Original
Modern English
If the duke continue these favours towards you, Cesario, you are like to be much advanced: he hath known you but three days, and already you are no stranger.
If the duke keeps treating you like this, Cesario, you’re likely to move up in rank: he’s only known you for three days, and already you’re not a stranger.
You either fear his humour or my negligence, that you call in question the continuance of his love: is he inconstant, sir, in his favours?
You either think he’s fickle or I’m careless, that you doubt whether his love will last: Is he unreliable, sir, in his affections?
No, believe me.
No, trust me.
I thank you. Here comes the count.
Thank you. Here comes the count.
Who saw Cesario, ho?
Who saw Cesario, hey?
On your attendance, my lord; here.
I’m here, my lord; it’s me.
Stand you a while aloof, Cesario, Thou know’st no less but all; I have unclasp’d To thee the book even of my secret soul: Therefore, good youth, address thy gait unto her; Be not denied access, stand at her doors, And tell them, there thy fixed foot shall grow Till thou have audience.
Stand off a moment, Cesario, You know everything, so I’ll tell you the whole truth: I’ve opened up to you my deepest feelings: So, good young man, go to her; Don’t take no for an answer, stand outside her door, And tell them that you’ll stay there until you can see her.
Sure, my noble lord, If she be so abandon’d to her sorrow As it is spoke, she never will admit me.
Of course, my noble lord, If she’s really as lost in her grief as people say, she’ll never let me in.
Be clamorous and leap all civil bounds Rather than make unprofited return.
Be loud and bold, break all the rules rather than leave without getting any response.
Say I do speak with her, my lord, what then?
If I do speak to her, my lord, what then?
O, then unfold the passion of my love, Surprise her with discourse of my dear faith: It shall become thee well to act my woes; She will attend it better in thy youth Than in a nuncio’s of more grave aspect.
Oh, then tell her about my love, surprise her by speaking of my deep feelings: You’ll play my sorrow well; She’ll listen to you better because you’re young than if a formal messenger came.
I think not so, my lord.
I don’t think so, my lord.
Dear lad, believe it; For they shall yet belie thy happy years, That say thou art a man: Diana’s lip Is not more smooth and rubious; thy small pipe Is as the maiden’s organ, shrill and sound, And all is semblative a woman’s part. I know thy constellation is right apt For this affair. Some four or five attend him; All, if you will; for I myself am best When least in company. Prosper well in this, And thou shalt live as freely as thy lord, To call his fortunes thine.
Dear boy, trust me; For they will lie about how young you are, and say you’re a man: Diana’s lips are no smoother than yours; your small voice is like a maiden’s instrument, clear and bright, and everything about you seems like a woman’s role. I know you’re perfect for this job. Some four or five attendants will go with you; All, if you like; I myself am better when I’m alone. If you do well in this, you’ll live as freely as I do, and your fortunes will be yours to claim.
I’ll do my best To woo your lady:
I’ll do my best To win your lady’s heart:
yet, a barful strife! Whoe’er I woo, myself would be his wife.
yet, a barful strife! Whoe’er I woo, myself would be his wife.