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My lords, at once: the cause why we are met Is, to determine of the coronation. In God’s name, speak: when is the royal day?
My lords, let’s get to the point: the reason we’re gathered Is to decide on the coronation. In God’s name, speak up: when is the royal day?
Are all things fitting for that royal time?
Are all things ready for that royal occasion?
It is, and wants but nomination.
Yes, everything is ready, it just needs to be announced.
To-morrow, then, I judge a happy day.
Tomorrow, then, seems like a perfect day.
Who knows the lord protector’s mind herein? Who is most inward with the royal duke?
Who knows the lord protector’s thoughts on this? Who is closest to the royal duke?
Your grace, we think, should soonest know his mind.
Your grace, we believe you should know his thoughts best.
Who, I, my lord I we know each other’s faces, But for our hearts, he knows no more of mine, Than I of yours; Nor I no more of his, than you of mine. Lord Hastings, you and he are near in love.
Me? My lord, we know each other’s faces, But as for our hearts, he knows no more of mine, Than I know of his; Nor do I know any more of his than he knows of mine. Lord Hastings, you and he are close friends.
I thank his grace, I know he loves me well; But, for his purpose in the coronation. I have not sounded him, nor he deliver’d His gracious pleasure any way therein: But you, my noble lords, may name the time; And in the duke’s behalf I’ll give my voice, Which, I presume, he’ll take in gentle part.
I thank his grace, I know he loves me dearly; But, as for his intentions regarding the coronation, I haven’t asked him, and he hasn’t shared His royal wishes on the matter: But you, my noble lords, can set the date; And on the duke’s behalf, I’ll give my vote, Which, I believe, he’ll take kindly.
Now in good time, here comes the duke himself.
Just in time, here comes the duke himself.
My noble lords and cousins all, good morrow. I have been long a sleeper; but, I hope, My absence doth neglect no great designs, Which by my presence might have been concluded.
My noble lords and cousins, good morning. I’ve been sleeping for a while; but, I hope, My absence hasn’t delayed any important matters, Which might have been settled by my presence.
Had not you come upon your cue, my lord William Lord Hastings had pronounced your part,-- I mean, your voice,--for crowning of the king.
If you hadn’t arrived just now, my lord, William Lord Hastings would have already said your part,-- I mean, your vote,--for crowning the king.
Than my Lord Hastings no man might be bolder; His lordship knows me well, and loves me well.
No one could be bolder than my Lord Hastings; He knows me well, and loves me well.
I thank your grace.
I thank your grace.
My lord of Ely!
My lord of Ely!
My lord?
My lord?
When I was last in Holborn, I saw good strawberries in your garden there I do beseech you send for some of them.
When I was last in Holborn, I saw some nice strawberries in your garden there. Please, I beg you, send for some of them.
Marry, and will, my lord, with all my heart.
Yes, of course, my lord, I’d be happy to.
Cousin of Buckingham, a word with you.
Cousin Buckingham, I need to speak with you.
Catesby hath sounded Hastings in our business, And finds the testy gentleman so hot, As he will lose his head ere give consent His master’s son, as worshipful as he terms it, Shall lose the royalty of England’s throne.
Catesby has tested Hastings on our plan, And finds the angry man so furious, That he’ll lose his head before he agrees That his master’s son, no matter how honorable he claims to be, Should lose the English throne.
Withdraw you hence, my lord, I’ll follow you.
Go on ahead, my lord, I’ll follow you.
We have not yet set down this day of triumph. To-morrow, in mine opinion, is too sudden; For I myself am not so well provided As else I would be, were the day prolong’d.
We haven’t yet set the date for this celebration. Tomorrow, in my opinion, is too soon; Because I myself am not as prepared As I would be if we had more time.
Where is my lord protector? I have sent for these strawberries.
Where is my lord protector? I’ve sent for these strawberries.
His grace looks cheerfully and smooth to-day; There’s some conceit or other likes him well, When he doth bid good morrow with such a spirit. I think there’s never a man in Christendom That can less hide his love or hate than he; For by his face straight shall you know his heart.
His grace looks happy and calm today; There’s something about him that seems pleased, When he greets us with such a cheerful spirit. I think there’s no man in the world Who can hide his love or hate better than he; For by his face, you can immediately tell his feelings.
