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Modern English
Help, grandsire, help! my aunt Lavinia Follows me every where, I know not why: Good uncle Marcus, see how swift she comes. Alas, sweet aunt, I know not what you mean.
Help, grandfather, help! my aunt Lavinia Follows me everywhere, I don’t know why: Good uncle Marcus, look how fast she comes. Oh, sweet aunt, I don’t understand what you mean.
Stand by me, Lucius; do not fear thine aunt.
Stand by me, Lucius; don’t be afraid of your aunt.
She loves thee, boy, too well to do thee harm.
She loves you, boy, too much to hurt you.
Ay, when my father was in Rome she did.
Yes, when my father was in Rome, she did.
What means my niece Lavinia by these signs?
What is my niece Lavinia trying to tell us with these gestures?
Fear her not, Lucius: somewhat doth she mean: See, Lucius, see how much she makes of thee: Somewhither would she have thee go with her. Ah, boy, Cornelia never with more care Read to her sons than she hath read to thee Sweet poetry and Tully’s Orator.
Don’t be afraid of her, Lucius: she means something: Look, Lucius, see how much she cares for you: She wants you to go somewhere with her. Ah, boy, Cornelia never cared more for her sons Than she has cared for you, Reading sweet poetry and Cicero’s Orator.
Canst thou not guess wherefore she plies thee thus?
Can’t you guess why she is acting like this?
My lord, I know not, I, nor can I guess, Unless some fit or frenzy do possess her: For I have heard my grandsire say full oft, Extremity of griefs would make men mad; And I have read that Hecuba of Troy Ran mad through sorrow: that made me to fear; Although, my lord, I know my noble aunt Loves me as dear as e’er my mother did, And would not, but in fury, fright my youth: Which made me down to throw my books, and fly-- Causeless, perhaps. But pardon me, sweet aunt: And, madam, if my uncle Marcus go, I will most willingly attend your ladyship.
My lord, I don’t know, I can’t guess, Unless some fit or madness has taken over her: For I’ve often heard my grandfather say, That extreme grief can drive people crazy; And I’ve read that Hecuba of Troy Went mad with sorrow: that makes me afraid; Although, my lord, I know my noble aunt Loves me as dearly as my mother did, And wouldn’t frighten me unless in anger: That’s why I dropped my books and ran-- Maybe without cause. But forgive me, sweet aunt: And, madam, if my uncle Marcus goes, I will gladly stay with you.
Lucius, I will.
Lucius, I will.
How now, Lavinia! Marcus, what means this? Some book there is that she desires to see. Which is it, girl, of these? Open them, boy. But thou art deeper read, and better skill’d Come, and take choice of all my library, And so beguile thy sorrow, till the heavens Reveal the damn’d contriver of this deed. Why lifts she up her arms in sequence thus?
What’s this, Lavinia! Marcus, what does this mean? There’s a book she wants to see. Which one, girl, of these? Open them, boy. But you are more learned and skilled, Come, choose from all my library, And let it distract you from your sorrow, until heaven Reveals the wicked person who did this. Why is she raising her arms like that?
I think she means that there was more than one Confederate in the fact: ay, more there was; Or else to heaven she heaves them for revenge.
I think she’s trying to tell us that there was more than one Partner in this crime: yes, there was more; Or else she’s raising her arms to heaven for revenge.
Lucius, what book is that she tosseth so?
Lucius, what book is that she’s tossing around?
Grandsire, ’tis Ovid’s Metamorphoses; My mother gave it me.
Grandfather, this is Ovid’s Metamorphoses; My mother gave it to me.
For love of her that’s gone, Perhaps she cull’d it from among the rest.
She probably picked it out for love of her who is gone, Maybe she chose it from among all the others.
Soft! see how busily she turns the leaves!
Wait! Look how eagerly she turns the pages!
What would she find? Lavinia, shall I read? This is the tragic tale of Philomel, And treats of Tereus’ treason and his rape: And rape, I fear, was root of thine annoy.
What is she trying to find? Lavinia, should I read it aloud? This is the tragic story of Philomel, And it tells of Tereus’ betrayal and his rape: And I’m afraid that rape is the cause of your suffering.
See, brother, see; note how she quotes the leaves.
Look, brother, look; notice how she points to the pages.
Lavinia, wert thou thus surprised, sweet girl, Ravish’d and wrong’d, as Philomela was, Forced in the ruthless, vast, and gloomy woods? See, see! Ay, such a place there is, where we did hunt-- O, had we never, never hunted there!-- Pattern’d by that the poet here describes, By nature made for murders and for rapes.
Lavinia, if you had been treated this way, sweet girl, Raped and wronged, as Philomela was, Forced into the cold, dark, and desolate woods? Look, look! Yes, such a place exists, where we once hunted— Oh, I wish we’d never, never hunted there! It’s exactly like the one the poet describes here, A place made by nature for murders and rapes.
O, why should nature build so foul a den, Unless the gods delight in tragedies?
Oh, why would nature create such a foul den, Unless the gods take pleasure in tragedies?
Give signs, sweet girl, for here are none but friends, What Roman lord it was durst do the deed: Or slunk not Saturnine, as Tarquin erst, That left the camp to sin in Lucrece’ bed?
Give us a sign, sweet girl, for here there are none but friends, What Roman lord would dare do such a thing? Or did not Saturnine sneak away, like Tarquin before him, Leaving the camp to sin in Lucrece’s bed?
