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My lord, you have my voice to it; the fault’s Bloody; ’tis necessary he should die: Nothing emboldens sin so much as mercy.
My lord, you have my support; the crime’s Blood-stained; it’s necessary that he should die: Nothing strengthens sin as much as mercy.
Most true; the law shall bruise him.
Absolutely right; the law will punish him.
Honour, health, and compassion to the senate!
Honor, health, and kindness to the senate!
Now, captain?
What’s the matter, captain?
I am an humble suitor to your virtues; For pity is the virtue of the law, And none but tyrants use it cruelly. It pleases time and fortune to lie heavy Upon a friend of mine, who, in hot blood, Hath stepp’d into the law, which is past depth To those that, without heed, do plunge into ’t. He is a man, setting his fate aside, Of comely virtues: Nor did he soil the fact with cowardice-- An honour in him which buys out his fault-- But with a noble fury and fair spirit, Seeing his reputation touch’d to death, He did oppose his foe: And with such sober and unnoted passion He did behave his anger, ere ’twas spent, As if he had but proved an argument.
I’m a humble beggar at your virtues; Because mercy is the quality of the law, And only tyrants use it cruelly. Time and fortune have chosen to weigh heavy On a friend of mine, who, in his anger, Went into the law, which is too deep For those who, without thinking, dive into it. He’s a man, putting aside his fate, With noble qualities: And he didn’t stain the deed with cowardice— A quality in him that pays off his fault— But with a noble rage and good spirit, Seeing his reputation on the line, He faced his enemy: And with such controlled, unnoticed passion He handled his anger, before it was spent, As if he had simply made an argument.
You undergo too strict a paradox, Striving to make an ugly deed look fair: Your words have took such pains as if they labour’d To bring manslaughter into form and set quarrelling Upon the head of valour; which indeed Is valour misbegot and came into the world When sects and factions were newly born: He’s truly valiant that can wisely suffer The worst that man can breathe, and make his wrongs His outsides, to wear them like his raiment, carelessly, And ne’er prefer his injuries to his heart, To bring it into danger. If wrongs be evils and enforce us kill, What folly ’tis to hazard life for ill!
You’re trying to make a bad act seem good, Struggling to turn a vile act into something noble: Your words have worked so hard, as if they tried To make murder look reasonable and put fighting On the shoulders of bravery; which, really, Is bravery gone wrong and born at the same time As factions and divisions were created: The true brave man is the one who can wisely endure The worst that life can throw at him, and make his wrongs His outer skin, wearing them casually, Never letting his wounds into his heart, So they don’t bring him danger. If wrongs are evil and force us to kill, How foolish it is to risk life for wrongs!
My lord,--
My lord,—
You cannot make gross sins look clear: To revenge is no valour, but to bear.
You can’t make serious sins look good: Revenge is not courage, but patience is.
My lords, then, under favour, pardon me, If I speak like a captain. Why do fond men expose themselves to battle, And not endure all threats? sleep upon’t, And let the foes quietly cut their throats, Without repugnancy? If there be Such valour in the bearing, what make we Abroad? why then, women are more valiant That stay at home, if bearing carry it, And the ass more captain than the lion, the felon Loaden with irons wiser than the judge, If wisdom be in suffering. O my lords, As you are great, be pitifully good: Who cannot condemn rashness in cold blood? To kill, I grant, is sin’s extremest gust; But, in defence, by mercy, ’tis most just. To be in anger is impiety; But who is man that is not angry? Weigh but the crime with this.
My lords, then, please forgive me, If I speak like a soldier. Why do foolish men put themselves into battle, And not just take all threats? Sleep on it, And let their enemies quietly slit their throats, Without resistance? If there’s Such courage in endurance, why do we Fight at all? By that logic, women are braver Who stay at home, if endurance is courage, And the donkey is more of a leader than the lion, the criminal Heavily chained is wiser than the judge, If wisdom is in suffering. Oh my lords, As you are great, be merciful: Who can’t condemn rashness in cold blood? To kill, I agree, is the worst of sins; But, in defense, through mercy, it is most just. To be angry is to act impiously; But who is a man who isn’t angry? Just weigh the crime with this.
You breathe in vain.
You’re speaking for nothing.
In vain! his service done At Lacedaemon and Byzantium Were a sufficient briber for his life.
