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Modern English
Tell me, good grandam, is our father dead?
Tell me, good grandmother, is our father dead?
No, boy.
No, boy.
Why do you wring your hands, and beat your breast, And cry ’O Clarence, my unhappy son!’
Why are you wringing your hands and beating your chest, And crying, "Oh, Clarence, my unlucky son!"
Why do you look on us, and shake your head, And call us wretches, orphans, castaways If that our noble father be alive?
Why are you looking at us and shaking your head, And calling us wretches, orphans, castaways, If our noble father is still alive?
My pretty cousins, you mistake me much; I do lament the sickness of the king. As loath to lose him, not your father’s death; It were lost sorrow to wail one that’s lost.
My dear cousins, you’re misunderstanding me; I’m mourning the king’s illness. I’m not sad about your father’s death, It would be pointless sorrow to grieve for someone who’s not lost.
Then, grandam, you conclude that he is dead. The king my uncle is to blame for this: God will revenge it; whom I will importune With daily prayers all to that effect.
Then, grandmother, you must think he’s dead. The king, my uncle, is responsible for this: God will punish him; and I will pray to Him daily For that to happen.
And so will I.
And so will I.
Peace, children, peace! the king doth love you well: Incapable and shallow innocents, You cannot guess who caused your father’s death.
Quiet, children, quiet! The king loves you very much: You’re innocent and naive, You can’t understand who caused your father’s death.
Grandam, we can; for my good uncle Gloucester Told me, the king, provoked by the queen, Devised impeachments to imprison him : And when my uncle told me so, he wept, And hugg’d me in his arm, and kindly kiss’d my cheek; Bade me rely on him as on my father, And he would love me dearly as his child.
Grandmother, we can; because my good uncle Gloucester Told me that the king, angered by the queen, Made plans to accuse him and imprison him: And when my uncle told me this, he cried, And hugged me in his arms, and kissed my cheek; He told me to trust him as I would my father, And that he would love me dearly as his own child.
Oh, that deceit should steal such gentle shapes, And with a virtuous vizard hide foul guile! He is my son; yea, and therein my shame; Yet from my dugs he drew not this deceit.
Oh, how deceit can take such innocent forms, And with a virtuous mask hide ugly trickery! He is my son; yes, and that’s my shame; But he didn’t get this deceitfulness from me.
Think you my uncle did dissemble, grandam?
Do you think my uncle was pretending, grandmother?
Ay, boy.
Yes, boy.
I cannot think it. Hark! what noise is this?
I can’t believe it. Listen! What’s that noise?
Oh, who shall hinder me to wail and weep, To chide my fortune, and torment myself? I’ll join with black despair against my soul, And to myself become an enemy.
Oh, who will stop me from crying and weeping, From cursing my fate, and tormenting myself? I’ll join with deep despair against my soul, And make myself my own enemy.
What means this scene of rude impatience?
What is this scene of rude impatience?
To make an act of tragic violence: Edward, my lord, your son, our king, is dead. Why grow the branches now the root is wither’d? Why wither not the leaves the sap being gone? If you will live, lament; if die, be brief, That our swift-winged souls may catch the king’s; Or, like obedient subjects, follow him To his new kingdom of perpetual rest.
To make an act of tragic violence: Edward, my lord, your son, our king, is dead. Why do the branches grow now that the root is dead? Why don’t the leaves die when the sap is gone? If you want to live, mourn; if you’re going to die, be quick, So our fast-moving souls can join the king’s; Or, like loyal subjects, follow him To his new kingdom of eternal peace.
Ah, so much interest have I in thy sorrow As I had title in thy noble husband! I have bewept a worthy husband’s death, And lived by looking on his images: But now two mirrors of his princely semblance Are crack’d in pieces by malignant death, And I for comfort have but one false glass, Which grieves me when I see my shame in him. Thou art a widow; yet thou art a mother, And hast the comfort of thy children left thee: But death hath snatch’d my husband from mine arms, And pluck’d two crutches from my feeble limbs, Edward and Clarence. O, what cause have I, Thine being but a moiety of my grief, To overgo thy plaints and drown thy cries!
