The Complete Works of William Shakespeare In Plain and Simple English (Translated) (35 page)

Go, say I sent thee forth to purchase honour,

And not the King exil'd thee; or suppose

Devouring pestilence hangs in our air

And thou art flying to a fresher clime.

Look what thy soul holds dear, imagine it

To lie that way thou goest, not whence thou com'st.

Suppose the singing birds musicians,

The grass whereon thou tread'st the presence strew'd,

The flowers fair ladies, and thy steps no more

Than a delightful measure or a dance;

For gnarling sorrow hath less power to bite

The man that mocks at it and sets it light.

Every place the sun shines on

is a happy one and a good shelter for the wise man.

You must learn to think like this:

necessity creates its own virtues.

Don't think that the King has exiled you,

but that you have exiled the king. Sorrow is greater

when you do not face it courageously.

Go, say I sent you away to seek your fortune,

and not that the King banished you; or pretend

that there is a fatal plague in our air

and that you are fleeing to a more healthy climate.

Think of what is dearest to you, and imagine

that you are journeying towards it, not away from it.

Imagine that the singing birds are musicians,

the grass you walk on the carpet of the royal chamber,

the flowers fair ladies, and your steps are no more

than a delightful dance;

snarling sorrow has less power to harm

the man who mocks it and doesn't care.

BOLINGBROKE.

O, who can hold a fire in his hand

By thinking on the frosty Caucasus?

Or cloy the hungry edge of appetite

By bare imagination of a feast?

Or wallow naked in December snow

By thinking on fantastic summer's heat?

O, no! the apprehension of the good

Gives but the greater feeling to the worse.

Fell sorrow's tooth doth never rankle more

Than when he bites, but lanceth not the sore.

Oh, who can keep warm

by thinking of the frosty Caucasus?

Who can take the edge off his hunger

by imagining a feast?

Who can run naked through the snow of December

by imagining the heat of summer?

Oh no, remembering good things

just makes the bad things seem worse.

The bite of sorrow it is at its worst

when it just breaks the skin, to make a festering sore.

GAUNT.

Come, come, my son, I'll bring thee on thy way.

Had I thy youth and cause, I would not stay.

Come, come, my son, I'll go with you on your way.

If I had your youth and cause, I would not stay.

BOLINGBROKE.

Then, England's ground, farewell; sweet soil,

adieu;

My mother, and my nurse, that bears me yet!

Where'er I wander, boast of this I can:

Though banish'd, yet a trueborn English man.

So, farewell to the land of England; sweet soil,

goodbye;

my mother, and my nurse, that still carries me!

Wherever I wonder, I can boast of this:

although I am exiled, I am still a true born English man.

Exeunt

London. The court

Enter the KING, with BAGOT and GREEN, at one door;

and the DUKE OF AUMERLE at another

KING RICHARD.

We did observe. Cousin Aumerle,

How far brought you high Hereford on his way?

It was noted. Cousin Aumerle,

how far did you accompany high Hereford?

AUMERLE.

I brought high Hereford, if you call him so,

But to the next high way, and there I left him.

I took high Hereford, if that's what you call him,

just to the next highway, and left him there.

KING RICHARD.

And say, what store of parting tears were shed?

And tell me, how many tears were shed when you parted?

AUMERLE.

Faith, none for me; except the north-east wind,

Which then blew bitterly against our faces,

Awak'd the sleeping rheum, and so by chance

Did grace our hollow parting with a tear.

I swear, none for me; except that the north-east wind,

which was blowing bitterly in our faces,

made our eyes water, and so perhaps that

caused a tear at our empty farewell.

KING RICHARD.

What said our cousin when you parted with him?

What did my cousin say when you left him?

AUMERLE.

'Farewell.'

And, for my heart disdained that my tongue

Should so profane the word, that taught me craft

To counterfeit oppression of such grief

That words seem'd buried in my sorrow's grave.

Marry, would the word 'farewell' have length'ned hours

And added years to his short banishment,

He should have had a volume of farewells;

But since it would not, he had none of me.

