The Complete Works of William Shakespeare In Plain and Simple English (Translated) (262 page)

RICHARD.

Three glorious suns, each one a perfect sun;

Not separated with the racking clouds,

But sever'd in a pale clear-shining sky.

See, see! they join, embrace, and seem to kiss,

As if they vow'd some league inviolable;

Now are they but one lamp, one light, one sun.

In this the heaven figures some event.

Three glorious suns, each one perfect;

not separated by the piled clouds,

but sitting apart in a pale clear sky.

Look, look! They join, embrace, and seem to kiss,

as if they had made an unbreakable pact;

now they are just one lamp, one light, one sun.

The skies are telling us of some great happening.

EDWARD.

'T is wondrous strange, the like yet never heard of.

I think it cites us, brother, to the field,

That we, the sons of brave Plantagenet,

Each one already blazing by our meeds,

Should, notwithstanding, join our lights together,

And overshine the earth, as this the world.

Whate'er it bodes, henceforward will I bear

Upon my target three fair shining suns.

This is amazing, it's never been seen before.

I think it is telling us, brother, to go to the battlefield,

so that we, the sons of brave Plantagenet,

each one already glorious in his own right,

should, despite that, all join together,

and shine over the earth, as these do the globe.

Whatever it means, from now on I shall carry

three fair shining suns upon on my shield.

RICHARD.

Nay, bear three daughters; by your leave I speak it,

You love the breeder better than the male.--

[Enter a Messenger.]

But what art thou, whose heavy looks foretell

Some dreadful story hanging on thy tongue?

No, carry three daughters; I say it with your permission,

you love women better than men–

but who are you, whose grim looks signal

that you have some terrible story to tell?

MESSENGER.

Ah, one that was a woeful looker-on

When as the noble Duke of York was slain,

Your princely father and my loving lord.

Ah, I was a sad observer

when the noble Duke of York was killed,

your princely father and my loving lord.

EDWARD.

O, speak no more, for I have heard too much!

Oh, say no more, I have heard too much!

RICHARD.

Say how he died, for I will hear it all.

Describe his death, I want to hear it all.

MESSENGER.

Environed he was with many foes,

And stood against them as the hope of Troy

Against the Greeks that would have ent'red Troy.

But Hercules himself must yield to odds;

And many strokes, though with a little axe,

Hew down and fell the hardest-timber'd oak.

By many hands your father was subdu'd,

But only slaught'red by the ireful arm

Of unrelenting Clifford and the queen,

Who crown'd the gracious duke in high despite,

Laugh'd in his face, and when with grief he wept

The ruthless queen gave him, to dry his cheeks,

A napkin steeped in the harmless blood

Of sweet young Rutland, by rough Clifford slain.

And, after many scorns, many foul taunts,

They took his head, and on the gates of York

They set the same; and there it doth remain,

The saddest spectacle that e'er I view'd.

He was surrounded by many enemies,

and resisted them like the hero of Troy

resisted the Greeks who wanted to come in.

But even Hercules must surrender to greater numbers;

and a small axe can bring down the strongest oak

if it is used to make many cuts.

Your father was captured by many men,

but only killed by the angry hands

of unforgiving Clifford and the Queen,

who mockingly crowned the gracious Duke,

laughed in his face, and when he wept with grief

the ruthless Queen gave him a napkin to dry

his tears, soaked in the innocent blood of

sweet young Rutland, who had been killed by rough Clifford.

And, after much mockery, many foul taunts,

they cut off his head, and they have put it

on the gates of York; it's still there,

the saddest sight I ever saw.

EDWARD.

Sweet Duke of York! our prop to lean upon,

Now thou art gone, we have no staff, no stay.

O Clifford! boisterous Clifford! thou hast slain

The flower of Europe for his chivalry;

And treacherously hast thou vanquish'd him,

For hand to hand he would have vanquish'd thee.

Now my soul's palace is become a prison.

Ah, would she break from hence, that this my body

Might in the ground be closed up in rest!

For never henceforth shall I joy again,

Never, O, never, shall I see more joy!

Sweet Duke of York! The prop we leant upon,

now you're gone, we have no stick, no support.

O Clifford! Rough Clifford! You have killed

the most chivalrous man in Europe;

and you beat him through treachery,

for he would have beaten you in hand-to-hand combat.

Now my body has become a prison for my soul.

