Original
Modern English
Come, Marcus; come, kinsmen; this is the way. Sir boy, now let me see your archery; Look ye draw home enough, and ’tis there straight. Terras Astraea reliquit: Be you remember’d, Marcus, she’s gone, she’s fled. Sirs, take you to your tools. You, cousins, shall Go sound the ocean, and cast your nets; Happily you may catch her in the sea; Yet there’s as little justice as at land: No; Publius and Sempronius, you must do it; ’Tis you must dig with mattock and with spade, And pierce the inmost centre of the earth: Then, when you come to Pluto’s region, I pray you, deliver him this petition; Tell him, it is for justice and for aid, And that it comes from old Andronicus, Shaken with sorrows in ungrateful Rome. Ah, Rome! Well, well; I made thee miserable What time I threw the people’s suffrages On him that thus doth tyrannize o’er me. Go, get you gone; and pray be careful all, And leave you not a man-of-war unsearch’d: This wicked emperor may have shipp’d her hence; And, kinsmen, then we may go pipe for justice.
Come on, Marcus; come, family; this is the way. Boy, let me see your archery now; Make sure you pull the bowstring all the way back, and it’ll be perfect. Astraea has left the earth: Remember, Marcus, she’s gone, she’s escaped. Gentlemen, get to work. You, cousins, will Go search the ocean and cast your nets; Maybe you’ll catch her in the sea; But there’s as little justice in the sea as on land: No; Publius and Sempronius, you must do it; You must dig with picks and shovels, And dig deep into the earth: Then, when you reach Pluto’s realm, Please, deliver him this petition; Tell him it’s for justice and help, And that it comes from old Andronicus, Shaken with sorrows in ungrateful Rome. Ah, Rome! Well, well; I made you miserable When I threw my vote On him who now tyrannizes over me. Go, get going; and be careful, all of you, And don’t leave any soldier unchecked: This evil emperor may have shipped her away; And, cousins, then we can go ask for justice.
O Publius, is not this a heavy case, To see thy noble uncle thus distract?
Oh Publius, isn’t this a sad situation, To see your noble uncle so out of his mind?
Therefore, my lord, it highly us concerns By day and night to attend him carefully, And feed his humour kindly as we may, Till time beget some careful remedy.
Therefore, my lord, it’s very important for us To attend to him carefully, day and night, And support his mood kindly as we can, Until time brings some helpful solution.
Kinsmen, his sorrows are past remedy. Join with the Goths; and with revengeful war Take wreak on Rome for this ingratitude, And vengeance on the traitor Saturnine.
Cousins, his sorrows can’t be fixed. Join with the Goths; and with vengeful war Take revenge on Rome for this ingratitude, And vengeance on the traitor Saturnine.
Publius, how now! how now, my masters! What, have you met with her?
Publius, what’s going on! What’s going on, my friends! What, have you found her?
No, my good lord; but Pluto sends you word, If you will have Revenge from hell, you shall: Marry, for Justice, she is so employ’d, He thinks, with Jove in heaven, or somewhere else, So that perforce you must needs stay a time.
No, my lord; but Pluto sends you word, If you want Revenge from hell, you’ll get it: But for Justice, she’s busy right now, He thinks, with Jove in heaven, or somewhere else, So you’ll have to wait for a while.
He doth me wrong to feed me with delays. I’ll dive into the burning lake below, And pull her out of Acheron by the heels. Marcus, we are but shrubs, no cedars we No big-boned men framed of the Cyclops’ size; But metal, Marcus, steel to the very back, Yet wrung with wrongs more than our backs can bear: And, sith there’s no justice in earth nor hell, We will solicit heaven and move the gods To send down Justice for to wreak our wrongs. Come, to this gear. You are a good archer, Marcus;
He wrongs me by keeping me waiting. I’ll dive into the burning lake below, And pull her out of Acheron by her heels. Marcus, we’re just small shrubs, no tall cedars No strong men like the Cyclops; But we’re made of steel, Marcus, from our very backs, Yet twisted with more wrongs than we can bear: And since there’s no justice on earth or in hell, We’ll appeal to heaven and move the gods To send down Justice to avenge our wrongs. Come on, let’s do this. You’re a good archer, Marcus;
’Ad Jovem,’ that’s for you: here, ’Ad Apollinem:’ ’Ad Martem,’ that’s for myself: Here, boy, to Pallas: here, to Mercury: To Saturn, Caius, not to Saturnine; You were as good to shoot against the wind. To it, boy! Marcus, loose when I bid. Of my word, I have written to effect; There’s not a god left unsolicited.
’To Jove,’ that’s for you: here, ’To Apollo:’ ’To Mars,’ that’s for myself: Here, boy, to Pallas: here, to Mercury: To Saturn, Caius, not to Saturnine; You might as well shoot against the wind. Go for it, boy! Marcus, shoot when I tell you. I’m serious, I’ve written to make things happen; There’s no god left unspoken to.
