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Have patience, madam: there’s no doubt his majesty Will soon recover his accustom’d health.
Be patient, madam: there’s no doubt that the king Will soon recover his usual health.
In that you brook it in, it makes him worse: Therefore, for God’s sake, entertain good comfort, And cheer his grace with quick and merry words.
If you keep holding it in, it will only make him worse: So, for God’s sake, try to be cheerful, And lift his spirits with quick, happy words.
If he were dead, what would betide of me?
If he were dead, what would happen to me?
No other harm but loss of such a lord.
Nothing but the loss of such a lord.
The loss of such a lord includes all harm.
Losing such a lord would mean everything lost.
The heavens have bless’d you with a goodly son, To be your comforter when he is gone.
The heavens have blessed you with a fine son, To be your comfort when he’s gone.
Oh, he is young and his minority Is put unto the trust of Richard Gloucester, A man that loves not me, nor none of you.
Oh, he’s young and still a child, And his future is under the control of Richard Gloucester, A man who doesn’t love me, or any of you.
Is it concluded that he shall be protector?
Has it been decided that he’ll be the protector?
It is determined, not concluded yet: But so it must be, if the king miscarry.
It’s not officially decided yet: But it must happen if the king dies.
Here come the lords of Buckingham and Derby.
Here come the lords of Buckingham and Derby.
Good time of day unto your royal grace!
Good afternoon, Your Royal Highness!
God make your majesty joyful as you have been!
May God make you as happy as you’ve made others!
The Countess Richmond, good my Lord of Derby. To your good prayers will scarcely say amen. Yet, Derby, notwithstanding she’s your wife, And loves not me, be you, good lord, assured I hate not you for her proud arrogance.
The Countess Richmond, good Lord Derby. I can hardly say amen to your good prayers. Yet, Derby, even though she’s your wife, And doesn’t like me, you can be sure, I don’t hate you because of her arrogance.
I do beseech you, either not believe The envious slanders of her false accusers; Or, if she be accused in true report, Bear with her weakness, which, I think proceeds From wayward sickness, and no grounded malice.
I beg you, don’t believe The jealous lies from her false accusers; Or, if she’s truly accused, Be patient with her weakness, which, I think, comes From being sick, not from any real malice.
Saw you the king to-day, my Lord of Derby?
Did you see the king today, Lord Derby?
But now the Duke of Buckingham and I Are come from visiting his majesty.
Just now, the Duke of Buckingham and I Came from visiting His Majesty.
What likelihood of his amendment, lords?
What are the chances of him getting better, lords?
Madam, good hope; his grace speaks cheerfully.
Madam, there’s hope; he seems in good spirits.
God grant him health! Did you confer with him?
God grant him health! Did you talk to him?
Madam, we did: he desires to make atonement Betwixt the Duke of Gloucester and your brothers, And betwixt them and my lord chamberlain; And sent to warn them to his royal presence.
Madam, we did: he wants to make peace Between the Duke of Gloucester and your brothers, And between them and my lord chamberlain; And has sent for them to come to his royal presence.
Would all were well! but that will never be I fear our happiness is at the highest.
I wish everything were well! But I fear that’s impossible. I think our happiness is at its peak.
They do me wrong, and I will not endure it: Who are they that complain unto the king, That I, forsooth, am stern, and love them not? By holy Paul, they love his grace but lightly That fill his ears with such dissentious rumours. Because I cannot flatter and speak fair, Smile in men’s faces, smooth, deceive and cog, Duck with French nods and apish courtesy, I must be held a rancorous enemy. Cannot a plain man live and think no harm, But thus his simple truth must be abused By silken, sly, insinuating Jacks?
They’re wronging me, and I won’t stand for it: Who are the ones complaining to the king, Saying that I’m harsh and don’t like them? By holy Paul, they barely love him Who fill his ears with such divisive rumors. Because I can’t flatter and speak nicely, Smile in people’s faces, lie and cheat, Bow with fake courtesy and false politeness, They think I must be a bitter enemy. Can’t a straightforward man just live without harm, But have his simple honesty twisted By smooth, sly, sneaky people?
