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So, now prosperity begins to mellow And drop into the rotten mouth of death. Here in these confines slily have I lurk’d, To watch the waning of mine adversaries. A dire induction am I witness to, And will to France, hoping the consequence Will prove as bitter, black, and tragical. Withdraw thee, wretched Margaret: who comes here?
So, now good times start to fade And fall into the decaying jaws of death. Here, in these limits, I have secretly hidden, To watch my enemies lose their power. I am a witness to this terrible beginning, And I will go to France, hoping the result Will be just as bitter, dark, and tragic. Get away from me, miserable Margaret: who is coming here?
Ah, my young princes! ah, my tender babes! My unblown flowers, new-appearing sweets! If yet your gentle souls fly in the air And be not fix’d in doom perpetual, Hover about me with your airy wings And hear your mother’s lamentation!
Ah, my young princes! Ah, my delicate babies! My unopened flowers, my newly blossomed sweetness! If your gentle souls are still floating in the air And have not yet settled into eternal doom, Stay close to me with your light wings And listen to your mother’s sorrow!
Hover about her; say, that right for right Hath dimm’d your infant morn to aged night.
Stay close to her; say, that justice for justice Has turned your bright dawn into an old night.
So many miseries have crazed my voice, That my woe-wearied tongue is mute and dumb, Edward Plantagenet, why art thou dead?
So many miseries have shattered my voice, That my exhausted tongue is silent and dumb, Edward Plantagenet, why are you dead?
Plantagenet doth quit Plantagenet. Edward for Edward pays a dying debt.
Plantagenet has paid for Plantagenet’s life. Edward for Edward pays the price of death.
Wilt thou, O God, fly from such gentle lambs, And throw them in the entrails of the wolf? When didst thou sleep when such a deed was done?
Will you, O God, turn away from such gentle lambs, And throw them into the belly of the wolf? When did you rest while such a thing was happening?
When holy Harry died, and my sweet son.
When holy Harry died, and my sweet son.
Blind sight, dead life, poor mortal living ghost, Woe’s scene, world’s shame, grave’s due by life usurp’d, Brief abstract and record of tedious days, Rest thy unrest on England’s lawful earth,
Blind sight, dead life, poor mortal living ghost, A scene of misery, the world’s disgrace, the grave’s rightful due taken by life, A short summary and record of endless days, Rest your troubled soul on England’s rightful land,
Unlawfully made drunk with innocents’ blood!
Unlawfully drunk with the blood of innocents!
O, that thou wouldst as well afford a grave As thou canst yield a melancholy seat! Then would I hide my bones, not rest them here. O, who hath any cause to mourn but I?
Oh, that you would offer a grave As easily as you offer a sorrowful seat! Then I would bury my bones, not leave them here. Oh, who has any reason to mourn except me?
If ancient sorrow be most reverend, Give mine the benefit of seniory, And let my woes frown on the upper hand. If sorrow can admit society,
If ancient sorrow deserves the most respect, Give mine the honor of age, And let my grief take the leading role. If sorrow can be shared,
Tell o’er your woes again by viewing mine: I had an Edward, till a Richard kill’d him; I had a Harry, till a Richard kill’d him: Thou hadst an Edward, till a Richard kill’d him; Thou hadst a Richard, till a Richard killed him;
Tell your troubles again by looking at mine: I had an Edward, until Richard killed him; I had a Harry, until Richard killed him: You had an Edward, until Richard killed him; You had a Richard, until Richard killed him;
I had a Richard too, and thou didst kill him; I had a Rutland too, thou holp’st to kill him.
I had a Richard too, and you killed him; I had a Rutland too, and you helped kill him.
Thou hadst a Clarence too, and Richard kill’d him. From forth the kennel of thy womb hath crept A hell-hound that doth hunt us all to death: That dog, that had his teeth before his eyes, To worry lambs and lap their gentle blood, That foul defacer of God’s handiwork, That excellent grand tyrant of the earth, That reigns in galled eyes of weeping souls, Thy womb let loose, to chase us to our graves. O upright, just, and true-disposing God, How do I thank thee, that this carnal cur Preys on the issue of his mother’s body, And makes her pew-fellow with others’ moan!
You had a Clarence too, and Richard killed him. From the pit of your womb has come A hellish beast that hunts us all to death: That dog, that had his teeth before his eyes, To attack lambs and drink their gentle blood, That evil destroyer of God’s creation, That great tyrant of the earth, Who rules in the anguished eyes of crying souls, Your womb unleashed, to chase us to our graves. O upright, just, and fair God, How can I thank you, that this brutal dog Feeds on the children of his mother’s body, And makes her share in the grief of others!
O Harry’s wife, triumph not in my woes! God witness with me, I have wept for thine.
O Harry’s wife, don’t gloat over my misery! God knows, I’ve wept for yours.
Bear with me; I am hungry for revenge, And now I cloy me with beholding it. Thy Edward he is dead, that stabb’d my Edward: Thy other Edward dead, to quit my Edward; Young York he is but boot, because both they Match not the high perfection of my loss: Thy Clarence he is dead that kill’d my Edward; And the beholders of this tragic play, The adulterate Hastings, Rivers, Vaughan, Grey, Untimely smother’d in their dusky graves. Richard yet lives, hell’s black intelligencer, Only reserved their factor, to buy souls And send them thither: but at hand, at hand, Ensues his piteous and unpitied end: Earth gapes, hell burns, fiends roar, saints pray. To have him suddenly convey’d away. Cancel his bond of life, dear God, I prey, That I may live to say, The dog is dead!
