The Complete Works of William Shakespeare In Plain and Simple English (Translated) (71 page)

I thank my God for my humility.

Very blessed work, my sovereign lord.

Amongst this company of Princes–if any here

through wrong information or misapprehension

think of me as an enemy–

if I have done anything unwittingly, or in anger,

that anyone here objects to, I would like

to make my peace with him:

I would rather die than be enemies;

I hate it, and would like all good men to love me.

First, madam, I beg that you and I may have true peace,

which I will gain through my devoted service;

and with you, my noble cousin Buckingham,

if there was ever any grudge between us;

and with you, Lord Rivers, and Lord Grey, with you,

who have all taken a dislike to me without reason:

dukes, earls, lords, gentlemen: indeed with all of you.

I do not know any Englishman alive

with whom I have any quarrel

greater than I have with a newborn infant–

I thank God for my humility.

QUEEN ELIZABETH.

A holy day shall this be kept hereafter.

I would to God all strifes were well compounded.

My sovereign lord, I do beseech your Highness

To take our brother Clarence to your grace.

From now on this day shall be celebrated as a holiday.

I wish to God all arguments could be solved like this.

My sovereign lord, I beg your Highness

to accept our brother Clarence into your grace.

RICHARD.

Why, madam, have I off'red love for this,

To be so flouted in this royal presence?

Who knows not that the gentle Duke is dead?

[They all start]

You do him injury to scorn his corse.

Why, madam, have I offered my love for this,

to be mocked in the presence of the King?

Doesn't everybody know that the sweet Duke is dead?

[They all start]

It is not right to mock his corpse.

KING EDWARD.

Who knows not he is dead! Who knows

he is?

Doesn't everybody know he's dead! Who knows he is?

QUEEN ELIZABETH.

All-seeing heaven, what a world is this!

Mighty heaven, what a world this is!

BUCKINGHAM.

Look I so pale, Lord Dorset, as the rest?

Lord Dorset, do I look as pale as the rest of them?

DORSET.

Ay, my good lord; and no man in the presence

But his red colour hath forsook his cheeks.

Yes, my good lord; and there is no man here

whose colour has not drained from his cheeks.

KING EDWARD.

Is Clarence dead? The order was revers'd.

Is Clarence dead? I revoked the order.

RICHARD.

But he, poor man, by your first order died,

And that a winged Mercury did bear;

Some tardy cripple bare the countermand

That came too lag to see him buried.

God grant that some, less noble and less loyal,

Nearer in bloody thoughts, an not in blood,

Deserve not worse than wretched Clarence did,

And yet go current from suspicion!

But he, poor man, died as a result of your first order,

which was carried there by a swift messenger;

some lazy cripple carried the counter order

that came too late to save him.

God knows that some, less noble and less loyal,

who have worse thoughts and worse blood,

deserved to get the treatment poor Clarence got,

and yet they are thought of as genuine!

Enter DERBY

DERBY.

A boon, my sovereign, for my service done!

Grant me a favour, your Majesty, for the service I have done!

KING EDWARD.

I prithee, peace; my soul is full of sorrow.

Please, be quiet; my soul is full of sorrow.

DERBY.

I will not rise unless your Highness hear me.

I will not rise until your Highness listens to me.

KING EDWARD.

Then say at once what is it thou requests.

Then say quickly what you want.

DERBY.

The forfeit, sovereign, of my servant's life;

Who slew to-day a riotous gentleman

Lately attendant on the Duke of Norfolk.

The power, Majesty, over my servant's life;

today he killed a rowdy gentleman

who was recently a servant to the Duke of Norfolk.

KING EDWARD.

Have I a tongue to doom my brother's death,

And shall that tongue give pardon to a slave?

My brother killed no man-his fault was thought,

And yet his punishment was bitter death.

Who sued to me for him? Who, in my wrath,

Kneel'd at my feet, and bid me be advis'd?

Who spoke of brotherhood? Who spoke of love?

Who told me how the poor soul did forsake

The mighty Warwick and did fight for me?