‘Farewell.’

And, as I didn't want to be so false

as to use the word, I pretended

that I was so overwhelmed with grief

that I was unable to speak.

Indeed, if the word ‘farewell’ could have extended time

and added years to his short exile,

I would have given him a thousand farewells;

but since it wouldn't, he got none from me.

KING RICHARD.

He is our cousin, cousin; but 'tis doubt,

When time shall call him home from banishment,

Whether our kinsman come to see his friends.

Ourself, and Bushy, Bagot here, and Green,

Observ'd his courtship to the common people;

How he did seem to dive into their hearts

With humble and familiar courtesy;

What reverence he did throw away on slaves,

Wooing poor craftsmen with the craft of smiles

And patient underbearing of his fortune,

As 'twere to banish their affects with him.

Off goes his bonnet to an oyster-wench;

A brace of draymen bid God speed him well

And had the tribute of his supple knee,

With 'Thanks, my countrymen, my loving friends';

As were our England in reversion his,

And he our subjects' next degree in hope.

He is my cousin, cousin; but it's doubtful,

when the period of exile has expired,

if our kinsman will come to see his friends.

Bushy, Bagot here, Green, and myself

noticed how he courted the common people;

he seemed to insinuate himself into their hearts

by pretending to be humble and friendly;

how he seemed to worship slaves,

wooing poor craftsmen with smiles

and modest endurance of his fate,

as if he wanted to carry their affection into exile with him.

He tipped his hat to an oyster seller;

a pair of carters wished him Godspeed

and he bowed the knee to them,

saying, ‘Thanks, my countrymen, my loving friends’–

as if my England really belonged to him,

and he would be the next one to rule them.

GREEN.

Well, he is gone; and with him go these thoughts!

Now for the rebels which stand out in Ireland,

Expedient manage must be made, my liege,

Ere further leisure yicld them further means

For their advantage and your Highness' loss.

Well, he is gone; let those thoughts go with him!

Now, we must formulate a plan for dealing with

the rebels in Ireland, my lord,

any delay will give them greater opportunities

to take advantage and damage your Highness.

KING RICHARD.

We will ourself in person to this war;

And, for our coffers, with too great a court

And liberal largess, are grown somewhat light,

We are enforc'd to farm our royal realm;

The revenue whereof shall furnish us

For our affairs in hand. If that come short,

Our substitutes at home shall have blank charters;

Whereto, when they shall know what men are rich,

They shall subscribe them for large sums of gold,

And send them after to supply our wants;

For we will make for Ireland presently.

Enter BUSHY

Bushy, what news?

I will go to this war myself in person;

and as the Exchequer has become somewhat impoverished

through keeping too large a court and being too generous

I shall have to lease out the tax-raising rights;

the income from that will give me enough

to deal with the current business. If that's not enough,

our stand-ins at home shall be given blank cheques,

which they can make the richest men sign

to provide us with large sums of gold,

and they can send these on to us to supply our needs;

I will go to Ireland at once.

[Enter Bushy]

Bushy, what news is there?

BUSHY.

Old John of Gaunt is grievous sick, my lord,

Suddenly taken; and hath sent poste-haste

To entreat your Majesty to visit him.

Old John of Gaunt is seriously ill, my lord,

it came upon him suddenly; he has sent urgent messages

begging your Majesty to visit him.

KING RICHARD.

Where lies he?

Where is he?

BUSHY.

At Ely House.

At Ely House.

KING RICHARD.

Now put it, God, in the physician's mind

To help him to his grave immediately!

The lining of his coffers shall make coats

To deck our soldiers for these Irish wars.

Come, gentlemen, let's all go visit him.

Pray God we may make haste, and come too late!

Now, God, put it in the doctor's mind

to help him straight into his grave!

The money from his estate will pay

for the equipment of our soldiers in these Irish wars.

Come, gentlemen, let's all go and visit him.

May God speed us there, and may we be too late!