The Complete Works of William Shakespeare In Plain and Simple English (Translated) (1099 page)

ULYSSES.

Is that a wonder?

The providence that's in a watchful state

Knows almost every grain of Plutus' gold;

Finds bottom in th' uncomprehensive deeps;

Keeps place with thought, and almost, like the gods,

Do thoughts unveil in their dumb cradles.

There is a mystery-with whom relation

Durst never meddle-in the soul of state,

Which hath an operation more divine

Than breath or pen can give expressure to.

All the commerce that you have had with Troy

As perfectly is ours as yours, my lord;

And better would it fit Achilles much

To throw down Hector than Polyxena.

But it must grieve young Pyrrhus now at home,

When fame shall in our island sound her trump,

And all the Greekish girls shall tripping sing

'Great Hector's sister did Achilles win;

But our great Ajax bravely beat down him.'

Farewell, my lord. I as your lover speak.

The fool slides o'er the ice that you should break.

Is it any surprise?

The prudent management of a watchful nation

knows every grain of gold it owns;

it reaches down to the bottom of the ocean;

it moves as rapidly as thought, and almost, like the gods,

knows your thoughts before they are spoken.

There is a mystery–which should not be

discussed–about the heart of a nation,

which works in a way which is more godlike

than speech or writing can express.

All the dealings you have had with Troy

are known to us as well as they are to yourself, my lord;

it would be more suitable for Achilles

to lay down Hector than Polyxena.

But your young son Pyrrhus who is now at home

will surely get upset when the rumours reach our islands

and all the Greek girls will dance and sing:

‘Achilles won great Hector's sister,

but it was our great Ajax who bravely beat Hector.’

Farewell, my lord. I'm speaking as your friend;

the fool can get away with things that will ruin you.

Exit

PATROCLUS.

To this effect, Achilles, have I mov'd you.

A woman impudent and mannish grown

Is not more loath'd than an effeminate man

In time of action. I stand condemn'd for this;

They think my little stomach to the war

And your great love to me restrains you thus.

Sweet, rouse yourself; and the weak wanton Cupid

Shall from your neck unloose his amorous fold,

And, like a dew-drop from the lion's mane,

Be shook to airy air.

This is what I have been telling you, Achilles.

A woman who has become shameless and manlike

isn't more horrible than a womanish man

when it's time for action. I am criticised for this;

they think my dislike of the war

and your great love for me is holding you back.

Dearest, rouse yourself; and the weak lusty Cupid

shall release his amorous hold on your neck,

and be shaken off into the empty air

like a dew drop from a lion's mane.

ACHILLES.

Shall Ajax fight with Hector?

Will Ajax fight with Hector?

PATROCLUS.

Ay, and perhaps receive much honour by him.

Yes, and maybe get great glory from it.

ACHILLES.

I see my reputation is at stake;

My fame is shrewdly gor'd.

I see my reputation is at stake;

my fame is badly wounded.

PATROCLUS.

O, then, beware:

Those wounds heal ill that men do give themselves;

Omission to do what is necessary

Seals a commission to a blank of danger;

And danger, like an ague, subtly taints

Even then when they sit idly in the sun.

Well beware then;

self-inflicted wounds heal badly;

failing to do what is necessary

gives danger a blank cheque;

and danger, like a fever, creeps over us,

even when we are just sitting idly in the sun.

ACHILLES.

Go call Thersites hither, sweet Patroclus.

I'll send the fool to Ajax, and desire him

T' invite the Troyan lords, after the combat,

To see us here unarm'd. I have a woman's longing,

An appetite that I am sick withal,

To see great Hector in his weeds of peace;

To talk with him, and to behold his visage,

Even to my full of view.

Enter THERSITES

A labour sav'd!

Go and call Thersites here, sweet Patroclus.

I'll send the fool to Ajax, and ask him

to invite the Trojan Lords, after the combat,

to visit us here unarmed. I have a desperate longing,

like a woman, that's making me sick,

to see great Hector out of his armour;

to talk with him, and to see his face,

to get my fill of it.

There's a trouble saved.

THERSITES.

A wonder!

Amazing!

ACHILLES.

What?

What?

THERSITES.

Ajax goes up and down the field asking for himself.

Ajax is going up and down the field, calling for himself.

ACHILLES.