Be patient with me; I’m hungry for revenge, And now I satisfy myself by watching it. Your Edward is dead, the one who killed my Edward: Your other Edward is dead, to avenge my Edward; Young York is just a minor thing, because they Don’t compare to the greatness of my loss: Your Clarence is dead, the one who killed my Edward; And those who watched this tragic play, The traitors Hastings, Rivers, Vaughan, Grey, Untimely buried in their dark graves. Richard still lives, hell’s black informer, Only held back to buy souls And send them there: but soon, very soon, Comes his pitiful and unpitied end: Earth opens, hell burns, demons scream, saints pray. To have him suddenly taken away. Cancel his life’s bond, dear God, I pray, So I may live to say, The dog is dead!
O, thou didst prophesy the time would come That I should wish for thee to help me curse That bottled spider, that foul bunch-back’d toad!
O, you did predict the time would come When I’d wish for you to help me curse That bottled spider, that ugly hunchbacked toad!
I call’d thee then vain flourish of my fortune; I call’d thee then poor shadow, painted queen; The presentation of but what I was; The flattering index of a direful pageant; One heaved a-high, to be hurl’d down below; A mother only mock’d with two sweet babes; A dream of what thou wert, a breath, a bubble, A sign of dignity, a garish flag, To be the aim of every dangerous shot, A queen in jest, only to fill the scene. Where is thy husband now? where be thy brothers? Where are thy children? wherein dost thou, joy? Who sues to thee and cries ’God save the queen’? Where be the bending peers that flatter’d thee? Where be the thronging troops that follow’d thee? Decline all this, and see what now thou art: For happy wife, a most distressed widow; For joyful mother, one that wails the name; For queen, a very caitiff crown’d with care; For one being sued to, one that humbly sues; For one that scorn’d at me, now scorn’d of me; For one being fear’d of all, now fearing one; For one commanding all, obey’d of none. Thus hath the course of justice wheel’d about, And left thee but a very prey to time; Having no more but thought of what thou wert, To torture thee the more, being what thou art. Thou didst usurp my place, and dost thou not Usurp the just proportion of my sorrow? Now thy proud neck bears half my burthen’d yoke; From which even here I slip my weary neck, And leave the burthen of it all on thee. Farewell, York’s wife, and queen of sad mischance: These English woes will make me smile in France.
I called you then a foolish symbol of my fate; I called you then a poor shadow, a painted queen; Just the image of what I was; The flattering sign of a dreadful show; One raised up high, only to be brought down low; A mother mocked with two sweet babies; A dream of what you were, a breath, a bubble, A symbol of dignity, a flashy flag, To be the target of every dangerous shot, A queen in name, only to fill the scene. Where is your husband now? Where are your brothers? Where are your children? Where is your joy? Who comes to you and cries ‘God save the queen’? Where are the flattering peers who praised you? Where are the crowds that followed you? Look at all of this, and see what you’ve become: Once a happy wife, now a most distressed widow; Once a joyful mother, now one who mourns the name; Once a queen, now a poor thing crowned with care; Once sought after, now one who humbly begs; Once scornful of me, now scorned by me; Once feared by all, now afraid of one; Once in charge of all, now obeyed by none. This is how the wheel of justice turns, And leaves you as prey to time; Having only the thought of what you were, To torment you even more, for what you are. You took my place, and don’t you now Take the just measure of my sorrow? Now your proud neck bears half my heavy yoke; From which even now I slip my weary neck, And leave all the burden on you. Farewell, York’s wife, and queen of bad luck: These English sorrows will make me smile in France.
O thou well skill’d in curses, stay awhile, And teach me how to curse mine enemies!
O you, skilled in curses, stay a while, And teach me how to curse my enemies!
Forbear to sleep the nights, and fast the days; Compare dead happiness with living woe; Think that thy babes were fairer than they were, And he that slew them fouler than he is: Bettering thy loss makes the bad causer worse: Revolving this will teach thee how to curse.
Don’t sleep at night, and fast during the day; Compare dead happiness with living misery; Think your babies were more beautiful than they were, And the man who killed them more evil than he is: Trying to make your loss better only makes the cause worse: Thinking about this will teach you how to curse.
My words are dull; O, quicken them with thine!
My words are dull; oh, quicken them with yours!
Thy woes will make them sharp, and pierce like mine.
Your grief will make them sharp, and pierce like mine.
Why should calamity be full of words?
Why should suffering be full of words?
Windy attorneys to their client woes, Airy succeeders of intestate joys, Poor breathing orators of miseries! Let them have scope: though what they do impart Help not all, yet do they ease the heart.
Windy lawyers for their clients’ troubles, Airy successors of forgotten joys, Poor speakers of misery! Let them have their say: though what they speak Doesn’t help much, it still eases the heart.
If so, then be not tongue-tied: go with me. And in the breath of bitter words let’s smother My damned son, which thy two sweet sons smother’d. I hear his drum: be copious in exclaims.