Ah, I care about your grief As much as I cared for your noble husband! I’ve mourned the death of a worthy husband, And lived by looking at his portraits: But now two mirrors of his royal likeness Are shattered by cruel death, And I only have one false reflection, Which saddens me when I see my shame in it. You are a widow; yet you are a mother, And you still have the comfort of your children: But death has taken my husband from my arms, And taken away the support of my weak body, Edward and Clarence. Oh, what reason do I have, Since your grief is only half of mine, To overcome your complaints and drown your cries!
Good aunt, you wept not for our father’s death; How can we aid you with our kindred tears?
Good aunt, you didn’t cry for our father’s death; How can we help you with our shared tears?
Our fatherless distress was left unmoan’d; Your widow-dolour likewise be unwept!
Our fatherless sorrow went unnoticed; Let your widow’s grief go unwept too!
Give me no help in lamentation; I am not barren to bring forth complaints All springs reduce their currents to mine eyes, That I, being govern’d by the watery moon, May send forth plenteous tears to drown the world! Oh for my husband, for my dear lord Edward!
Don’t try to help me with my mourning; I am not lacking in complaints All rivers bring their waters to my eyes, So that I, guided by the watery moon, Can send out endless tears to drown the world! Oh, for my husband, for my dear lord Edward!
Oh for our father, for our dear lord Clarence!
Oh, for our father, for our dear lord Clarence!
Alas for both, both mine, Edward and Clarence!
Alas for both, both my dear Edward and Clarence!
What stay had I but Edward? and he’s gone.
What support did I have except Edward? And now he’s gone.
What stay had we but Clarence? and he’s gone.
What support did we have except Clarence? And now he’s gone.
What stays had I but they? and they are gone.
What support did I have except them? And now they’re gone.
Was never widow had so dear a loss!
No widow ever had such a dear loss!
Were never orphans had so dear a loss!
No orphans ever had such a dear loss!
Was never mother had so dear a loss! Alas, I am the mother of these moans! Their woes are parcell’d, mine are general. She for an Edward weeps, and so do I; I for a Clarence weep, so doth not she: These babes for Clarence weep and so do I; I for an Edward weep, so do not they: Alas, you three, on me, threefold distress’d, Pour all your tears! I am your sorrow’s nurse, And I will pamper it with lamentations.
No mother ever had such a dear loss! Alas, I am the mother of these laments! Their griefs are separate, mine are all-encompassing. She mourns for Edward, and so do I; I mourn for Clarence, and she does not; These children mourn for Clarence, and so do I; I mourn for Edward, and they do not: Alas, you three, pour all your tears on me, threefold burdened, I am your sorrow’s nurse, And I will feed it with my wailing.
Comfort, dear mother: God is much displeased That you take with unthankfulness, his doing: In common worldly things, ’tis call’d ungrateful, With dull unwilligness to repay a debt Which with a bounteous hand was kindly lent; Much more to be thus opposite with heaven, For it requires the royal debt it lent you.
Comfort, dear mother: God is very displeased That you repay his actions with ungratefulness: In everyday life, it’s called ungrateful, To be unwilling to repay a debt That was generously given; How much more ungrateful to be opposed to heaven, When it asks for the royal debt it gave you.
Madam, bethink you, like a careful mother, Of the young prince your son: send straight for him Let him be crown’d; in him your comfort lives: Drown desperate sorrow in dead Edward’s grave, And plant your joys in living Edward’s throne.
Madam, think carefully, like a loving mother, About your young son, the prince: call for him at once Let him be crowned; in him your hope lives: Drown your hopeless sorrow in dead Edward’s grave, And place your joy in living Edward’s throne.