To whom in all this presence speaks your grace?
Who are you speaking to, Your Grace, in this gathering?
To thee, that hast nor honesty nor grace. When have I injured thee? when done thee wrong? Or thee? or thee? or any of your faction? A plague upon you all! His royal person,-- Whom God preserve better than you would wish!-- Cannot be quiet scarce a breathing-while, But you must trouble him with lewd complaints.
I’m talking to you, who have neither honesty nor grace. When have I wronged you? When have I hurt you? Or you? Or you? Or anyone from your side? A plague on all of you! His royal person— Whom God preserve better than you’d wish!— Can’t have a moment of peace, But you trouble him with your lewd complaints.
Brother of Gloucester, you mistake the matter. The king, of his own royal disposition, And not provoked by any suitor else; Aiming, belike, at your interior hatred, Which in your outward actions shows itself Against my kindred, brothers, and myself, Makes him to send; that thereby he may gather The ground of your ill-will, and so remove it.
Brother of Gloucester, you’re misunderstanding the situation. The king, by his own royal decision, And not because of any other person’s influence; Likely targeting your deep hatred, Which shows in your outward behavior Against my family, my brothers, and me, Causes him to send for you; so that he can find out The reason for your hostility, and then remove it.
I cannot tell: the world is grown so bad, That wrens make prey where eagles dare not perch: Since every Jack became a gentleman There’s many a gentle person made a Jack.
I don’t know: the world has become so bad, That even small birds prey where eagles dare not fly: Since every common man has become a gentleman, Many noble people have turned into commoners.
Come, come, we know your meaning, brother Gloucester; You envy my advancement and my friends’: God grant we never may have need of you!
Come on, we understand what you mean, brother Gloucester; You’re jealous of my rise and my friends’: God grant we never need you!
Meantime, God grants that we have need of you: Your brother is imprison’d by your means, Myself disgraced, and the nobility Held in contempt; whilst many fair promotions Are daily given to ennoble those That scarce, some two days since, were worth a noble.
Meanwhile, God grants that we need you: Your brother is imprisoned because of you, I am disgraced, and the nobility Are looked down on; while many high positions Are regularly given to make nobles out of people Who only a couple of days ago were worth nothing.
By Him that raised me to this careful height From that contented hap which I enjoy’d, I never did incense his majesty Against the Duke of Clarence, but have been An earnest advocate to plead for him. My lord, you do me shameful injury, Falsely to draw me in these vile suspects.
By the one who raised me to this painful position From the peaceful life I once had, I never provoked the king Against the Duke of Clarence, but have always been A strong advocate pleading for him. My lord, you’re dishonoring me, Falsely accusing me of these terrible things.
You may deny that you were not the cause Of my Lord Hastings’ late imprisonment.
You can deny that you were not the cause Of my Lord Hastings’ recent imprisonment.
She may, my lord, for--
She can, my lord, because--
She may, Lord Rivers! why, who knows not so? She may do more, sir, than denying that: She may help you to many fair preferments, And then deny her aiding hand therein, And lay those honours on your high deserts. What may she not? She may, yea, marry, may she--
She can, Lord Rivers! Who doesn’t know that? She can do even more than deny that: She can help you get many high positions, Then deny that she helped, and claim those honors Are due to your own merits. What can’t she do? She can, yes, in fact, marry--
What, marry, may she?
What, marry, can she?
What, marry, may she! marry with a king, A bachelor, a handsome stripling too: I wis your grandam had a worser match.
What, marry, can she! Marry a king, A bachelor, and a handsome young man too: I wish your grandmother had made a worse match.