If that’s so, then don’t be silent: come with me. And let’s smother my damned son in a storm of angry words, The one your two sweet sons smothered. I hear his drum: let’s shout a lot.
Who intercepts my expedition?
Who is stopping my plans?
O, she that might have intercepted thee, By strangling thee in her accursed womb From all the slaughters, wretch, that thou hast done!
Oh, she who could have stopped you, By strangling you in her cursed womb, To save all the murders, you wretch, that you’ve caused!
Hidest thou that forehead with a golden crown, Where should be graven, if that right were right, The slaughter of the prince that owed that crown, And the dire death of my two sons and brothers? Tell me, thou villain slave, where are my children?
You cover that forehead with a golden crown, Where, if justice were right, there should be engraved, The murder of the prince who should wear that crown, And the terrible death of my two sons and brothers? Tell me, you villain, where are my children?
Thou toad, thou toad, where is thy brother Clarence? And little Ned Plantagenet, his son?
You toad, you toad, where is your brother Clarence? And little Ned Plantagenet, his son?
Where is kind Hastings, Rivers, Vaughan, Grey?
Where is kind Hastings, Rivers, Vaughan, Grey?
A flourish, trumpets! strike alarum, drums! Let not the heavens hear these tell-tale women Rail on the Lord’s enointed: strike, I say!
Sound the trumpets! Alarm, drums! Don’t let the heavens hear these gossiping women Insult the Lord’s anointed: play, I say!
Either be patient, and entreat me fair, Or with the clamorous report of war Thus will I drown your exclamations.
Either be patient, and ask me nicely, Or I’ll drown your complaints with the noise of war.
Art thou my son?
Are you my son?
Ay, I thank God, my father, and yourself.
Yes, I thank God, my father, and you.
Then patiently hear my impatience.
Then patiently listen to my anger.
Madam, I have a touch of your condition, Which cannot brook the accent of reproof.
Madam, I know what it’s like to be as you are, And I can’t stand being criticized.
O, let me speak!
Oh, let me speak!
Do then: but I’ll not hear.
Go ahead: but I won’t listen.
I will be mild and gentle in my speech.
I will be calm and gentle in my words.
And brief, good mother; for I am in haste.
And brief, good mother; I’m in a hurry.
Art thou so hasty? I have stay’d for thee, God knows, in anguish, pain and agony.
Are you really in such a hurry? I’ve waited for you, God knows, in pain, suffering, and torment.
And came I not at last to comfort you?
And didn’t I come at last to comfort you?
No, by the holy rood, thou know’st it well, Thou camest on earth to make the earth my hell. A grievous burthen was thy birth to me; Tetchy and wayward was thy infancy; Thy school-days frightful, desperate, wild, and furious, Thy prime of manhood daring, bold, and venturous, Thy age confirm’d, proud, subdued, bloody, treacherous, More mild, but yet more harmful, kind in hatred: What comfortable hour canst thou name, That ever graced me in thy company?
No, by the holy cross, you know it’s true, You came into this world to make my life a nightmare. Your birth was a terrible burden to me; You were a difficult and unruly child; Your school days were frightening, reckless, wild, and cruel, Your adulthood was daring, bold, and full of risk, Your later years were proud, cruel, bloody, treacherous, More calm, but still more harmful, kind in your hatred: What good moment can you name, That ever brought me comfort in your company?
Faith, none, but Humphrey Hour, that call’d your grace To breakfast once forth of my company. If I be so disgracious in your sight, Let me march on, and not offend your grace. Strike the drum.
Honestly, none, except for that time when Humphrey Hour called your grace To have breakfast once away from my company. If I offend you so much, Let me leave, and not trouble you further. Strike the drum.
I prithee, hear me speak.
Please, let me speak.
You speak too bitterly.
You speak too harshly.
Hear me a word; For I shall never speak to thee again.
Let me say one thing; For I will never speak to you again.
So.
Fine.
Either thou wilt die, by God’s just ordinance, Ere from this war thou turn a conqueror, Or I with grief and extreme age shall perish And never look upon thy face again. Therefore take with thee my most heavy curse; Which, in the day of battle, tire thee more Than all the complete armour that thou wear’st! My prayers on the adverse party fight; And there the little souls of Edward’s children Whisper the spirits of thine enemies And promise them success and victory. Bloody thou art, bloody will be thy end; Shame serves thy life and doth thy death attend.
Either you will die, by God’s justice, Before you turn this war into a victory, Or I, with sorrow and old age, shall die And never see your face again. So take with you my heaviest curse; Which, in battle, will weigh on you more Than all the armor you wear! May my prayers fight for the enemy; And may the little souls of Edward’s children Whisper to the spirits of your foes And promise them success and victory. Bloody you are, bloody you will end; Shame attends your life and waits for your death.
Though far more cause, yet much less spirit to curse Abides in me; I say amen to all.
Though I have more cause, I have much less strength to curse I say amen to everything.
Stay, madam; I must speak a word with you.
Wait, madam; I must speak with you.
I have no more sons of the royal blood For thee to murder: for my daughters, Richard, They shall be praying nuns, not weeping queens; And therefore level not to hit their lives.
