory And stain his path to the west.
Yet looks he like a king: behold, his eye, As bright as is the eagle’s, lightens forth Controlling majesty: alack, alack, for woe, That any harm should stain so fair a show!
Yet he still looks like a king: look at his eyes, As bright as an eagle’s, showing control and majesty: Alas, it’s so sad, That any harm should stain such a beautiful sight!
We are amazed; and thus long have we stood To watch the fearful bending of thy knee,
We are astonished; we’ve stood here this long To see you bend your knee,
Because we thought ourself thy lawful king: And if we be, how dare thy joints forget To pay their awful duty to our presence? If we be not, show us the hand of God That hath dismissed us from our stewardship; For well we know, no hand of blood and bone Can gripe the sacred handle of our sceptre, Unless he do profane, steal, or usurp. And though you think that all, as you have done, Have torn their souls by turning them from us, And we are barren and bereft of friends; Yet know, my master, God omnipotent, Is mustering in his clouds on our behalf Armies of pestilence; and they shall strike Your children yet unborn and unbegot, That lift your vassal hands against my head And threat the glory of my precious crown. Tell Bolingbroke--for yond methinks he stands-- That every stride he makes upon my land Is dangerous treason: he is come to open The purple testament of bleeding war; But ere the crown he looks for live in peace, Ten thousand bloody crowns of mothers’ sons Shall ill become the flower of England’s face, Change the complexion of her maid-pale peace To scarlet indignation and bedew Her pastures’ grass with faithful English blood.
Because we thought we were your rightful king: And if we are, how dare you forget To pay respect to our presence? If we aren’t, show us God’s hand That has dismissed us from our rule; For we know that no one can take our scepter Unless they do something evil or steal it. Even if you think that everyone has turned against us, And we’re alone and without friends, Know that God, all-powerful, is gathering his armies To strike those who threaten me, Even your unborn children. Tell Bolingbroke—he stands over there— That every step he takes on my land Is treason: he is here to start war; But before he can wear the crown he wants, Ten thousand bloody crowns will fall And cover England’s face in anger.
The king of heaven forbid our lord the king Should so with civil and uncivil arms Be rush’d upon! Thy thrice noble cousin Harry Bolingbroke doth humbly kiss thy hand; And by the honourable tomb he swears, That stands upon your royal grandsire’s bones, And by the royalties of both your bloods, Currents that spring from one most gracious head, And by the buried hand of warlike Gaunt, And by the worth and honour of himself, Comprising all that may be sworn or said, His coming hither hath no further scope Than for his lineal royalties and to beg Enfranchisement immediate on his kn ees: Which on thy royal party granted once, His glittering arms he will commend to rust, His barbed steeds to stables, and his heart To faithful service of your majesty. This swears he, as he is a prince, is just; And, as I am a gentleman, I credit him.
God forbid our lord the king Should be attacked by both civil and foreign forces! Your noble cousin Harry Bolingbroke humbly kisses your hand; And by the honor of your royal ancestors, And the noble bloodlines of both families, And by the hand of the brave Gaunt, He swears to only seek his rightful inheritance. Once he gets that, he’ll lay down his arms, And offer his service to your majesty. He swears this as a prince and a just man, And I, as a gentleman, believe him.
Northumberland, say thus the king returns: His noble cousin is right welcome hither; And all the number of his fair demands Shall be accomplish’d without contradiction: With all the gracious utterance thou hast Speak to his gentle hearing kind commends. We do debase ourselves, cousin, do we not,
Northumberland, say this to the king: His noble cousin is most welcome here; And all of his fair demands Will be granted without argument. Speak kindly to him with all your gracious words. Are we lowering ourselves, cousin? Aren’t we?
To look so poorly and to speak so fair? Shall we call back Northumberland, and send Defiance to the traitor, and so die?
To act so humbly while speaking so kindly? Shall we call Northumberland back, send A challenge to the traitor, and fight?
No, good my lord; let’s fight with gentle words Till time lend friends and friends their helpful swords.
No, good my lord; let’s use peaceful words Until time brings us more allies and strength.
O God, O God! that e’er this tongue of mine, That laid the sentence of dread banishment On yon proud man, should take it off again With words of sooth! O that I were as great As is my grief, or lesser than my name! Or that I could forget what I have been, Or not remember what I must be now! Swell’st thou, proud heart? I’ll give thee scope to beat, Since foes have scope to beat both thee and me.
Oh God, that my tongue That banished this proud man Should now take it back with soft words! Oh, that I were as great As my sorrow, or smaller than my name! Or that I could forget who I was, Or not remember what I must now become! Are you swelling, proud heart? I’ll let you beat, Since our enemies have beaten us.
Northumberland comes back from Bolingbroke.
Northumberland is coming back from Bolingbroke.
