The Complete Works of William Shakespeare In Plain and Simple English (Translated) (833 page)

We'll talk of that afterwards. Please speak,

how many miles can we cover

each hour?

PISANIO.

One score 'twixt sun and sun,

Madam, 's enough for you, and too much too.

Twenty miles between morning and evening,

Madam, is enough for you, and maybe too much.

IMOGEN.

Why, one that rode to's execution, man,

Could never go so slow. I have heard of riding wagers

Where horses have been nimbler than the sands

That run i' th' clock's behalf. But this is fool'ry.

Go bid my woman feign a sickness; say

She'll home to her father; and provide me presently

A riding suit, no costlier than would fit

A franklin's huswife.

Why, man, someone riding to his own execution

wouldn't go so slow. I have heard of riding bets

when the horses have run quicker than the sands

running through the timer. But we're messing about.

Go and tell my maid to pretend she is sick; say

she has to go home to her father; and get me quickly

a riding suit, no more ornate than one a

common woman would wear.

PISANIO.

Madam, you're best consider.

Madden, you'd better think about this.

IMOGEN.

I see before me, man. Nor here, nor here,

Nor what ensues, but have a fog in them

That I cannot look through. Away, I prithee;

Do as I bid thee. There's no more to say;

Accessible is none but Milford way.

Exeunt

I can see way ahead clearly, man. I can't see to the left, to the right

or behind, they are covered in a fog through which

I can't see. Get moving, please;

do as I ask you. There's nothing more to say;

the way to Milford is the only way for me to go.

Enter from the cave BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, and ARVIRAGUS

BELARIUS.

A goodly day not to keep house with such

Whose roof's as low as ours! Stoop, boys; this gate

Instructs you how t' adore the heavens, and bows you

To a morning's holy office. The gates of monarchs

Are arch'd so high that giants may jet through

And keep their impious turbans on without

Good morrow to the sun. Hail, thou fair heaven!

We house i' th' rock, yet use thee not so hardly

As prouder livers do.

It's a good day not to stay indoors when you've got

roofs as low as ours! Bend down, boys; this doorway

teaches you how to worship the heavens, making you bow

to the holy morning. The doorways of monarchs

are built so high that giants might strut through,

keeping their heathen turbans on, without

saying good morning to the sun. Greetings, fair heaven!

We live in the rock, but we are not so disrespectful of you

as much richer people.

GUIDERIUS.

Hail, heaven!

Greetings, heaven!

ARVIRAGUS.

Hail, heaven!

Greetings, heaven!

BELARIUS.

Now for our mountain sport. Up to yond hill,

Your legs are young; I'll tread these flats. Consider,

When you above perceive me like a crow,

That it is place which lessens and sets off;

And you may then revolve what tales I have told you

Of courts, of princes, of the tricks in war.

This service is not service so being done,

But being so allow'd. To apprehend thus

Draws us a profit from all things we see,

And often to our comfort shall we find

The sharded beetle in a safer hold

Than is the full-wing'd eagle. O, this life

Is nobler than attending for a check,

Richer than doing nothing for a bribe,

Prouder than rustling in unpaid-for silk:

Such gain the cap of him that makes him fine,

Yet keeps his book uncross'd. No life to ours!

Now for our mountain hunting. You go up that hill,

your legs are young; I'll walk on the flat. Think,

when you look down on me from above like a crow,

that you're in a place which makes things look smaller and better;

then you can think about the tales I've told you

of courts, of Princes, of the arts of war.

This is not a chore when you do it like that,

when it is approved. To look at things that way

makes everything we see profitable,

and we will often be comforted by finding

the carapaced beetle is in a safer position

 than the broad winged eagle. Oh, this life

ismore noble than going to court just to be rebuked,

richer than taking bribes for nothing,

more dignified than rustling in unpaid-for silk:

that sort of thing is for those who dress themselves up

but never pay off their debts. That's no life compared to ours!

GUIDERIUS.