How so?

Want you mean?

THERSITES.

He must fight singly to-morrow with Hector, and is so

prophetically proud of an heroical cudgelling that he raves in

saying nothing.

He is having a single combat tomorrow with Hector, and is so

certain that he is going to give him an heroic beating

that he raves incoherently.

ACHILLES.

How can that be?

What is he doing?

THERSITES.

Why, 'a stalks up and down like a peacock-a stride and a

stand; ruminaies like an hostess that hath no arithmetic but her

brain to set down her reckoning, bites his lip with a politic

regard, as who should say 'There were wit in this head, an

'twould out'; and so there is; but it lies as coldly in him as

fire in a flint, which will not show without knocking. The man's

undone for ever; for if Hector break not his neck i' th' combat,

he'll break't himself in vainglory. He knows not me. I said 'Good

morrow, Ajax'; and he replies 'Thanks, Agamemnon.' What think you

of this man that takes me for the general? He's grown a very land

fish, languageless, a monster. A plague of opinion! A man may

wear it on both sides, like leather jerkin.

Well, he marches up and down like a peacock, strutting and

standing. He stands thinking like a landlady who has to add up

the bill in her head, bites his lip with a wise look,

as if one should say, ‘there is intelligence in this head,

and we shall see it’; and there is too, but in him it's as cold as

fire in flint, you can't get it out without bashing it. The man is

lost for ever; because if Hector doesn't break his neck in the fight,

he'll break himself with vanity. He didn't recognise me. I said ‘good

day, Ajax’; and he replied ‘thanks, Agamemnon.’ What do you think

of this man who mistakes me for the general?
He's a fish out of

water, a speechless monster. Damn this business of what men think of themselves!

A man can wear it whichever way he wants, like a jerkin.

ACHILLES.

Thou must be my ambassador to him, Thersites.

You must be my ambassador to him, Thersites.

THERSITES.

Who, I? Why, he'll answer nobody; he professes not

answering. Speaking is for beggars: he wears his tongue in's

arms. I will put on his presence. Let Patroclus make his demands

to me, you shall see the pageant of Ajax.

Who, me? Why, he'll speak to nobody; he is determined he will not

answer. Speaking is for beggars, his way of speaking is with his

weapons. I'll show you what he looks like. Let Patroclus ask me

his questions, I'll give you a show of Ajax.

ACHILLES.

To him, Patroclus. Tell him I humbly desire the valiant

Ajax to invite the most valourous Hector to come unarm'd to my

tent; and to procure safe conduct for his person of the

magnanimous and most illustrious six-or-seven-times-honour'd

Captain General of the Grecian army, et cetera, Agamemnon. Do

this.

Speak to him, Patroclus. Tell him that I humbly request the brave

Ajax to invite the most courageous Hector to come unarmed to my

tent; and to get a guarantee of safe conduct for him from the

generous and most exalted many times honoured

Captain General of the Greek army, and so forth, Agamemnon. Do

this.

PATROCLUS.

Jove bless great Ajax!

Jove bless great Ajax!

THERSITES.

Hum!

Hum!

PATROCLUS.

I come from the worthy Achilles-

I have come from the good Achilles–

THERSITES.

Ha!

Ha!

PATROCLUS.

Who most humbly desires you to invite Hector to his

tent-

Who most humbly requests that you invite Hector to his

tent-

THERSITES.

Hum!

Hum!

PATROCLUS.

And to procure safe conduct from Agamemnon.

And that you obtain a safe conduct from Agamemnon.

THERSITES.

Agamemnon!

Agamemnon!

PATROCLUS.

Ay, my lord.

Yes, my lord.

THERSITES.

Ha!

Ha!

PATROCLUS.

What you say to't?

What's your answer?

THERSITES.

God buy you, with all my heart.

With all my heart, goodbye.

PATROCLUS.

Your answer, sir.

What is your answer, sir?

THERSITES.

If to-morrow be a fair day, by eleven of the clock it

will go one way or other. Howsoever, he shall pay for me ere he

has me.

If there is good weather tomorrow, by eleven o'clock it

will have been decided one way or the other. Whatever happens

he's going to have to suffer to beat me.

PATROCLUS.

Your answer, sir.

Give me your answer, sir.

THERSITES.

Fare ye well, with all my heart.