I have no more sons of the royal blood For you to murder: as for my daughters, Richard, They’ll be nuns praying, not weeping queens; So don’t even think about hurting them.
You have a daughter call’d Elizabeth, Virtuous and fair, royal and gracious.
You have a daughter named Elizabeth, Virtuous and fair, royal and gracious.
And must she die for this? O, let her live, And I’ll corrupt her manners, stain her beauty; Slander myself as false to Edward’s bed; Throw over her the veil of infamy: So she may live unscarr’d of bleeding slaughter, I will confess she was not Edward’s daughter.
And must she die for this? Oh, let her live, And I’ll corrupt her morals, spoil her beauty; Accuse myself of being false to Edward’s marriage; Spread rumors about her disgrace: So long as she can live without being killed, I’ll admit she was not Edward’s daughter.
Wrong not her birth, she is of royal blood.
Don’t insult her birth, she is of royal blood.
To save her life, I’ll say she is not so.
To save her life, I’ll say she is not so.
Her life is only safest in her birth.
Her life is safest because of her birth.
And only in that safety died her brothers.
And only in that safety did her brothers die.
Lo, at their births good stars were opposite.
Look, at their births, the stars were against them.
No, to their lives bad friends were contrary.
No, bad friends were against their lives.
All unavoided is the doom of destiny.
The doom of destiny cannot be avoided.
True, when avoided grace makes destiny: My babes were destined to a fairer death, If grace had bless’d thee with a fairer life.
True, when grace makes destiny avoidable: My children were meant to die a better death, If grace had blessed you with a better life.
You speak as if that I had slain my cousins.
You talk as if I had killed my cousins.
Cousins, indeed; and by their uncle cozen’d Of comfort, kingdom, kindred, freedom, life. Whose hand soever lanced their tender hearts, Thy head, all indirectly, gave direction: No doubt the murderous knife was dull and blunt Till it was whetted on thy stone-hard heart, To revel in the entrails of my lambs. But that still use of grief makes wild grief tame, My tongue should to thy ears not name my boys Till that my nails were anchor’d in thine eyes; And I, in such a desperate bay of death, Like a poor bark, of sails and tackling reft, Rush all to pieces on thy rocky bosom.
Cousins, yes; and by their uncle tricked Of comfort, kingdom, family, freedom, life. Whoever’s hand stabbed their tender hearts, Your head, indirectly, guided the way: No doubt the murderer’s knife was dull and blunt Until it was sharpened on your cold, hard heart, To feast on the insides of my innocent children. But if constant grief didn’t make wild grief tame, I would not speak of my boys to you Until my nails were dug into your eyes; And I, in such a desperate place of death, Like a poor ship, without sails or rigging, Would crash to pieces on your rocky chest.
Madam, so thrive I in my enterprise And dangerous success of bloody wars, As I intend more good to you and yours, Than ever you or yours were by me wrong’d!
Madam, I hope to succeed in my plans And in the bloody wars I’m involved in, And to do more good for you and yours, Than I ever did wrong to you or your family!
What good is cover’d with the face of heaven, To be discover’d, that can do me good?
What good is hidden under the guise of heaven, If it is revealed, that can truly help me?
The advancement of your children, gentle lady.
The future success of your children, dear lady.
Up to some scaffold, there to lose their heads?
To some scaffold, where they’ll lose their heads?
No, to the dignity and height of honour The high imperial type of this earth’s glory.
No, to the rank and high honor That is the greatest glory on this earth.
Flatter my sorrows with report of it; Tell me what state, what dignity, what honour, Canst thou demise to any child of mine?
Comfort my sorrows with news of it; Tell me what power, what rank, what honor, Can you promise to any child of mine?
Even all I have; yea, and myself and all, Will I withal endow a child of thine; So in the Lethe of thy angry soul Thou drown the sad remembrance of those wrongs Which thou supposest I have done to thee.
Everything I have; yes, myself and all, I will give to a child of yours; So, in the forgetfulness of your angry soul, You will drown the painful memory of the wrongs You think I’ve done to you.
Be brief, lest that be process of thy kindness Last longer telling than thy kindness’ date.
Be brief, or your kindness might take longer to explain Than your kindness actually lasts.
Then know, that from my soul I love thy daughter.
Then know this: I love your daughter with all my heart.
My daughter’s mother thinks it with her soul.
My daughter’s mother believes that with all her heart.
What do you think?
What do you think?
That thou dost love my daughter from thy soul: So from thy soul’s love didst thou love her brothers; And from my heart’s love I do thank thee for it.
That you love my daughter with all your heart: Just like you loved her brothers with your soul; And I thank you for it with all my heart.
Be not so hasty to confound my meaning: I mean, that with my soul I love thy daughter, And mean to make her queen of England.
Don’t be so quick to misunderstand me: I mean, I love your daughter with all my heart, And I intend to make her queen of England.
Say then, who dost thou mean shall be her king?
Then tell me, who do you think should be her king?
Even he that makes her queen who should be else?
The one who makes her queen—who else should it be?
What, thou?
What, you?
I, even I: what think you of it, madam?
Yes, me: what do you think of that, madam?
How canst thou woo her?
How can you woo her?