Kinsmen, shoot all your shafts into the court: We will afflict the emperor in his pride.
Cousins, shoot all your arrows into the court: We’ll make the emperor suffer for his pride.
Now, masters, draw.
Now, everyone, draw your bows.
O, well said, Lucius! Good boy, in Virgo’s lap; give it Pallas.
Oh, well done, Lucius! Good boy, in Virgo’s lap; give it to Pallas.
My lord, I aim a mile beyond the moon; Your letter is with Jupiter by this.
My lord, I aimed a mile beyond the moon; Your letter is with Jupiter by now.
Ha, ha! Publius, Publius, what hast thou done? See, see, thou hast shot off one of Taurus’ horns.
Ha, ha! Publius, Publius, what have you done? Look, look, you’ve shot off one of Taurus’ horns.
This was the sport, my lord: when Publius shot, The Bull, being gall’d, gave Aries such a knock That down fell both the Ram’s horns in the court; And who should find them but the empress’ villain? She laugh’d, and told the Moor he should not choose But give them to his master for a present.
This was the fun, my lord: when Publius shot, The Bull, being wounded, gave Aries such a blow That both of the Ram’s horns fell in the court; And who found them but the empress’ villain? She laughed and told the Moor he should give them To his master as a gift.
Why, there it goes: God give his lordship joy!
Well, there it goes: God grant his lordship happiness!
News, news from heaven! Marcus, the post is come. Sirrah, what tidings? have you any letters? Shall I have justice? what says Jupiter?
News, news from heaven! Marcus, the messenger has arrived. Sirrah, what news? Do you have any letters? Will I get justice? What does Jupiter say?
O, the gibbet-maker! he says that he hath taken them down again, for the man must not be hanged till the next week.
Oh, the hangman! He says he took them down again, because the man isn’t going to be hanged until next week.
But what says Jupiter, I ask thee?
But what does Jupiter say, I’m asking you?
Alas, sir, I know not Jupiter; I never drank with him in all my life.
Alas, sir, I don’t know Jupiter; I never drank with him in my whole life.
Why, villain, art not thou the carrier?
Why, scoundrel, aren’t you the messenger?
Ay, of my pigeons, sir; nothing else.
Yes, of my pigeons, sir; nothing else.
Why, didst thou not come from heaven?
Why, didn’t you come from heaven?
From heaven! alas, sir, I never came there God forbid I should be so bold to press to heaven in my young days. Why, I am going with my pigeons to the tribunal plebs, to take up a matter of brawl betwixt my uncle and one of the emperial’s men.
From heaven! Oh no, sir, I never went there. God forbid I should be so bold as to try to enter heaven in my youth. Why, I’m just taking my pigeons to the tribunal to settle a dispute between my uncle and one of the emperor’s men.
Why, sir, that is as fit as can be to serve for your oration; and let him deliver the pigeons to the emperor from you.
Well, sir, that’s just the right thing for your speech, and let him hand over the pigeons to the emperor for you.
Tell me, can you deliver an oration to the emperor with a grace?
Tell me, can you speak to the emperor with some style?
Nay, truly, sir, I could never say grace in all my life.
No, truly, sir, I’ve never been able to say a prayer in my life.
Sirrah, come hither: make no more ado, But give your pigeons to the emperor: By me thou shalt have justice at his hands. Hold, hold; meanwhile here’s money for thy charges. Give me pen and ink. Sirrah, can you with a grace deliver a supplication?
Sirrah, come here: stop wasting time, But give your pigeons to the emperor: Through me, you will receive justice from him. Hold on, hold on; here’s some money for your expenses. Give me a pen and ink. Sirrah, can you gracefully present a petition?
Ay, sir.
Yes, sir.
Then here is a supplication for you. And when you come to him, at the first approach you must kneel, then kiss his foot, then deliver up your pigeons, and then look for your reward. I’ll be at hand, sir; see you do it bravely.
Then here’s a petition for you. And when you get to him, at first you must kneel, then kiss his foot, then hand over your pigeons, and then expect your reward. I’ll be nearby, sir; make sure you do it properly.
I warrant you, sir, let me alone.
I swear, sir, just leave me alone.
Sirrah, hast thou a knife? come, let me see it. Here, Marcus, fold it in the oration; For thou hast made it like an humble suppliant. And when thou hast given it the emperor, Knock at my door, and tell me what he says.
Boy, do you have a knife? Come, let me see it. Here, Marcus, fold it into the speech; Because you’ve made it look like a humble beggar. And when you’ve given it to the emperor, Knock on my door, and tell me what he says.
God be with you, sir; I will.
God be with you, sir; I will.
Come, Marcus, let us go. Publius, follow me.
Come on, Marcus, let’s go. Publius, follow me.