What must the king do now? must he submit? The king shall do it: must he be deposed? The king shall be contented: must he lose The name of king? o’ God’s name, let it go: I’ll give my jewels for a set of beads, My gorgeous palace for a hermitage, My gay apparel for an almsman’s gown, My figured goblets for a dish of wood, My sceptre for a palmer’s walking staff, My subjects for a pair of carved saints And my large kingdom for a little grave, A little little grave, an obscure grave; Or I’ll be buried in the king’s highway, Some way of common trade, where subjects’ feet May hourly trample on their sovereign’s head; For on my heart they tread now whilst I live; And buried once, why not upon my head? Aumerle, thou weep’st, my tender-hearted cousin! We’ll make foul weather with despised tears; Our sighs and they shall lodge the summer corn, And make a dearth in this revolting land. Or shall we play the wantons with our woes, And make some pretty match with shedding tears? As thus, to drop them still upon one place, Till they have fretted us a pair of graves Within the earth; and, therein laid,--there lies Two kinsmen digg’d their graves with weeping eyes. Would not this ill do well? Well, well, I see I talk but idly, and you laugh at me. Most mighty prince, my Lord Northumberland, What says King Bolingbroke? will his majesty Give Richard leave to live till Richard die? You make a leg, and Bolingbroke says ay.
What must the king do now? Must he submit? The king shall do it: must he be deposed? The king will accept it: must he lose The title of king? For God’s sake, let it go: I’ll give my jewels for a simple set of beads, My palace for a humble hermitage, My fine clothes for a beggar’s gown, My beautiful cups for a wooden dish, My scepter for a pilgrim’s staff, My people for a pair of carved saints And my large kingdom for a small grave, A tiny grave, an obscure grave; Or I’ll be buried in the king’s highway, Where common people’s feet May trample on their sovereign’s head; For they trample on my heart while I live; And once I’m buried, why not on my head? Aumerle, you weep, my tender cousin! We’ll make foul weather with our tears, Our sighs will destroy the summer crops, And cause famine in this troubled land. Or shall we play with our troubles, And make them something to laugh at? Like this, to shed tears until they form two graves For two relatives buried with weeping eyes. Wouldn’t this be a good idea? Well, I see I’m talking nonsense, and you laugh at me. Most powerful prince, my Lord Northumberland, What does King Bolingbroke say? Will he let Richard live Until Richard dies? You bow, and Bolingbroke says yes.
My lord, in the base court he doth attend To speak with you; may it please you to come down.
My lord, he is in the lower court, Waiting to speak with you; may it please you to come down.
Down, down I come; like glistering Phaethon, Wanting the manage of unruly jades. In the base court? Base court, where kings grow base, To come at traitors’ calls and do them grace. In the base court? Come down? Down, court! down, king! For night-owls shriek where mounting larks should sing.
Down, down I come; like the falling sun, Lacking control over my unruly fate. In the lower court? A place where kings are humbled, To answer traitors and do them favor. In the lower court? Come down? Down, court! Down, king! For night-owls shriek where the larks should sing.
What says his majesty?
What does the king say?
Sorrow and grief of heart Makes him speak fondly, like a frantic man Yet he is come.
Sorrow and grief make him speak like a madman But he is coming down.
Stand all apart, And show fair duty to his majesty.
Stand aside, And show respect to his majesty.
My gracious lord,--
My gracious lord,--
Fair cousin, you debase your princely knee To make the base earth proud with kissing it: Me rather had my heart might feel your love Than my unpleased eye see your courtesy. Up, cousin, up; your heart is up, I know, Thus high at least, although your knee be low.
Fair cousin, you lower your princely knee To make the earth proud by kissing it: I would rather feel your love in my heart Than see your courtesy with my eyes. Rise, cousin, rise; I know your heart is high, Even if your knee is low.
My gracious lord, I come but for mine own.
My gracious lord, I come only for what’s mine.
Your own is yours, and I am yours, and all.
What’s yours is yours, and I am yours, and all.
So far be mine, my most redoubted lord, As my true service shall deserve your love.
So, my most noble lord, as far as I deserve, My true service will earn your love.
Well you deserve: they well deserve to have, That know the strong’st and surest way to get. Uncle, give me your hands: nay, dry your eyes; Tears show their love, but want their remedies. Cousin, I am too young to be your father, Though you are old enough to be my heir. What you will have, I’ll give, and willing too; For do we must what force will have us do. Set on towards London, cousin, is it so?
You deserve well: those who know the surest way to get What they want, deserve to have it. Uncle, give me your hands; dry your tears, For tears show love but lack a cure. Cousin, I am too young to be your father, Though you are old enough to be my heir. I’ll give you what you ask, willingly, For we must do what force demands. Shall we move toward London, cousin? Is that the plan?
Yea, my good lord.
Yes, my good lord.
Then I must not say no.
Then I must not refuse.