That would I learn of you, As one that are best acquainted with her humour.
I’d like to learn from you, Since you know her better than anyone.
And wilt thou learn of me?
And you want to learn from me?
Madam, with all my heart.
Yes, madam, with all my heart.
Send to her, by the man that slew her brothers, A pair of bleeding-hearts; thereon engrave Edward and York; then haply she will weep: Therefore present to her--as sometime Margaret Did to thy father, steep’d in Rutland’s blood,-- A handkerchief; which, say to her, did drain The purple sap from her sweet brother’s body And bid her dry her weeping eyes therewith. If this inducement force her not to love, Send her a story of thy noble acts; Tell her thou madest away her uncle Clarence, Her uncle Rivers; yea, and, for her sake, Madest quick conveyance with her good aunt Anne.
Send her, by the man who killed her brothers, A pair of bleeding hearts; engrave on them Edward and York; then maybe she will cry: Then, present to her—like Margaret once did To your father, soaked in Rutland’s blood— A handkerchief; tell her it soaked up The blood from her dear brother’s body And tell her to dry her eyes with it. If this doesn’t make her love you, Send her a story of your noble deeds; Tell her how you killed her uncle Clarence, Her uncle Rivers; yes, and for her sake, You even helped her good aunt Anne pass away.
Come, come, you mock me; this is not the way To win our daughter.
Come, come, you’re mocking me; this isn’t the way To win my daughter’s heart.
There is no other way Unless thou couldst put on some other shape, And not be Richard that hath done all this.
There is no other way Unless you could somehow change yourself, And not be Richard who did all of this.
Say that I did all this for love of her.
Say that I did all this because I loved her.
Nay, then indeed she cannot choose but hate thee, Having bought love with such a bloody spoil.
No, then she would have to hate you, Since you bought her love with such bloody actions.
Look, what is done cannot be now amended: Men shall deal unadvisedly sometimes, Which after hours give leisure to repent. If I did take the kingdom from your sons, To make amends, Ill give it to your daughter. If I have kill’d the issue of your womb, To quicken your increase, I will beget Mine issue of your blood upon your daughter A grandam’s name is little less in love Than is the doting title of a mother; They are as children but one step below, Even of your mettle, of your very blood; Of an one pain, save for a night of groans Endured of her, for whom you bid like sorrow. Your children were vexation to your youth, But mine shall be a comfort to your age. The loss you have is but a son being king, And by that loss your daughter is made queen. I cannot make you what amends I would, Therefore accept such kindness as I can. Dorset your son, that with a fearful soul Leads discontented steps in foreign soil, This fair alliance quickly shall call home To high promotions and great dignity: The king, that calls your beauteous daughter wife. Familiarly shall call thy Dorset brother; Again shall you be mother to a king, And all the ruins of distressful times Repair’d with double riches of content. What! we have many goodly days to see: The liquid drops of tears that you have shed Shall come again, transform’d to orient pearl, Advantaging their loan with interest Of ten times double gain of happiness. Go, then my mother, to thy daughter go Make bold her bashful years with your experience; Prepare her ears to hear a wooer’s tale Put in her tender heart the aspiring flame Of golden sovereignty; acquaint the princess With the sweet silent hours of marriage joys And when this arm of mine hath chastised The petty rebel, dull-brain’d Buckingham, Bound with triumphant garlands will I come And lead thy daughter to a conqueror’s bed; To whom I will retail my conquest won, And she shall be sole victress, Caesar’s Caesar.
Look, what’s done can’t be fixed now: Sometimes people act without thinking, And later have time to regret it. If I took the kingdom from your sons, To make it right, I’ll give it to your daughter. If I killed your children, To help your family grow, I will father My own children with your daughter. A grandmother’s title is almost as loved As a mother’s doting name; They are still children, just one step lower, Of your blood, of your very flesh; They feel the same pain, except for a night of suffering Endured by her, for whom you grieve. Your children were a burden when you were young, But mine will comfort you in your old age. The loss you suffered was just a son becoming king, And by that loss, your daughter is now queen. I can’t make the amends I want to, So please accept the kindness I can offer. Dorset, your son, who with a frightened heart Walks in exile in a foreign land, This noble marriage will soon bring him back To high honor and great wealth: The king, who calls your beautiful daughter his wife, Will also call your Dorset his brother; Again, you’ll be mother to a king, And all the damage of past suffering Will be repaired with double riches of happiness. What! We have many good days ahead: The tears you’ve shed Shall return as precious pearls, Growing more valuable with time, Bringing you ten times more happiness. Go, then, my mother, to your daughter, Teach her to be bold with your experience; Prepare her to listen to a suitor’s tale, Plant in her heart the desire for golden rule; Introduce her to the quiet joys of marriage And when I’ve punished The petty rebel, dull-minded Buckingham, I’ll return, crowned with triumph, And lead your daughter to the bed of a conqueror; There, I will tell her of my victory, And she shall be the sole victor, Caesar’s Caesar.
What were I best to say? her father’s brother Would be her lord? or shall I say, her uncle? Or, he that slew her brothers and her uncles? Under what title shall I woo for thee, That God, the law, my honour and her love, Can make seem pleasing to her tender years?
