The Complete Works of William Shakespeare In Plain and Simple English (Translated) (456 page)

Enter LAUNCELOT

LAUNCELOT

Certainly my conscience will serve me to run from

this Jew my master. The fiend is at mine elbow and

tempts me saying to me 'Gobbo, Launcelot Gobbo, good

Launcelot,' or 'good Gobbo,' or good Launcelot

Gobbo, use your legs, take the start, run away. My

conscience says 'No; take heed,' honest Launcelot;

take heed, honest Gobbo, or, as aforesaid, 'honest

Launcelot Gobbo; do not run; scorn running with thy

heels.' Well, the most courageous fiend bids me

pack: 'Via!' says the fiend; 'away!' says the

fiend; 'for the heavens, rouse up a brave mind,'

says the fiend, 'and run.' Well, my conscience,

hanging about the neck of my heart, says very wisely

to me 'My honest friend Launcelot, being an honest

man's son,' or rather an honest woman's son; for,

indeed, my father did something smack, something

grow to, he had a kind of taste; well, my conscience

says 'Launcelot, budge not.' 'Budge,' says the

fiend. 'Budge not,' says my conscience.

'Conscience,' say I, 'you counsel well;' ' Fiend,'

say I, 'you counsel well:' to be ruled by my

conscience, I should stay with the Jew my master,

who, God bless the mark, is a kind of devil; and, to

run away from the Jew, I should be ruled by the

fiend, who, saving your reverence, is the devil

himself. Certainly the Jew is the very devil

incarnal; and, in my conscience, my conscience is

but a kind of hard conscience, to offer to counsel

me to stay with the Jew. The fiend gives the more

friendly counsel: I will run, fiend; my heels are

at your command; I will run.

I’m certain I will feel guilty if I run away

from this Jew who is my master. But the devil is at my side and

tempts me by saying ‘Gobbo, Launcelot Gobbo, good

Launcelot,’ or ‘good Gobbo,’ or ‘good Launcelot

Gobbo, use your legs and take off and run away.’ My

conscience says, ‘No, be careful,’ honest Launcelot,

be careful, honest Gobbo, or, as I said before, ‘honest

Launecelot Gobbo, do not run, hold your

heels.’ But, not to be deterred, the devil tells me

to pack it up. ‘Hurry up!’ says the devil. ‘Let’s go!’ says the

devil. ‘For God’s sake, be brave,

says the devil, ‘and run.’ Well, my conscience,

which hangs close to my heart, says very wisely

to me, ‘My honest friend Launcelot, you are an honest

man’s son.’ Or, rather, an honest woman’s son, for

my father had characteristics, something

that was a part of him, a certain kind of taste for cheating. But my conscience

says, ‘Launcelot, don’t run.’ ‘Run,’ says the

devil. ‘Don’t run,’ says my conscience.

‘Conscience,’ I say, ‘you give good advice. ‘Devil,’

I say, ‘you give good advice.’ If I go with my

conscience, I will stay with my master the Jew,

who, to be sure, is a kind of devil. And to

run away from the Jew, I will be ruled by the

devil, who, forgive me, is the devil

himself. Certainly, the Jew is the devil

incarnate, and in my conscience, I know my conscience

is giving me some hard advice to tell me

to stay with the Jew. The devil gives

kinder advice: I will run, devil, my heels are

at your command, I will run.

Enter Old GOBBO, with a basket

GOBBO

Master young man, you, I pray you, which is the way

to master Jew's?

Can you tell me, young man, please, which is the way

the master Jew’s home?

LAUNCELOT

[Aside] O heavens, this is my true-begotten father!

who, being more than sand-blind, high-gravel blind,

knows me not: I will try confusions with him.

[Aside] Oh my god, it is my real father!

And he’s more than just a little blind, he’s almost totally blind

and doesn’t recognize me. I’ll mess with him a bit.

GOBBO

Master young gentleman, I pray you, which is the way

to master Jew's?

Young man, please, can you tell me which way

to the master Jew’s home?

LAUNCELOT

Turn up on your right hand at the next turning, but,

at the next turning of all, on your left; marry, at

the very next turning, turn of no hand, but turn

down indirectly to the Jew's house.

Turn right at the next turn, and then

turn left. Immediately, at

the next turn, turn neither left nor right, but

turn in the direction of the Jew’s house.

GOBBO

By God's sonties, 'twill be a hard way to hit. Can

you tell me whether one Launcelot,

that dwells with him, dwell with him or no?

My god, it will be hard to find it. Can

you tell me whether a man named Launcelot

that used to live there still lives there?

LAUNCELOT

Talk you of young Master Launcelot?