Who told me, in the field at Tewksbury

When Oxford had me down, he rescued me

And said 'Dear Brother, live, and be a king'?

Who told me, when we both lay in the field

Frozen almost to death, how he did lap me

Even in his garments, and did give himself,

All thin and naked, to the numb cold night?

All this from my remembrance brutish wrath

Sinfully pluck'd, and not a man of you

Had so much race to put it in my mind.

But when your carters or your waiting-vassals

Have done a drunken slaughter and defac'd

The precious image of our dear Redeemer,

You straight are on your knees for pardon, pardon;

And I, unjustly too, must grant it you.[DERBY rises]

But for my brother not a man would speak;

Nor I, ungracious, speak unto myself

For him, poor soul. The proudest of you all

Have been beholding to him in his life;

Yet none of you would once beg for his life.

O God, I fear thy justice will take hold

On me, and you, and mine, and yours, for this!

Come, Hastings, help me to my closet. Ah, poor Clarence!

Can my tongue sentence my brother to death,

and be used to pardon a slave?

My brother killed no one: his only fault was his thoughts,

and yet his punishment was a bitter death.

Who pleaded to me for him? Who, when I was angry,

kneeled at my feet and told me to think carefully?

Who spoke of brotherhood? Who spoke of love?

Who reminded me that the poor soul abandoned

the mighty Warwick, and fought for me?

Who reminded me that on the battlefield at Tewkesbury,

when Oxford stood over me, that he rescued me

and said, ‘Dear brother, live and be a king’?

Who reminded me that when we both lay in the battlefield

almost frozen to death, that he wrapped me

in his own clothes, and abandoned himself,

thin and naked, to the numbing cold of the night?

Brutal anger has sinfully torn all this

from my memory, and not one of you

was good enough to remind me of it.

But when your carters or your serving men

have committed a drunken murder, and insulted

the precious face of our dear Lord,

you are straight down on your knees begging for pardon,

and I, unjustly, must give it to you.

But not one man spoke out for my brother,

and I, ungraciously, did not speak to myself on his

behalf, poor soul. Even the greatest of you

were in his debt while he was alive,

yet not one of you troubled to beg for his life.

O God, I feel justice will fall

on me, and you, and our families for this.

Come on, Hastings, help me to my room.

Ah, poor Clarence!

Exeunt some with KING and QUEEN

RICHARD.

This is the fruits of rashness. Mark'd you not

How that the guilty kindred of the Queen

Look'd pale when they did hear of Clarence' death?

O, they did urge it still unto the King!

God will revenge it. Come, lords, will you go

To comfort Edward with our company?

This is what happens when things are decided in a hurry. Did you notice

how the guilty relatives of the Queen

looked pale when they heard of Clarence's death?

It was them who encouraged the King to order it!

God will take revenge. Come, Lords, will you come

with me to comfort Edward?

BUCKINGHAM.

We wait upon your Grace.

We shall come with your Grace.

Exeunt

London. The palace

Enter the old DUCHESS OF YORK, with the SON and DAUGHTER of

CLARENCE

SON.

Good grandam, tell us, is our father dead?

Good grandmother, tell us, is our father dead?

DUCHESS.

No, boy.

No, boy.

DAUGHTER.

Why do you weep so oft, and beat your breast,

And cry 'O Clarence, my unhappy son!'?

Then why are you always crying, and beating your chest,

and wailing, ‘Oh Clarence, my unhappy son!’?

SON.

Why do you look on us, and shake your head,

And call us orphans, wretches, castaways,

If that our noble father were alive?

Why do you look at us and shake your head,

calling us orphans, wretches, castaways,

if our noble father is alive?

DUCHESS.

My pretty cousins, you mistake me both;

I do lament the sickness of the King,

As loath to lose him, not your father's death;

It were lost sorrow to wail one that's lost.

My pretty cousins, you both misunderstand me;

I am lamenting the King's illness,

as I will hate to lose him, not your father's death;

it would be a waste of sorrow to mourn for someone who's already gone.

SON.

Then you conclude, my grandam, he is dead.

The King mine uncle is to blame for it.