The Complete Works of William Shakespeare In Plain and Simple English (Translated) (15 page)

Then, in despite of brooded watchful day,

I would into thy bosom pour my thoughts.

But, ah, I will not! Yet I love thee well;

And, by my troth, I think thou lov'st me well.

Good friend, you have no reason to say so yet,

but you will have; and however slowly time goes,

a time shall arrive when I can do you good.

I was going to say something–but let it go:

the sun is in the sky, and the proud day,

with all the pleasures of the world around it,

is too busy and full of showy ornaments

for me to be listened to: if the midnight bell

with his iron clapper and bronze casing

was ringing in the sleepy hours of the night;

if this was a churchyard where we are standing,

and you were possessed by a thousand evils;

or if that horrid spirit, depression,

had baked your blood and made it heavy, thick,

when otherwise it runs tickling up and down the veins,

making foolish laughter occupy men's eyes

and strain their cheeks in idle merriment,

an emotion which is unsuited to my purpose;

for if you could see me without eyes,

hear me without your ears, and reply

without the time, just using your thoughts,

without eyes, ears, and the harmful sound of words;

then, in spite of the brooding all seeing day,

I would pour my thoughts into your heart:

but, ah, I will not. But I love you well;

and, I swear, I think you love me well.

HUBERT.

So well that what you bid me undertake,

Though that my death were adjunct to my act,

By heaven, I would do it.

So well that whatever you told me to do,

even if it would cause my death,

I swear that I would do it.

KING JOHN.

Do not I know thou wouldst?

Good Hubert, Hubert, Hubert, throw thine eye

On yon young boy. I'll tell thee what, my friend,

He is a very serpent in my way;

And wheresoe'er this foot of mine doth tread,

He lies before me. Dost thou understand me?

Thou art his keeper.

Don't I know that you would?

Good Hubert, Hubert, Hubert, look over

at that young boy. I tell you what, my friend,

he is a snake on my path;

and wherever I walk

he lies in my way. Do you understand me?

You are his keeper.

HUBERT.

And I'll keep him so

That he shall not offend your Majesty.

And I'll keep him in a way

that will stop him offending your Majesty.

KING JOHN.

Death.

Death
.

HUBERT.

My lord?

My lord?

KING JOHN.

A grave.

A grave.

HUBERT.

He shall not live.

He shall not live.

KING JOHN.

Enough!

I could be merry now. Hubert, I love thee.

Well, I'll not say what I intend for thee.

Remember. Madam, fare you well;

I'll send those powers o'er to your Majesty.

Good!

I could be merry now. Hubert, I love you.

Well, I won't say what I've got planned for you.

Remember. Madam, Farewell;

I'll send those forces over to your Majesty.

ELINOR.

My blessing go with thee!

Take my blessings with you!

KING JOHN.

[To ARTHUR]For England, cousin, go;

Hubert shall be your man, attend on you

With all true duty. On toward Calais, ho!

Head for England, cousin;

Hubert will be your servant, he'll

take good care of you. Off you go to Calais!

Exeunt

France. The FRENCH KING's camp

Enter KING PHILIP, LEWIS, PANDULPH, and attendants

KING PHILIP.

So by a roaring tempest on the flood

A whole armado of convicted sail

Is scattered and disjoin'd from fellowship.

So a whole armada of doomed ships

has been scattered and separated

by a roaring storm on the sea.

PANDULPH.

Courage and comfort! All shall yet go well.

Be brave and be calm! Everything will still turn out well.

KING PHILIP.

What can go well, when we have run so ill.

Are we not beaten? Is not Angiers lost?

Arthur ta'en prisoner? Divers dear friends slain?

And bloody England into England gone,

O'erbearing interruption, spite of France?

How can things go well, when we have done so badly?

Haven't we been beaten? Hasn't Angiers been lost?

Arthur taken prisoner? Many dear friends killed?

And the bloody king of England gone back to England,

brushing aside our interventions, to spite France?

LEWIS.