My Lord of Gloucester, I have too long borne Your blunt upbraidings and your bitter scoffs: By heaven, I will acquaint his majesty With those gross taunts I often have endured. I had rather be a country servant-maid Than a great queen, with this condition, To be thus taunted, scorn’d, and baited at:
My Lord of Gloucester, I’ve put up with Your harsh insults and bitter mockery for too long: By heaven, I will tell the king About all the cruel things I’ve had to endure. I’d rather be a country servant girl Than a great queen, under these conditions, To be insulted, scorned, and tormented like this:
Small joy have I in being England’s queen.
Small joy do I have in being England’s queen.
And lessen’d be that small, God, I beseech thee! Thy honour, state and seat is due to me.
And may that little joy be reduced, God, I pray you! Your honor, your position, and your seat rightfully belong to me.
What! threat you me with telling of the king? Tell him, and spare not: look, what I have said I will avouch in presence of the king: I dare adventure to be sent to the Tower. ’Tis time to speak; my pains are quite forgot.
What! Are you threatening me by telling the king? Tell him, and don’t hold back: whatever I’ve said I’ll stand by in front of the king: I’d risk being sent to the Tower. It’s time to speak; my pain has been forgotten.
Out, devil! I remember them too well: Thou slewest my husband Henry in the Tower, And Edward, my poor son, at Tewksbury.
Out, devil! I remember them too well: You killed my husband Henry in the Tower, And Edward, my poor son, at Tewksbury.
Ere you were queen, yea, or your husband king, I was a pack-horse in his great affairs; A weeder-out of his proud adversaries, A liberal rewarder of his friends: To royalize his blood I spilt mine own.
Before you were queen, or your husband was king, I was a servant to him in his big matters; I got rid of his proud enemies, And generously rewarded his friends: To make his blood royal, I spilled my own.
Yea, and much better blood than his or thine.
Yes, and it was much better blood than his or yours.
In all which time you and your husband Grey Were factious for the house of Lancaster; And, Rivers, so were you. Was not your husband In Margaret’s battle at Saint Alban’s slain? Let me put in your minds, if you forget, What you have been ere now, and what you are; Withal, what I have been, and what I am.
During all that time, you and your husband Grey Were loyal to the house of Lancaster; And Rivers, so were you. Wasn’t your husband Killed in Margaret’s battle at Saint Alban’s? Let me remind you, if you’ve forgotten, What you were before, and what you are now; And what I was, and what I am.
A murderous villain, and so still thou art.
A murderous villain, and that’s still what you are.
Poor Clarence did forsake his father, Warwick; Yea, and forswore himself,--which Jesu pardon!--
Poor Clarence abandoned his father, Warwick; Yes, and he swore false oaths, -- which may God forgive him! --
Which God revenge!
May God take revenge on him!
To fight on Edward’s party for the crown; And for his meed, poor lord, he is mew’d up. I would to God my heart were flint, like Edward’s; Or Edward’s soft and pitiful, like mine I am too childish-foolish for this world.
He fought for Edward’s side for the crown; And for his reward, poor man, he is locked away. I wish to God my heart were as hard as Edward’s; Or that Edward’s was soft and merciful, like mine. I am too childish and foolish for this world.
Hie thee to hell for shame, and leave the world, Thou cacodemon! there thy kingdom is.
Go to hell for shame, and leave the world, You evil demon! There is your kingdom.
My Lord of Gloucester, in those busy days Which here you urge to prove us enemies, We follow’d then our lord, our lawful king: So should we you, if you should be our king.
My Lord of Gloucester, in those busy days Which you mention to prove us enemies, We followed our lord, our rightful king: We would follow you, if you were our king.
If I should be! I had rather be a pedlar: Far be it from my heart, the thought of it!
If I were! I’d rather be a peddler: Far be it from my heart to even think of it!
As little joy, my lord, as you suppose You should enjoy, were you this country’s king, As little joy may you suppose in me. That I enjoy, being the queen thereof.
You would have as little joy, my lord, as you think You would have if you were this country’s king, As little joy as I have being its queen.
A little joy enjoys the queen thereof; For I am she, and altogether joyless. I can no longer hold me patient.