I wish she would break out of here, so my body

could be placed in the ground to rest!

From now on I shall never be happy again,

I shall never see any more happiness, never!

RICHARD.

I cannot weep, for all my body's moisture

Scarce serves to quench my furnace-burning heart;

Nor can my tongue unload my heart's great burthen,

For selfsame wind that I should speak withal

Is kindling coals that fires all my breast

And burns me up with flames that tears would quench.

To weep is to make less the depth of grief;

Tears, then, for babes, blows and revenge for me!--

Richard, I bear thy name; I'll venge thy death,

Or die renowned by attempting it.

I cannot weep, for all the moisture in my body

will hardly be able to calm my fiery heart;

nor can my tongue say what my heart is feeling,

for the same breath that I would use to speak

is fanning the flames of the coals in my heart

and burning me up with flames that tears would put out.

To weep would be to lessen the depth of my grief;

so tears are for babies, blows and revenge for me!

Richard, I carry your name; I shall revenge your death,

or die famous for the attempt.

EDWARD.

His name that valiant duke hath left with thee;

His dukedom and his chair with me is left.

That brave Duke left his name with you;

his dukedom and his position he left to me.

RICHARD.

Nay, if thou be that princely eagle's bird,

Show thy descent by gazing 'gainst the sun;

For chair and dukedom, throne and kingdom say:

Either that is thine, or else thou wert not his.

So if you are the son of that princely eagle,

show your ancestry by staring at the sun;

for his position and dukedom, the throne and the kingdom say:

either it's all yours, or you were no son of his.

[March. Enter WARWICK and MONTAGUE, with their Army.]

WARWICK.

How now, fair lords! What fare? what news abroad?

Hello there, fair lords! What's going on? What's the news?

RICHARD.

Great Lord of Warwick, if we should recount

Our baleful news, and at each word's deliverance

Stab poniards in our flesh till all were told,

The words would add more anguish than the wounds.

O valiant lord, the Duke of York is slain!

Great Lord of Warwick, if we told you

our terrible news, and stabbed daggers into our

flesh with each word until everything was told,

the words would cause more pain than the wounds.

O brave lord, the Duke of York has been killed!

EDWARD.

O, Warwick, Warwick! that Plantagenet

Which held thee dearly as his soul's redemption

Is by the stern Lord Clifford done to death.

O Warwick, Warwick! The Plantagenet

to whom you were as dear as the salvation of his soul

has been killed by the hard Lord Clifford.

WARWICK.

Ten days ago I drown'd these news in tears,

And now, to add more measure to your woes,

I come to tell you things sith then befallen.

After the bloody fray at Wakefield fought,

Where your brave father breath'd his latest gasp,

Tidings, as swiftly as the posts could run,

Were brought me of your loss and his depart.

I, then in London, keeper of the king,

Muster'd my soldiers, gather'd flocks of friends,

And very well appointed, as I thought,

March'd toward Saint Alban's to intercept the queen,

Bearing the king in my behalf along;

For by my scouts I was advertised

That she was coming with a full intent

To dash our late decree in parliament

Touching King Henry's oath and your succession.

Short tale to make, we at Saint Alban's met,

Our battles join'd, and both sides fiercely fought;

But, whether 't was the coldness of the king,

Who look'd full gently on his warlike queen,

That robb'd my soldiers of their heated spleen,

Or whether 't was report of her success,

Or more than common fear of Clifford's rigour,

Who thunders to his captives blood and death,

I cannot judge; but, to conclude with truth,

Their weapons like to lightning came and went,

Our soldiers',--like the night-owl's lazy flight,

Or like an idle thrasher with a flail--

Fell gently down, as if they struck their friends.

I cheer'd them up with justice of our cause,

With promise of high pay and great rewards,

But all in vain; they had no heart to fight,

And we in them no hope to win the day;

So that we fled: the king unto the queen;

Lord George your brother, Norfolk, and myself,

In haste, post-haste, are come to join with you;

For in the marches here, we heard, you were

Making another head to fight again.

I received this news with tears ten days ago,

and now, to give you even more sorrow,

I have come to tell you the things that happened since then.

After the bloody battle that was fought at Wakefield,

where your brave father breathed his last breath,

news came to me of your loss

and his death as quickly as the messengers could run.

I, then in London, the king's jailer, gathered my soldiers and all my friends,

and in very good order, so I thought,

marched towards St Albans to intercept the Queen,