Out of your proof you speak. We, poor unfledg'd,

Have never wing'd from view o' th' nest, nor know not

What air's from home. Haply this life is best,

If quiet life be best; sweeter to you

That have a sharper known; well corresponding

With your stiff age. But unto us it is

A cell of ignorance, travelling abed,

A prison for a debtor that not dares

To stride a limit.

You speak from experience. We, poor fledglings,

have never flown out of sight of this nest, and don't know

what other places are like. Maybe this life is best,

if a quiet life is the best; it's sweeter to you

because you've experienced a more lively one; this one suits

your old age well. But to us it is

like being locked in a windowless cell, only travelling in our dreams,

like a debtors' prison where one dare not

go beyond the boundaries.

ARVIRAGUS.

What should we speak of

When we are old as you? When we shall hear

The rain and wind beat dark December, how,

In this our pinching cave, shall we discourse.

The freezing hours away? We have seen nothing;

We are beastly: subtle as the fox for prey,

Like warlike as the wolf for what we eat.

Our valour is to chase what flies; our cage

We make a choir, as doth the prison'd bird,

And sing our bondage freely.

What shall we talk about

when we are as old as you? When we hear

the rain and wind of dark December, how,

in our cramped little cave, shall we while away

the freezing hours in talk? We have seen nothing;

we are like beasts: as cunning as the fox in hunting,

as warlike as the wolf in getting our food.

All our bravery is only hunting; we have become

like caged birds, we join together to sing

about our imprisonment.

BELARIUS.

How you speak!

Did you but know the city's usuries,

And felt them knowingly- the art o' th' court,

As hard to leave as keep, whose top to climb

Is certain falling, or so slipp'ry that

The fear's as bad as falling; the toil o' th' war,

A pain that only seems to seek out danger

I' th'name of fame and honour, which dies i' th'search,

And hath as oft a sland'rous epitaph

As record of fair act; nay, many times,

Doth ill deserve by doing well; what's worse-

Must curtsy at the censure. O, boys, this story

The world may read in me; my body's mark'd

With Roman swords, and my report was once

first with the best of note. Cymbeline lov'd me;

And when a soldier was the theme, my name

Was not far off. Then was I as a tree

Whose boughs did bend with fruit; but in one night

A storm, or robbery, call it what you will,

Shook down my mellow hangings, nay, my leaves,

And left me bare to weather.

The things you say!

If you only knew the excesses of the city,

and had felt their effects - the politics of the court,

which is as hard to leave as to stay, where reaching the top

means you're certain to fall, or anyway it's so slippery

that the worry is as bad as falling; the toils of war,

a pain that only seems to look for danger

in the name of fame and honour, which is lost in the search,

and where often one gets a bad reputation

for doing good things; many times

one's treated badly for doing good; what's even worse

is one has to accept the criticism meekly.Oh boys,

the world can see me as an example of this; my body's scarred

with Roman swords, and I was once the most talked about

and most approved of.Cymbeline loved me;

whenever soldiers were spoken of, my name was

never far from the conversation.Then I was like a tree

whose branches were bent down with fruit; but in one night

a storm, or robbery, whatever you want to call it,

shook down my fruit, even my leaves,

and left me exposed to the weather.

GUIDERIUS.

Uncertain favour!

How changeable favour is!

BELARIUS.

My fault being nothing- as I have told you oft-

But that two villains, whose false oaths prevail'd

Before my perfect honour, swore to Cymbeline

I was confederate with the Romans. So

Follow'd my banishment, and this twenty years

This rock and these demesnes have been my world,

Where I have liv'd at honest freedom, paid

More pious debts to heaven than in all

The fore-end of my time. But up to th' mountains!

This is not hunters' language. He that strikes

The venison first shall be the lord o' th' feast;

To him the other two shall minister;

And we will fear no poison, which attends

In place of greater state. I'll meet you in the valleys.

Exeunt GUIDERIUS and ARVIRAGUS

How hard it is to hide the sparks of nature!

These boys know little they are sons to th' King,

Nor Cymbeline dreams that they are alive.

They think they are mine; and though train'd up thus meanly

I' th' cave wherein they bow, their thoughts do hit