The queen has little joy of it; Because I am she, and I have no joy at all. I can’t keep being patient any longer.
Hear me, you wrangling pirates, that fall out In sharing that which you have pill’d from me! Which of you trembles not that looks on me? If not, that, I being queen, you bow like subjects, Yet that, by you deposed, you quake like rebels? O gentle villain, do not turn away!
Listen to me, you arguing pirates, fighting over What you’ve taken from me! Which of you is not afraid of me? If not, then, though I am queen, you bow down like subjects, Yet now that I’m dethroned, you tremble like rebels? Oh, kind villain, don’t turn away!
Foul wrinkled witch, what makest thou in my sight?
Ugly, wrinkled witch, what are you doing in my sight?
But repetition of what thou hast marr’d; That will I make before I let thee go.
Just repeating what you’ve ruined; I will make sure you hear it before I let you go.
Wert thou not banished on pain of death?
Weren’t you banished, with the death penalty if you returned?
I was; but I do find more pain in banishment Than death can yield me here by my abode. A husband and a son thou owest to me; And thou a kingdom; all of you allegiance: The sorrow that I have, by right is yours, And all the pleasures you usurp are mine.
I was; but I find more pain in being banished Than death could bring me here, in this place. You owe me a husband and a son; And you owe me a kingdom; all of you owe allegiance to me: The sorrow I feel, by right, belongs to you, And all the pleasures you steal from me are mine.
The curse my noble father laid on thee, When thou didst crown his warlike brows with paper And with thy scorns drew’st rivers from his eyes, And then, to dry them, gavest the duke a clout Steep’d in the faultless blood of pretty Rutland-- His curses, then from bitterness of soul Denounced against thee, are all fall’n upon thee; And God, not we, hath plagued thy bloody deed.
The curse my noble father placed on you, When you crowned him with paper instead of armor And made fun of him, making him cry rivers of tears, And then, to dry his tears, you gave him a handkerchief Soaked in the pure blood of young Rutland-- His curses, from the bitterness of his soul, Which he aimed at you, have all fallen on you; And God, not we, has punished your bloody actions.
So just is God, to right the innocent.
God is just, to right the innocent.
O, ’twas the foulest deed to slay that babe, And the most merciless that e’er was heard of!
Oh, that was the most terrible act, to kill that child, And the most merciless thing ever heard of!
Tyrants themselves wept when it was reported.
Even tyrants wept when they heard about it.
No man but prophesied revenge for it.
No one but predicted revenge for it.
Northumberland, then present, wept to see it.
Northumberland, who was there, cried when he saw it.
What were you snarling all before I came, Ready to catch each other by the throat, And turn you all your hatred now on me? Did York’s dread curse prevail so much with heaven? That Henry’s death, my lovely Edward’s death, Their kingdom’s loss, my woful banishment, Could all but answer for that peevish brat? Can curses pierce the clouds and enter heaven? Why, then, give way, dull clouds, to my quick curses! If not by war, by surfeit die your king, As ours by murder, to make him a king! Edward thy son, which now is Prince of Wales, For Edward my son, which was Prince of Wales, Die in his youth by like untimely violence! Thyself a queen, for me that was a queen, Outlive thy glory, like my wretched self! Long mayst thou live to wail thy children’s loss; And see another, as I see thee now, Deck’d in thy rights, as thou art stall’d in mine! Long die thy happy days before thy death; And, after many lengthen’d hours of grief, Die neither mother, wife, nor England’s queen! Rivers and Dorset, you were standers by, And so wast thou, Lord Hastings, when my son Was stabb’d with bloody daggers: God, I pray him, That none of you may live your natural age, But by some unlook’d accident cut off!