What he hath won, that hath he fortified;

So hot a speed with such advice dispos'd,

Such temperate order in so fierce a cause,

Doth want example; who hath read or heard

Of any kindred action like to this?

He has fortified the towns he has won;

doing such things with such urgent speed,

being so organised and at the same time so energetic,

is unheard of; has anybody ever read or heard

of such a thing?

KING PHILIP.

Well could I bear that England had this praise,

So we could find some pattern of our shame.

Enter CONSTANCE

Look who comes here! a grave unto a soul;

Holding th' eternal spirit, against her will,

In the vile prison of afflicted breath.

I prithee, lady, go away with me.

I wouldn't mind England being praised for this,

if we could find anyone who had ever been as shamed as us.

[Enter Constance]

Look who's coming! The grave of a soul;

the eternal spirit is being kept against her will

in the vile prison of the body.

I beg you, lady, come away with me.

CONSTANCE.

Lo now! now see the issue of your peace!

Look now! Now see how your peace has turned out!

KING PHILIP.

Patience, good lady! Comfort, gentle Constance!

Be patient, good lady! Be calm, sweet Constance!

CONSTANCE.

No, I defy all counsel, all redress,

But that which ends all counsel, true redress-

Death, death; O amiable lovely death!

Thou odoriferous stench! sound rottenness!

Arise forth from the couch of lasting night,

Thou hate and terror to prosperity,

And I will kiss thy detestable bones,

And put my eyeballs in thy vaulty brows,

And ring these fingers with thy household worms,

And stop this gap of breath with fulsome dust,

And be a carrion monster like thyself.

Come, grin on me, and I will think thou smil'st,

And buss thee as thy wife. Misery's love,

O, come to me!

No, I refuse all advice, all repayment,

except that which owns all advice, true repayment–

death, death; oh friendly, lovely death!

You reeking stench! Solid rottenness!

Rise up from the eternal night,

you hated terror of prosperity,

and I will kiss your revolting bones,

and put my eyeballs into your skull,

and wear your household worms as rings,

and stop my gasping breath with nauseous dust,

and be a rotting monster like yourself.

Come, grin at me, and I will think you are smiling,

and kiss you as your wife. Lover of misery,

oh, come to me!

KING PHILIP.

O fair affliction, peace!

Oh lovely torment, peace!

CONSTANCE.

No, no, I will not, having breath to cry.

O that my tongue were in the thunder's mouth!

Then with a passion would I shake the world,

And rouse from sleep that fell anatomy

Which cannot hear a lady's feeble voice,

Which scorns a modern invocation.

No, no, I will not be quiet, as long as I have breath to cry.

I wish that I could speak like thunder!

Then I would shake the world with a passion,

and wake that cruel skeleton from its sleep

which cannot hear the feeble voice of a lady,

which scorns modern spells.

PANDULPH.

Lady, you utter madness and not sorrow.

Lady, this is not sorrow, this is madness.

CONSTANCE.

Thou art holy to belie me so.

I am not mad: this hair I tear is mine;

My name is Constance; I was Geffrey's wife;

Young Arthur is my son, and he is lost.

I am not mad-I would to heaven I were!

For then 'tis like I should forget myself.

O, if I could, what grief should I forget!

Preach some philosophy to make me mad,

And thou shalt be canoniz'd, Cardinal;

For, being not mad, but sensible of grief,

My reasonable part produces reason

How I may be deliver'd of these woes,

And teaches me to kill or hang myself.

If I were mad I should forget my son,

Or madly think a babe of clouts were he.

I am not mad; too well, too well I feel

The different plague of each calamity.

It's very holy of you to portray me as such.

I am not mad: this hair I tear is my own;

my name is Constance; I was the wife of Geoffrey;

young Arthur is my son, and he has been lost.

I am not mad–I wish to heaven I was!

For then I would be able to forget who I am,

oh, if I could, what grief I would be forgetting!

Tell me how I can turn myself mad,

and you will be canonised, Cardinal;

for, not being mad but able to feel grief,