What should I say? That her father’s brother Would be her lord? Or should I say, her uncle? Or, he who killed her brothers and uncles? Under what title should I plead for you, That God, the law, my honor, and her love, Will allow it to seem right to her young heart?
Infer fair England’s peace by this alliance.
Tell her that this marriage will bring peace to England.
Which she shall purchase with still lasting war.
Which she will buy with endless war.
Say that the king, which may command, entreats.
Say that the king, who can command, asks for this.
That at her hands which the king’s King forbids.
What the king’s King forbids, she cannot give.
Say, she shall be a high and mighty queen.
Say she will be a great and powerful queen.
To wail the tide, as her mother doth.
To weep like her mother does.
Say, I will love her everlastingly.
Say, I will love her forever.
But how long shall that title ’ever’ last?
But how long will "forever" last?
Sweetly in force unto her fair life’s end.
As long as her fair life lasts.
But how long fairly shall her sweet lie last?
But how long will her beauty last?
So long as heaven and nature lengthens it.
As long as heaven and nature allow it.
So long as hell and Richard likes of it.
As long as hell and Richard are fine with it.
Say, I, her sovereign, am her subject love.
Tell her that I, her king, am her loyal admirer.
But she, your subject, loathes such sovereignty.
But she, your subject, hates that kind of rule.
Be eloquent in my behalf to her.
Speak well of me to her on my behalf.
An honest tale speeds best being plainly told.
An honest story works best when told simply.
Then in plain terms tell her my loving tale.
Then just plainly tell her my loving intentions.
Plain and not honest is too harsh a style.
Simple and dishonest is too harsh a tone.
Your reasons are too shallow and too quick.
Your arguments are too weak and quick to dismiss.
O no, my reasons are too deep and dead; Too deep and dead, poor infants, in their grave.
Oh no, my reasons are deep and painful; Too deep and painful, like children buried in their graves.
Harp not on that string, madam; that is past.
Don’t dwell on that, madam; it’s in the past.
Harp on it still shall I till heart-strings break.
I’ll dwell on it until my heart breaks.
Now, by my George, my garter, and my crown,--
By my knighthood, my garter, and my crown--
Profaned, dishonour’d, and the third usurp’d.
All defiled, disgraced, and stolen.
I swear--
I swear--
By nothing; for this is no oath: The George, profaned, hath lost his holy honour; The garter, blemish’d, pawn’d his knightly virtue; The crown, usurp’d, disgraced his kingly glory. if something thou wilt swear to be believed, Swear then by something that thou hast not wrong’d.
Don’t swear; it means nothing. The knighthood has lost its sacred honor; The garter is tarnished, its knightly virtue gone; The crown is stolen, its royal glory disgraced. If you want to swear on something I’ll believe, Swear on something you haven’t corrupted.
Now, by the world--
Then I swear by the world--
’Tis full of thy foul wrongs.
It’s full of your terrible wrongs.
My father’s death--
My father’s death--
Thy life hath that dishonour’d.
Your life has dishonored him.
Then, by myself--
Then, by myself--
Thyself thyself misusest.
You’re misusing yourself.
Why then, by God--
Why then, by God--
God’s wrong is most of all. If thou hadst fear’d to break an oath by Him, The unity the king thy brother made Had not been broken, nor my brother slain: If thou hadst fear’d to break an oath by Him, The imperial metal, circling now thy brow, Had graced the tender temples of my child, And both the princes had been breathing here, Which now, two tender playfellows to dust, Thy broken faith hath made a prey for worms. What canst thou swear by now?
God’s wrong is the worst of all. If you had been afraid to break an oath to Him, The unity your brother, the king, created Wouldn’t have been broken, and my brother wouldn’t be dead: If you had feared to break an oath to Him, The imperial crown, now on your head, Would have rested on my son’s head, And both princes would be alive today, Instead of being two innocent playmates turned to dust, Your broken faith has made them food for worms. What can you swear by now?
The time to come.
The future.
That thou hast wronged in the time o’erpast; For I myself have many tears to wash Hereafter time, for time past wrong’d by thee. The children live, whose parents thou hast slaughter’d, Ungovern’d youth, to wail it in their age; The parents live, whose children thou hast butcher’d, Old wither’d plants, to wail it with their age. Swear not by time to come; for that thou hast Misused ere used, by time misused o’erpast.
You’ve wronged it in the past; For I, myself, have many tears to shed In the future, for the wrongs you did before. The children still live, whose parents you’ve slaughtered, Uncontrolled youth, who will mourn in their old age; The parents still live, whose children you’ve butchered, Old, withered people, who will mourn in their old age. Don’t swear by the future; because you’ve already Abused the past, and time has been wasted.
As I intend to prosper and repent, So thrive I in my dangerous attempt Of hostile arms! myself myself confound! Heaven and fortune bar me happy hours! Day, yield me not thy light; nor, night, thy rest! Be opposite all planets of good luck To my proceedings, if, with pure heart’s love, Immaculate devotion, holy thoughts, I tender not thy beauteous princely daughter! In her consists my happiness and thine; Without her, follows to this land and me, To thee, herself, and many a Christian soul, Death, desolation, ruin and decay: It cannot be avoided but by this; It will not be avoided but by this. Therefore, good mother,--I must can you so-- Be the attorney of my love to her: Plead what I will be, not what I have been; Not my deserts, but what I will deserve: Urge the necessity and state of times, And be not peevish-fond in great designs.