What were you all snarling about before I arrived, Ready to tear each other’s throats out, And now, you turn all your hatred toward me? Did York’s terrible curse have so much power with heaven? That Henry’s death, my dear Edward’s death, The loss of their kingdom, my sad banishment, Could all be justified by that spoiled child’s death? Can curses break through the clouds and reach heaven? Then, move aside, dull clouds, so my quick curses can fly! If not by war, then let your king die of excess, Just as ours was murdered, to make him king! Edward, your son, who is now Prince of Wales, Let him die young, just like my son, who was Prince of Wales, Killed by the same untimely violence! You, a queen, let your glory fade, just like mine did, And live long enough to mourn the loss of your children; And see another, as I see you now, Taking your place, just like you took mine! May your happy days die long before your death; And after many long hours of sorrow, May you die neither mother, wife, nor queen of England! Rivers and Dorset, you were bystanders, And so were you, Lord Hastings, when my son Was stabbed with bloody daggers: God, I pray him, That none of you live to a natural old age, But are cut off by some unexpected accident!
Have done thy charm, thou hateful wither’d hag!
Stop your curses, you hateful, withered hag!
And leave out thee? stay, dog, for thou shalt hear me. If heaven have any grievous plague in store Exceeding those that I can wish upon thee, O, let them keep it till thy sins be ripe, And then hurl down their indignation On thee, the troubler of the poor world’s peace! The worm of conscience still begnaw thy soul! Thy friends suspect for traitors while thou livest, And take deep traitors for thy dearest friends! No sleep close up that deadly eye of thine, Unless it be whilst some tormenting dream Affrights thee with a hell of ugly devils! Thou elvish-mark’d, abortive, rooting hog! Thou that wast seal’d in thy nativity The slave of nature and the son of hell! Thou slander of thy mother’s heavy womb! Thou loathed issue of thy father’s loins! Thou rag of honour! thou detested--
And leave you out? Wait, dog, you’ll hear me. If heaven has any terrible punishment in store Worse than I could wish on you, Let it stay until your sins are fully ripe, And then unleash its fury On you, the one who has troubled the world’s peace! Let the worm of conscience gnaw at your soul! Let your friends suspect you as traitors while you live, And have the worst traitors as your closest allies! May your eye never rest, unless it’s while some tormenting dream Scares you with a hell full of hideous devils! You, deformed, aborted, filthy pig! You who were marked at birth As nature’s slave and hell’s child! You disgrace of your mother’s heavy womb! You loathed product of your father’s body! You rag of honor! You detested--
Margaret.
Margaret.
Richard!
Richard!
Ha!
Ha!
I call thee not.
I didn’t call you.
I cry thee mercy then, for I had thought That thou hadst call’d me all these bitter names.
Then I beg your pardon, I thought You had called me all those bitter names.
Why, so I did; but look’d for no reply. O, let me make the period to my curse!
Yes, I did; but I didn’t expect any answer. Oh, let me finish my curse once and for all!
’Tis done by me, and ends in ’Margaret.’
It’s done by me, and it ends with ‘Margaret.’
Thus have you breathed your curse against yourself.
This is how you’ve cursed yourself.
Poor painted queen, vain flourish of my fortune! Why strew’st thou sugar on that bottled spider, Whose deadly web ensnareth thee about? Fool, fool! thou whet’st a knife to kill thyself. The time will come when thou shalt wish for me To help thee curse that poisonous bunchback’d toad.
Poor, fake queen, a useless symbol of my luck! Why are you covering that dangerous spider with sugar, Whose deadly web is trapping you? Fool, fool! You’re sharpening a knife to kill yourself. The time will come when you’ll wish for me To help you curse that poisonous, hunchbacked toad.
False-boding woman, end thy frantic curse, Lest to thy harm thou move our patience.
False prophet, stop your crazy cursing, Or you’ll push us too far and lose our patience.
Foul shame upon you! you have all moved mine.
Shame on you! You’ve all made me do this.
Were you well served, you would be taught your duty.
If you were treated properly, you’d know your place.
To serve me well, you all should do me duty, Teach me to be your queen, and you my subjects: O, serve me well, and teach yourselves that duty!
If you wanted to serve me well, you’d all do your duty, Teach me to be your queen, and you my subjects: Oh, serve me well, and teach yourselves how to do your duty!