Madam, have comfort: all of us have cause To wail the dimming of our shining star; But none can cure their harms by wailing them. Madam, my mother, I do cry you mercy; I did not see your grace: humbly on my knee I crave your blessing.
Madam, take comfort: we all have reason To mourn the fading of our bright star; But none of us can fix our problems by just mourning them. Madam, my mother, I apologize; I didn’t see you properly: humbly on my knee I ask for your blessing.
God bless thee; and put meekness in thy mind, Love, charity, obedience, and true duty!
God bless you; and fill your mind with humility, Love, kindness, obedience, and true duty!
[Aside] Amen; and make me die a good old man! That is the butt-end of a mother’s blessing: I marvel why her grace did leave it out.
[Aside] Amen; and let me live to be a good old man! That’s the main part of a mother’s blessing: I wonder why she left that out.
You cloudy princes and heart-sorrowing peers, That bear this mutual heavy load of moan, Now cheer each other in each other’s love Though we have spent our harvest of this king, We are to reap the harvest of his son. The broken rancour of your high-swoln hearts, But lately splinter’d, knit, and join’d together, Must gently be preserved, cherish’d, and kept: Me seemeth good, that, with some little train, Forthwith from Ludlow the young prince be fetch’d Hither to London, to be crown’d our king.
You grieving princes and sorrowful peers, Who carry this shared burden of mourning, Now cheer each other with love for one another Though we’ve lost our harvest with this king, We still have the harvest of his son to reap. The broken bitterness in your hearts, That was recently torn apart, must now be healed, Mended, and kept intact: I think it’s a good idea that, with a small group, We should bring the young prince from Ludlow Here to London, to crown him our king.
Why with some little train, my Lord of Buckingham?
Why with a small group, my Lord of Buckingham?
Marry, my lord, lest, by a multitude, The new-heal’d wound of malice should break out, Which would be so much the more dangerous By how much the estate is green and yet ungovern’d: Where every horse bears his commanding rein, And may direct his course as please himself, As well the fear of harm, as harm apparent, In my opinion, ought to be prevented.
Well, my lord, it’s so that, by a large crowd, The newly healed wound of hate doesn’t reopen, Which would be much more dangerous Because the situation is still fresh and unsteady: Where everyone has their own way and can act as they wish, The fear of danger, as well as actual harm, Should, in my opinion, be avoided.
I hope the king made peace with all of us And the compact is firm and true in me.
I hope the king made peace with all of us And that the agreement is solid and true with me.
And so in me; and so, I think, in all: Yet, since it is but green, it should be put To no apparent likelihood of breach, Which haply by much company might be urged: Therefore I say with noble Buckingham, That it is meet so few should fetch the prince.
And so with me; and I believe, with everyone: But since it’s still new, we should avoid Any chance of it breaking apart, Which might happen with too many people involved: Therefore I agree with noble Buckingham, That only a few should go to fetch the prince.
And so say I.
And so do I.
Then be it so; and go we to determine Who they shall be that straight shall post to Ludlow. Madam, and you, my mother, will you go To give your censures in this weighty business?
Then it’s settled; let’s decide Who will be the ones to go straight to Ludlow. Madam, and you, my mother, will you go To give your opinion on this important matter?
With all our harts.
With all our hearts.
My lord, whoever journeys to the Prince, For God’s sake, let not us two be behind; For, by the way, I’ll sort occasion, As index to the story we late talk’d of, To part the queen’s proud kindred from the king.
My lord, whoever goes to the Prince, For God’s sake, don’t let us two be left behind; On the way, I’ll find an opportunity, As a sign of the plan we were just talking about, To separate the queen’s proud family from the king.
My other self, my counsel’s consistory, My oracle, my prophet! My dear cousin, I, like a child, will go by thy direction. Towards Ludlow then, for we’ll not stay behind.
My other self, my advisor, My guide, my prophet! My dear cousin, I, like a child, will follow your direction. To Ludlow then, for we won’t stay behind.