As I hope to succeed and repent, So may I prosper in this dangerous plan Of fighting! May I defeat myself! Heaven and fortune, may you deny me happy hours! Day, don’t give me your light; nor, night, your rest! May all good planets be against my progress If I do not offer my true love, pure devotion, And holy thoughts, to your beautiful, royal daughter! In her lies both my happiness and yours; Without her, this land and I, You, herself, and many Christian souls, Will face death, ruin, and decay: It can only be avoided by this marriage; It will not be avoided except by this. So, good mother--I must say this-- Be the advocate for my love to her: Argue for what I intend to be, not what I’ve been; Not my past deeds, but what I will do: Explain the urgency of the times, And don’t be foolish or overly sentimental about great plans.
Shall I be tempted of the devil thus?
Should I be tempted by the devil like this?
Ay, if the devil tempt thee to do good.
Yes, if the devil tempts you to do good.
Shall I forget myself to be myself?
Should I forget who I am to be myself?
Ay, if yourself’s remembrance wrong yourself.
Yes, if remembering yourself does you harm.
But thou didst kill my children.
But you killed my children.
But in your daughter’s womb I bury them: Where in that nest of spicery they shall breed Selves of themselves, to your recomforture.
But in your daughter’s womb, I bury them: Where in that fragrant place they’ll grow again As new lives, to comfort you.
Shall I go win my daughter to thy will?
Should I go try to convince my daughter to do what you want?
And be a happy mother by the deed.
And be a happy mother by making it happen.
I go. Write to me very shortly. And you shall understand from me her mind.
I’ll go. Write to me soon. And you’ll know from me what she thinks.
Bear her my true love’s kiss; and so, farewell.
Give her my true love’s kiss; and goodbye.
Relenting fool, and shallow, changing woman!
Fool, weak, and changeable woman!
How now! what news?
What’s happening? What news?
My gracious sovereign, on the western coast Rideth a puissant navy; to the shore Throng many doubtful hollow-hearted friends, Unarm’d, and unresolved to beat them back: ’Tis thought that Richmond is their admiral; And there they hull, expecting but the aid Of Buckingham to welcome them ashore.
My lord, on the western coast There’s a powerful navy sailing; many uncertain, unreliable people have gathered on the shore, unarmed and unsure if they’ll fight back: It’s believed that Richmond is their leader; And they’re waiting there, expecting Buckingham to join them on land.
Some light-foot friend post to the Duke of Norfolk: Ratcliff, thyself, or Catesby; where is he?
Send a fast messenger to the Duke of Norfolk: Ratcliff, you, or Catesby; where is he?
Here, my lord.
Here, my lord.
Fly to the duke:
Go to the duke:
Post thou to Salisbury When thou comest thither--
You go to Salisbury When you get there--
Dull, unmindful villain, Why stand’st thou still, and go’st not to the duke?
Stupid, forgetful villain, Why are you standing still? Why aren’t you going to the duke?
First, mighty sovereign, let me know your mind, What from your grace I shall deliver to him.
First, great king, tell me what you want, And what I should say to him on your behalf.
O, true, good Catesby: bid him levy straight The greatest strength and power he can make, And meet me presently at Salisbury.
Oh, right, good Catesby: tell him to gather right away The biggest army he can put together, And meet me right now at Salisbury.
I go.
I’ll go.
What is’t your highness’ pleasure I shall do at Salisbury?
What would you like me to do at Salisbury, Your highness?
Why, what wouldst thou do there before I go?
Why, what do you want to do there before I leave?
Your highness told me I should post before.
You told me I should go ahead of you.
My mind is changed, sir, my mind is changed.
I’ve changed my mind, sir, I’ve changed my mind.
How now, what news with you?
How are you? What’s the news?
None good, my lord, to please you with the hearing; Nor none so bad, but it may well be told.
Nothing good, my lord, to make you happy with the news; But nothing so bad that it can’t be told.
Hoyday, a riddle! neither good nor bad! Why dost thou run so many mile about, When thou mayst tell thy tale a nearer way? Once more, what news?
Hey, what a puzzle! Neither good nor bad! Why do you go on about it so long, When you could tell your story more directly? Once again, what’s the news?
Richmond is on the seas.
Richmond is at sea.
There let him sink, and be the seas on him! White-liver’d runagate, what doth he there?
Let him sink there, and let the sea swallow him up! Cowardly traitor, what is he doing out there?
I know not, mighty sovereign, but by guess.
I don’t know, great king, only guessing.
Well, sir, as you guess, as you guess?
Well, sir, as you guess, as you guess?
Stirr’d up by Dorset, Buckingham, and Ely, He makes for England, there to claim the crown.
Stirred up by Dorset, Buckingham, and Ely, He’s heading for England, to claim the throne.
Is the chair empty? is the sword unsway’d? Is the king dead? the empire unpossess’d? What heir of York is there alive but we? And who is England’s king but great York’s heir? Then, tell me, what doth he upon the sea?