Dispute not with her; she is lunatic.
Don’t argue with her; she’s out of her mind.
Peace, master marquess, you are malapert: Your fire-new stamp of honour is scarce current. O, that your young nobility could judge What ’twere to lose it, and be miserable! They that stand high have many blasts to shake them; And if they fall, they dash themselves to pieces.
Quiet, you arrogant marquess: Your freshly earned honor is barely worth anything. Oh, if only your young nobility could understand What it’s like to lose it and live in misery! Those at the top are shaken by many storms; And if they fall, they shatter into pieces.
Good counsel, marry: learn it, learn it, marquess.
Good advice, I must say: learn it, learn it, marquess.
It toucheth you, my lord, as much as me.
It concerns you, my lord, just as much as it concerns me.
Yea, and much more: but I was born so high, Our aery buildeth in the cedar’s top, And dallies with the wind and scorns the sun.
Yes, and even more so: but I was born high, Our nest is built at the top of the cedar tree, And it plays with the wind and mocks the sun.
And turns the sun to shade; alas! alas! Witness my son, now in the shade of death; Whose bright out-shining beams thy cloudy wrath Hath in eternal darkness folded up. Your aery buildeth in our aery’s nest. O God, that seest it, do not suffer it! As it was won with blood, lost be it so!
And turns the sun into shadow; oh, oh! Witness my son, now in the shadow of death; Whose bright, shining light your angry storms Have wrapped in eternal darkness. Your nest is built in the same nest as ours. Oh God, who sees all, don’t let this happen! As it was gained with blood, let it be lost in the same way!
Have done! for shame, if not for charity.
Enough! For shame, if not for compassion.
Urge neither charity nor shame to me: Uncharitably with me have you dealt, And shamefully by you my hopes are butcher’d. My charity is outrage, life my shame And in that shame still live my sorrow’s rage.
Don’t talk to me about compassion or shame: You’ve treated me unkindly, And my hopes are brutally destroyed by you. My compassion is an outrage, life is my shame, And in that shame, my sorrow rages on.
Have done, have done.
Stop, stop.
O princely Buckingham I’ll kiss thy hand, In sign of league and amity with thee: Now fair befal thee and thy noble house! Thy garments are not spotted with our blood, Nor thou within the compass of my curse.
Oh, noble Buckingham, I’ll kiss your hand, As a sign of alliance and friendship with you: May good things happen to you and your noble family! Your clothes are not stained with our blood, Nor are you within the reach of my curse.
Nor no one here; for curses never pass The lips of those that breathe them in the air.
Nor anyone here; because curses never take effect From those who speak them out loud.
I’ll not believe but they ascend the sky, And there awake God’s gentle-sleeping peace. O Buckingham, take heed of yonder dog! Look, when he fawns, he bites; and when he bites, His venom tooth will rankle to the death: Have not to do with him, beware of him; Sin, death, and hell have set their marks on him, And all their ministers attend on him.
I don’t believe that—they rise up to the sky, And there they stir God’s peaceful sleep. Oh, Buckingham, watch out for that dog over there! Look, when he flatters, he attacks; and when he attacks, His poisonous bite will fester and kill: Don’t get involved with him, stay away from him; Sin, death, and hell have marked him, And all their servants follow him.
What doth she say, my Lord of Buckingham?
What is she saying, my Lord Buckingham?
Nothing that I respect, my gracious lord.
Nothing that I care about, my lord.
What, dost thou scorn me for my gentle counsel? And soothe the devil that I warn thee from? O, but remember this another day, When he shall split thy very heart with sorrow, And say poor Margaret was a prophetess! Live each of you the subjects to his hate, And he to yours, and all of you to God’s!
What, do you mock me for my kind advice? And flatter the devil I’m warning you against? Oh, but remember this another day, When he will break your heart with grief, And say poor Margaret was a prophet! Each of you will be the victim of his hatred, And he of yours, and all of you will be judged by God!
My hair doth stand on end to hear her curses.