Do you mean the young Master Launcelot?

Aside

Mark me now; now will I raise the waters. Talk you

of young Master Launcelot?

[Aside]
Pay attention, I’m about to make things interesting. Are you talking

about the young Master Launcelot?

GOBBO

No master, sir, but a poor man's son: his father,

though I say it, is an honest exceeding poor man

and, God be thanked, well to live.

He’s not a master, but a poor man’s son. His father,

if I might say, is an very honest but poor man

and—thank God—will most likely live long.

LAUNCELOT

Well, let his father be what a' will, we talk of

young Master Launcelot.

Well, let his father be what he will, we are talking about

young Master Launcelot.

GOBBO

Your worship's friend and Launcelot, sir.

I beg your pardon but he is just Launcelot, sir.

LAUNCELOT

But I pray you, ergo, old man, ergo, I beseech you,

talk you of young Master Launcelot?

But I beg you, therefore, old man, I ask you

are you talking about young Master Launcelot?

GOBBO

Of Launcelot, an't please your mastership.

I’m talking about Launcelot, yes.

LAUNCELOT

Ergo, Master Launcelot. Talk not of Master

Launcelot, father; for the young gentleman,

according to Fates and Destinies and such odd

sayings, the Sisters Three and such branches of

learning, is indeed deceased, or, as you would say

in plain terms, gone to heaven.

Well, then, Master Launcelot. Don’t speak of Master

Launcelot, old man, for the young man,

according to fate and destiny and other odd

reflections, the Three Sisters and those sort of branches of

learning, is deceased, or, as one might say

in plain terms, he has gone to heaven.

GOBBO

Marry, God forbid! the boy was the very staff of my

age, my very prop.

By Mary, God forbid! The boy was the very support of my

age, he was my prop.

LAUNCELOT

Do I look like a cudgel or a hovel-post, a staff or

a prop? Do you know me, father?

Do I look like a short stick or a cane, a staff or

a prop? Do you know who I am, old man?

GOBBO

Alack the day, I know you not, young gentleman:

but, I pray you, tell me, is my boy, God rest his

soul, alive or dead?

I’m sorry, I do not know who you are, young man,

but, please, can you tell me, is my son, God rest his

soul, alive or dead?

LAUNCELOT

Do you not know me, father?

You don’t know me, old man?

GOBBO

Alack, sir, I am sand-blind; I know you not.

I’m sorry, sir, I am mostly blind. I do not know you.

LAUNCELOT

Nay, indeed, if you had your eyes, you might fail of

the knowing me: it is a wise father that knows his

own child. Well, old man, I will tell you news of

your son: give me your blessing: truth will come

to light; murder cannot be hid long; a man's son

may, but at the length truth will out.

No, I think even if you had your sight

you wouldn’t know me. It is a wise father who can recognize his

own child. Well, old man, I will tell you about

your son: give me your blessing and the truth will

be revelaed. A murder cannot be hidden for long. A man’s son

may be hidden, but eventually the truth will come out.

GOBBO

Pray you, sir, stand up: I am sure you are not

Launcelot, my boy.

Please, sir, stand up. I am sure you are not

Launcelot, my son.

LAUNCELOT

Pray you, let's have no more fooling about it, but

give me your blessing: I am Launcelot, your boy

that was, your son that is, your child that shall

be.

Please, let’s not have any more fooling around, just

give me your blessing. I am Launcelot, your boy

that was, your son that is, your child that will

always be.

GOBBO

I cannot think you are my son.

I just can’t believe you are my son.

LAUNCELOT

I know not what I shall think of that: but I am

Launcelot, the Jew's man, and I am sure Margery your

wife is my mother.

I don’t know what to think of that, but I am

Launcelot, the Jew’s servant, and I am sure that Margery, your

wife, is my mother.

GOBBO

Her name is Margery, indeed: I'll be sworn, if thou

be Launcelot, thou art mine own flesh and blood.

Lord worshipped might he be! what a beard hast thou

got! thou hast got more hair on thy chin than

Dobbin my fill-horse has on his tail.

Her name is Margery, yes. I’ll be damned, if you

are Launcelot, you are my flesh and blood.

Praise be to God! What a beard you have

got! You have more hair on your chin than

my draught horse Dobbin has on his tail.

LAUNCELOT

It should seem, then, that Dobbin's tail grows

backward: I am sure he had more hair of his tail

than I have of my face when I last saw him.

It would seem, then that Dobbin’s tail grows

backward. I am sure he had more hair on his tail

than I have on my face last time I saw him.

GOBBO

Lord, how art thou changed! How dost thou and thy

master agree? I have brought him a present. How