Is the throne empty? Is the sword not held? Is the king dead? Is the kingdom unclaimed? Which heir of York is still alive but us? And who is England’s king but the great York’s heir? Then, tell me, what is he doing on the sea?
Unless for that, my liege, I cannot guess.
I can’t guess, my lord, unless it’s that.
Unless for that he comes to be your liege, You cannot guess wherefore the Welshman comes. Thou wilt revolt, and fly to him, I fear.
Unless he’s coming to serve you, your liege, You can’t guess why the Welshman is coming. I fear you’ll rebel and run to him.
No, mighty liege; therefore mistrust me not.
No, my powerful lord, don’t distrust me.
Where is thy power, then, to beat him back? Where are thy tenants and thy followers? Are they not now upon the western shore. Safe-conducting the rebels from their ships!
Then where is your power to drive him away? Where are your men and your followers? Aren’t they on the western shore right now, Leading the rebels safely off their ships?
No, my good lord, my friends are in the north.
No, my lord, my men are in the north.
Cold friends to Richard: what do they in the north, When they should serve their sovereign in the west?
Cold friends to Richard! What are they doing in the north, When they should be helping their king in the west?
They have not been commanded, mighty sovereign: Please it your majesty to give me leave, I’ll muster up my friends, and meet your grace Where and what time your majesty shall please.
They haven’t been told, mighty king: If you’ll permit me, I’ll gather my men, And meet you wherever and whenever you choose.
Ay, ay. thou wouldst be gone to join with Richmond: I will not trust you, sir.
Yes, yes. You’d leave to join Richmond: I won’t trust you, sir.
Most mighty sovereign, You have no cause to hold my friendship doubtful: I never was nor never will be false.
Most powerful king, You have no reason to doubt my loyalty: I was never false, and I never will be.
Well, Go muster men; but, hear you, leave behind Your son, George Stanley: look your faith be firm. Or else his head’s assurance is but frail.
Fine, Go gather men; but, listen, leave behind Your son, George Stanley: make sure your loyalty is solid. Otherwise, his life is in danger.
So deal with him as I prove true to you.
Do to him as I prove true to you.
My gracious sovereign, now in Devonshire, As I by friends am well advertised, Sir Edward Courtney, and the haughty prelate Bishop of Exeter, his brother there, With many more confederates, are in arms.
My gracious king, I’ve been informed by friends, That Sir Edward Courtney and the proud bishop Bishop of Exeter, his brother, along with many others, Are in arms in Devonshire.
My liege, in Kent the Guildfords are in arms; And every hour more competitors Flock to their aid, and still their power increaseth.
My lord, in Kent the Guildfords have raised an army; And every hour more people join their cause, And their strength keeps growing.
My lord, the army of the Duke of Buckingham--
My lord, the army of the Duke of Buckingham--
Out on you, owls! nothing but songs of death?
Damn you, owls! All you bring me are tales of death?
Take that, until thou bring me better news.
Take that, until you bring me better news.
The news I have to tell your majesty Is, that by sudden floods and fall of waters, Buckingham’s army is dispersed and scatter’d; And he himself wander’d away alone, No man knows whither.
The news I have for your majesty Is that due to sudden floods and heavy rain, Buckingham’s army has been scattered; And he himself has wandered off alone, No one knows where he’s gone.
I cry thee mercy: There is my purse to cure that blow of thine. Hath any well-advised friend proclaim’d Reward to him that brings the traitor in?
I beg your pardon: Here’s my purse to make up for that blow. Has any wise ally declared A reward for the man who captures the traitor?
Such proclamation hath been made, my liege.
Such an announcement has been made, my lord.
Sir Thomas Lovel and Lord Marquis Dorset, ’Tis said, my liege, in Yorkshire are in arms. Yet this good comfort bring I to your grace, The Breton navy is dispersed by tempest: Richmond, in Yorkshire, sent out a boat Unto the shore, to ask those on the banks If they were his assistants, yea or no; Who answer’d him, they came from Buckingham. Upon his party: he, mistrusting them, Hoisted sail and made away for Brittany.
Sir Thomas Lovel and Lord Marquis Dorset, It’s said, my lord, that they’re in arms in Yorkshire. But here’s some good news I bring to your grace, The Breton navy was scattered by a storm: Richmond, in Yorkshire, sent out a boat To the shore, to ask those on the banks If they were his supporters, yes or no; They answered him that they came from Buckingham. On his side: he, doubting them, Raised his sail and fled to Brittany.
March on, march on, since we are up in arms; If not to fight with foreign enemies, Yet to beat down these rebels here at home.
March on, march on, since we’re already in arms; If not to fight foreign enemies, At least to defeat these rebels here at home.
My liege, the Duke of Buckingham is taken; That is the best news: that the Earl of Richmond Is with a mighty power landed at Milford, Is colder tidings, yet they must be told.
My lord, the Duke of Buckingham has been captured; That’s the best news: the fact that the Earl of Richmond Has landed at Milford with a powerful army, Is colder news, but it must be told.
Away towards Salisbury! while we reason here, A royal battle might be won and lost Some one take order Buckingham be brought To Salisbury; the rest march on with me.
Head toward Salisbury! While we discuss here, A royal battle might be won or lost. Someone make sure Buckingham is brought To Salisbury; the rest march on with me.