What of his heart perceive you in his face By any likelihood he show’d to-day?
What do you see in his face today That suggests what’s in his heart?
Marry, that with no man here he is offended; For, were he, he had shown it in his looks.
Well, he’s not upset with anyone here; If he were, he’d have shown it in his expression.
I pray God he be not, I say.
I pray God he’s not, I truly hope so.
I pray you all, tell me what they deserve That do conspire my death with devilish plots Of damned witchcraft, and that have prevail’d Upon my body with their hellish charms?
Please, everyone, tell me what they deserve Who conspire to kill me with wicked plans Using cursed witchcraft, and who have succeeded In harming my body with their evil magic?
The tender love I bear your grace, my lord, Makes me most forward in this noble presence To doom the offenders, whatsoever they be I say, my lord, they have deserved death.
The great love I have for you, my lord, Makes me eager to speak in this noble place And sentence the wrongdoers, whoever they are. I say, my lord, they deserve death.
Then be your eyes the witness of this ill: See how I am bewitch’d; behold mine arm Is, like a blasted sapling, wither’d up: And this is Edward’s wife, that monstrous witch, Consorted with that harlot strumpet Shore, That by their witchcraft thus have marked me.
Then let your eyes witness this evil: See how I am bewitched; look, my arm Is like a dead tree, withered and weak: And here is Edward’s wife, that evil witch, Joined with that shameless woman Shore, Who with their witchcraft have marked me thus.
If they have done this thing, my gracious lord--
If they have done this, my lord--
If I thou protector of this damned strumpet-- Tellest thou me of ’ifs’? Thou art a traitor: Off with his head! Now, by Saint Paul I swear, I will not dine until I see the same. Lovel and Ratcliff, look that it be done: The rest, that love me, rise and follow me.
If I, thou protector of this cursed woman-- You speak to me of ‘ifs’? You are a traitor: Off with his head! Now, by Saint Paul I swear, I won’t eat until I see it done. Lovel and Ratcliff, make sure it’s carried out: The rest who love me, rise and follow me.
Woe, woe for England! not a whit for me; For I, too fond, might have prevented this. Stanley did dream the boar did raze his helm; But I disdain’d it, and did scorn to fly: Three times to-day my foot-cloth horse did stumble, And startled, when he look’d upon the Tower, As loath to bear me to the slaughter-house. O, now I want the priest that spake to me: I now repent I told the pursuivant As ’twere triumphing at mine enemies, How they at Pomfret bloodily were butcher’d, And I myself secure in grace and favour. O Margaret, Margaret, now thy heavy curse Is lighted on poor Hastings’ wretched head!
Woe, woe for England! not at all for me; For I, too trusting, could have stopped this. Stanley dreamt the boar scratched his helmet; But I ignored it, and refused to flee: Three times today my horse stumbled, And startled, when he saw the Tower, As if he didn’t want to take me to my death. Oh, how I wish I had listened to the priest: I now regret telling the messenger How my enemies were brutally killed at Pomfret, While I thought myself safe and favoured. Oh Margaret, Margaret, now your terrible curse Has fallen on poor Hastings’ doomed head!
Dispatch, my lord; the duke would be at dinner: Make a short shrift; he longs to see your head.
Hurry, my lord; the duke is ready for dinner: Make it quick; he’s eager to see your head.
O momentary grace of mortal men, Which we more hunt for than the grace of God! Who builds his hopes in air of your good looks, Lives like a drunken sailor on a mast, Ready, with every nod, to tumble down Into the fatal bowels of the deep.
Oh brief mercy of men, Which we seek more eagerly than God’s mercy! Who builds his hopes on your good will, Lives like a drunken sailor on a mast, Ready to fall at any moment Into the deadly depths of the sea.
Come, come, dispatch; ’tis bootless to exclaim.
Come, come, hurry up; it’s pointless to complain.
O bloody Richard! miserable England! I prophesy the fearful’st time to thee That ever wretched age hath look’d upon. Come, lead me to the block; bear him my head. They smile at me that shortly shall be dead.
Oh bloody Richard! miserable England! I predict the worst times ahead for you That this wretched age has ever seen. Come, lead me to the block; take my head. They smile at me, but they’ll soon be dead.