For nothing! His service in Lacedaemon and Byzantium Should be enough to save his life.
What’s that?
What’s that?
I say, my lords, he has done fair service, And slain in fight many of your enemies: How full of valour did he bear himself In the last conflict, and made plenteous wounds!
I’m saying, my lords, he has done good service, And killed many of your enemies in battle: How full of bravery did he show himself In the last fight, and made many wounds!
He has made too much plenty with ’em; He’s a sworn rioter: he has a sin that often Drowns him, and takes his valour prisoner: If there were no foes, that were enough To overcome him: in that beastly fury He has been known to commit outrages, And cherish factions: ’tis inferr’d to us, His days are foul and his drink dangerous.
He’s made too much of a mess with it; He’s a habitual troublemaker: he has a sin that often Drowns him, and takes his courage prisoner: If there were no enemies, that would be enough To defeat him: in his wild rage He has been known to commit crimes, And support divisions: it’s assumed, His days are foul and his drink is dangerous.
He dies.
He dies.
Hard fate! he might have died in war. My lords, if not for any parts in him-- Though his right arm might purchase his own time And be in debt to none--yet, more to move you, Take my deserts to his, and join ’em both: And, for I know your reverend ages love Security, I’ll pawn my victories, all My honours to you, upon his good returns. If by this crime he owes the law his life, Why, let the war receive ’t in valiant gore For law is strict, and war is nothing more.
A cruel fate! He could’ve died in battle. My lords, if not for anything in him— Though his right arm could’ve earned his freedom And owed nothing to anyone—still, to move you more, Take my achievements and add them to his, and combine them: And, since I know your wise ages value Security, I’ll offer my victories, all My honors to you, on the condition that he returns well. If by this crime he owes his life to the law, Then let the war take it in honorable blood, For the law is harsh, and war is nothing more.
We are for law: he dies; urge it no more, On height of our displeasure: friend or brother, He forfeits his own blood that spills another.
We follow the law: he dies; don’t press it further, At the height of our anger: friend or brother, He loses his own life who takes another’s.
Must it be so? it must not be. My lords, I do beseech you, know me.
Must it be this way? It must not. My lords, I beg you, understand me.
How!
What?!
Call me to your remembrances.
Remember me.
What!
What?!
I cannot think but your age has forgot me; It could not else be, I should prove so base, To sue, and be denied such common grace: My wounds ache at you.
I can’t believe that your old age has forgotten me; It must be that, or else I wouldn’t be so dishonored, To beg and be denied such basic kindness: My wounds hurt because of you.
Do you dare our anger? ’Tis in few words, but spacious in effect; We banish thee for ever.
Do you dare provoke our anger? It’s just a few words, but the consequences are huge; We banish you forever.
Banish me! Banish your dotage; banish usury, That makes the senate ugly.
Banish me?! Banish your foolishness; banish greed, That makes the senate disgusting.
If, after two days’ shine, Athens contain thee, Attend our weightier judgment. And, not to swell our spirit, He shall be executed presently.
If, after two days of sunshine, Athens still allows you to stay, You’ll face our more serious judgment. And, to not inflate our pride, He will be executed right away.
Now the gods keep you old enough; that you may live Only in bone, that none may look on you! I’m worse than mad: I have kept back their foes, While they have told their money and let out Their coin upon large interest, I myself Rich only in large hurts. All those for this? Is this the balsam that the usuring senate Pours into captains’ wounds? Banishment! It comes not ill; I hate not to be banish’d; It is a cause worthy my spleen and fury, That I may strike at Athens. I’ll cheer up My discontented troops, and lay for hearts. ’Tis honour with most lands to be at odds; Soldiers should brook as little wrongs as gods.
May the gods keep you alive long enough to live Only in your bones, so no one has to look at you! I’m worse than mad: I’ve held back their enemies, While they’ve counted their money and lent it out For high interest, while I myself Am rich only in great pain. All this for this? Is this the healing balm that the greedy senate Pours into the wounds of soldiers? Banishment! It’s not so bad; I don’t mind being banished; It’s a reason worthy of my anger and rage, That I can strike at Athens. I’ll rally My unhappy soldiers, and seek for hearts. It’s considered honorable, in most lands, to be in conflict; Soldiers should tolerate as little offense as gods.