My hair stands on end hearing her curses.
And so doth mine: I muse why she’s at liberty.
Mine too: I wonder why she’s still free.
I cannot blame her: by God’s holy mother, She hath had too much wrong; and I repent My part thereof that I have done to her.
I can’t blame her: by God’s holy mother, She’s been wronged too much; and I regret My part in what I did to her.
I never did her any, to my knowledge.
I never did her any wrong, as far as I know.
But you have all the vantage of her wrong. I was too hot to do somebody good, That is too cold in thinking of it now. Marry, as for Clarence, he is well repaid, He is frank’d up to fatting for his pains God pardon them that are the cause of it!
But you all gained from her wrong. I was too eager to help someone, Who now is too cold in thinking about it. As for Clarence, he’s well repaid, He’s been put away to rot for his trouble. God forgive those who caused it!
A virtuous and a Christian-like conclusion, To pray for them that have done scathe to us.
A virtuous and Christian-like thought, To pray for those who’ve harmed us.
So do I ever:
So do I always:
being well-advised. For had I cursed now, I had cursed myself.
being thoughtful. Because if I had cursed earlier, I would have cursed myself.
Madam, his majesty doth call for you, And for your grace; and you, my noble lords.
Madam, the king is asking for you, And for your grace, and you, my noble lords.
Catesby, we come. Lords, will you go with us?
Catesby, we are coming. Lords, will you join us?
Madam, we will attend your grace.
Madam, we will accompany you.
I do the wrong, and first begin to brawl. The secret mischiefs that I set abroach I lay unto the grievous charge of others. Clarence, whom I, indeed, have laid in darkness, I do beweep to many simple gulls Namely, to Hastings, Derby, Buckingham; And say it is the queen and her allies That stir the king against the duke my brother. Now, they believe it; and withal whet me To be revenged on Rivers, Vaughan, Grey: But then I sigh; and, with a piece of scripture, Tell them that God bids us do good for evil: And thus I clothe my naked villany With old odd ends stolen out of holy writ; And seem a saint, when most I play the devil.
I do wrong and start fights myself. The secret plots I set in motion I blame on others with heavy accusations. Clarence, who I’ve actually imprisoned, I cry about to gullible fools— Namely Hastings, Derby, Buckingham— And claim that the queen and her allies Are turning the king against my brother, the duke. Now they believe me, and they push me To seek revenge on Rivers, Vaughan, and Grey. But then I sigh, and quote some scripture, Saying that God tells us to repay evil with good. And so I disguise my evil plans With scraps of holy words I’ve stolen; I seem like a saint when I’m really playing the devil.
But, soft! here come my executioners. How now, my hardy, stout resolved mates! Are you now going to dispatch this deed?
But wait! Here come my executioners. Well, my determined and strong-willed friends! Are you ready to finish this task?
We are, my lord; and come to have the warrant That we may be admitted where he is.
We are, my lord, and we’ve come to get the warrant So we can be allowed to reach him.
Well thought upon; I have it here about me.
Good thinking; I have it here with me.
When you have done, repair to Crosby Place. But, sirs, be sudden in the execution, Withal obdurate, do not hear him plead; For Clarence is well-spoken, and perhaps May move your hearts to pity if you mark him.
Once you’ve finished, come to Crosby Place. But make it quick—carry out the execution immediately, And be firm; don’t listen to his pleas. Clarence speaks well and might Persuade you to pity him if you pay attention.
Tush! Fear not, my lord, we will not stand to prate; Talkers are no good doers: be assured We come to use our hands and not our tongues.
Don’t worry! Have no fear, my lord, we won’t waste time talking; Talkers don’t get things done: rest assured We’re here to act, not chat.
Your eyes drop millstones, when fools’ eyes drop tears: I like you, lads; about your business straight; Go, go, dispatch.
Your eyes are hard as stone, while fools cry tears. I like you, boys; get to work at once; Go, go, finish it.
We will, my noble lord.
We will, my noble lord.