Sit down, sweet niece: brother, sit down by me. Apollo, Pallas, Jove, or Mercury, Inspire me, that I may this treason find! My lord, look here: look here, Lavinia: This sandy plot is plain; guide, if thou canst This after me, when I have writ my name Without the help of any hand at all.
Sit down, sweet niece: brother, sit down next to me. Apollo, Pallas, Jove, or Mercury, Inspire me, so I can uncover this treason! My lord, look here: look here, Lavinia: This sandy spot is clear; guide me, if you can, As I write my name here, Without using any hands at all.
Cursed be that heart that forced us to this shift! Write thou good niece; and here display, at last, What God will have discover’d for revenge; Heaven guide thy pen to print thy sorrows plain, That we may know the traitors and the truth!
Cursed be the heart that forced us to this! Write, good niece; and here, at last, reveal, What God will have uncovered for revenge; May Heaven guide your pen to show your sorrows clearly, So that we may know the traitors and the truth!
O, do ye read, my lord, what she hath writ? ’Stuprum. Chiron. Demetrius.’
Oh, do you see, my lord, what she has written? ’Rape. Chiron. Demetrius.’
What, what! the lustful sons of Tamora Performers of this heinous, bloody deed?
What, what! The lustful sons of Tamora Are the ones who did this heinous, bloody deed?
Magni Dominator poli, Tam lentus audis scelera? tam lentus vides?
Great Lord of the sky, Can you hear these crimes so slowly? Can you see them so slowly?
O, calm thee, gentle lord; although I know There is enough written upon this earth To stir a mutiny in the mildest thoughts And arm the minds of infants to exclaims. My lord, kneel down with me; Lavinia, kneel; And kneel, sweet boy, the Roman Hector’s hope; And swear with me, as, with the woful fere And father of that chaste dishonour’d dame, Lord Junius Brutus sware for Lucrece’ rape, That we will prosecute by good advice Mortal revenge upon these traitorous Goths, And see their blood, or die with this reproach.
Oh, calm down, gentle lord; although I know There is plenty written on this earth To stir up a rebellion in the mildest thoughts And make even infants cry out in rage. My lord, kneel down with me; Lavinia, kneel; And kneel, sweet boy, the hope of Roman Hector; And swear with me, just like the grieving friend And father of that pure, dishonoured woman, Lord Junius Brutus swore for Lucrece’s rape, That we will seek revenge, with wise counsel, Deadly revenge on these traitorous Goths, And either see their blood spilled, or die with this shame.
’Tis sure enough, an you knew how. But if you hunt these bear-whelps, then beware: The dam will wake; and, if she wind you once, She’s with the lion deeply still in league, And lulls him whilst she playeth on her back, And when he sleeps will she do what she list. You are a young huntsman, Marcus; let it alone; And, come, I will go get a leaf of brass, And with a gad of steel will write these words, And lay it by: the angry northern wind Will blow these sands, like Sibyl’s leaves, abroad, And where’s your lesson, then? Boy, what say you?
It’s certainly true, if you knew how. But if you chase these bear cubs, beware: The mother will wake; and if she catches your scent, She’s still secretly allied with the lion, And soothes him while she plays on her back, And when he sleeps, she’ll do whatever she wants. You’re a young hunter, Marcus; leave it alone; And come, I’ll go get a brass leaf, And with a steel point, I’ll write these words, And leave it there: the angry northern wind Will scatter these sands, like the Sibyl’s leaves, And where will your lesson be then? Boy, what do you think?
I say, my lord, that if I were a man, Their mother’s bed-chamber should not be safe For these bad bondmen to the yoke of Rome.
I say, my lord, that if I were a man, Their mother’s bedroom wouldn’t be safe For these evil slaves to the yoke of Rome.
Ay, that’s my boy! thy father hath full oft For his ungrateful country done the like.
Yes, that’s my boy! Your father often Did the same for his ungrateful country.
And, uncle, so will I, an if I live.
And, uncle, I will too, if I live.
Come, go with me into mine armoury; Lucius, I’ll fit thee; and withal, my boy, Shalt carry from me to the empress’ sons Presents that I intend to send them both: Come, come; thou’lt do thy message, wilt thou not?
Come, go with me to my armory; Lucius, I’ll get you ready; and in the meantime, my boy, You’ll take presents from me to the empress’ sons, Gifts I intend to send them both: Come, come; you’ll do your task, won’t you?
Ay, with my dagger in their bosoms, grandsire.
Yes, with my dagger in their hearts, grandfather.
No, boy, not so; I’ll teach thee another course. Lavinia, come. Marcus, look to my house: Lucius and I’ll go brave it at the court: Ay, marry, will we, sir; and we’ll be waited on.
No, boy, not like that; I’ll show you another way. Lavinia, come. Marcus, watch over my house: Lucius and I will go make a show of things at court: Yes, we will, sir; and we’ll be treated with respect.
O heavens, can you hear a good man groan, And not relent, or not compassion him? Marcus, attend him in his ecstasy, That hath more scars of sorrow in his heart Than foemen’s marks upon his batter’d shield; But yet so just that he will not revenge. Revenge, ye heavens, for old Andronicus!
Oh heavens, can you hear a good man groan, And not feel pity, or not have compassion for him? Marcus, stay with him in his emotional outburst, He has more wounds of sorrow in his heart Than the marks of enemies on his battered shield; But he’s still so just that he won’t take revenge. Revenge, heavens, for old Andronicus!