The Complete Works of William Shakespeare In Plain and Simple English (Translated) (842 page)

I wish I had done it,

so the revenge was only taken on me!Polydore,

I love you as a brother, but I'm very jealous

that you did this thing and not me.I want to match you,

and I hope we have other encounters which test us,

and make us do our best.

BELARIUS.

Well, 'tis done.

We'll hunt no more to-day, nor seek for danger

Where there's no profit. I prithee to our rock.

You and Fidele play the cooks; I'll stay

Till hasty Polydore return, and bring him

To dinner presently.

Well, it's done.

We'll hunt no more today, nor look for danger

where there's no benefit to it.Back to the cave, please.

You and Fidele act as cooks; I'll stay here

until fiery Polydore comes back, and bring him

to dinner shortly.

ARVIRAGUS.

Poor sick Fidele!

I'll willingly to him; to gain his colour

I'd let a parish of such Cloten's blood,

And praise myself for charity.

Exit

Poor sick Fidele!

I'll gladly go to him; to put the colour back in his cheeks

I'd kill a parish full of people like Cloten,

and praise myself for my good works.

BELARIUS.

O thou goddess,

Thou divine Nature, thou thyself thou blazon'st

In these two princely boys! They are as gentle

As zephyrs blowing below the violet,

Not wagging his sweet head; and yet as rough,

Their royal blood enchaf'd, as the rud'st wind

That by the top doth take the mountain pine

And make him stoop to th' vale. 'Tis wonder

That an invisible instinct should frame them

To royalty unlearn'd, honour untaught,

Civility not seen from other, valour

That wildly grows in them, but yields a crop

As if it had been sow'd. Yet still it's strange

What Cloten's being here to us portends,

Or what his death will bring us.

Re-enter GUIDERIUS

Oh goddess,

heavenly nature, you put yourself

into these two princely boys!They are as gentle

as breezes whispering through the violets

without disturbing their sweet petals; but they're as rough,

when their royal blood is up, as the strongest wind

that grabs the top of the mountain pine

and bends it down to the valley.It's amazing

that an unseen instinct should make them

royal without instruction, honourable without teaching,

unusually polite, they have bravery

growing wild in them, but the results are as good

as if they'd been educated.But still, it's a mystery

what Cloten's being here means for us,

or what his death will bring.

GUIDERIUS.

Where's my brother?

I have sent Cloten's clotpoll down the stream,

In embassy to his mother; his body's hostage

For his return. [Solemn music]

Where's my brother?

I have sent Cloten's head down the stream,

to see his mother; his body stays as hostage

for his return.

BELARIUS.

My ingenious instrument!

Hark, Polydore, it sounds. But what occasion

Hath Cadwal now to give it motion? Hark!

My cunning instrument!

Listen, Polydore, it's sounding.But what's made

Cadwal set it going?Listen!

GUIDERIUS.

Is he at home?

Is he at home?

BELARIUS.

He went hence even now.

He went there just now.

GUIDERIUS.

What does he mean? Since death of my dear'st mother

It did not speak before. All solemn things

Should answer solemn accidents. The matter?

Triumphs for nothing and lamenting toys

Is jollity for apes and grief for boys.

Is Cadwal mad?

 Re-enter ARVIRAGUS, with IMOGEN as dead, bearing

 her in his arms

What does he mean?It hasn't been used since

the death of my dearest mother.This should only be used for

something serious.What is it?

Celebrating over nothing and lamenting over trifles

is fun for apes and wrong for boys.

Is Cadwal mad?

BELARIUS.

Look, here he comes,

And brings the dire occasion in his arms

Of what we blame him for!

Look, here he comes,

and he is carrying the terrible reason

for the thing we criticise him for.

ARVIRAGUS.

The bird is dead

That we have made so much on. I had rather

Have skipp'd from sixteen years of age to sixty,

To have turn'd my leaping time into a crutch,

Than have seen this.

The one we loved so much

is dead.I would rather have

gone straight from sixteen to sixty,

and turned my strong youth into weak old age,

than have seen this.

GUIDERIUS.

O sweetest, fairest lily!

My brother wears thee not the one half so well

As when thou grew'st thyself.

Oh sweetest, fairest lily!

You don't look half as good in my brother's arms.

as when you stood on your own feet.

BELARIUS.

O melancholy!

Who ever yet could sound thy bottom? find

The ooze to show what coast thy sluggish crare

Might'st easiliest harbour in? Thou blessed thing!

Jove knows what man thou mightst have made; but I,

Thou diedst, a most rare boy, of melancholy.

How found you him?

Oh sorrow!

Who could ever get to the bottom of you? Who could

find the sign to show what harbour your slow ship

might most easily anchor in?You blessed thing!

Jove knows what sort of man you would have lived to be; but I know

that you died, a most wonderful boy, of sorrow.

What was he like when you found him?

ARVIRAGUS.

Stark, as you see;

Thus smiling, as some fly had tickled slumber,

Not as death's dart, being laugh'd at; his right cheek

Reposing on a cushion.

Just as you see now;

smiling like this, as if some fly had tickled him in his sleep,

not as if he was laughing at death's arrows; his right cheek

was resting on a cushion.

GUIDERIUS.

Where?

Where?

ARVIRAGUS.

O' th' floor;

His arms thus leagu'd. I thought he slept, and put

My clouted brogues from off my feet, whose rudeness

Answer'd my steps too loud.

On the floor,

his arms crossed like this.I thought he was asleep, and took

my shoes off, because their rough soles

made too much noise.

GUIDERIUS.

Why, he but sleeps.

If he be gone he'll make his grave a bed;

With female fairies will his tomb be haunted,

And worms will not come to thee.

Why, he's just sleeping.

If he has gone his grave will be a bed;

his tomb will be surrounded with female fairies,

and worms will not eat you.

ARVIRAGUS.

With fairest flowers,

Whilst summer lasts and I live here, Fidele,

I'll sweeten thy sad grave. Thou shalt not lack

The flower that's like thy face, pale primrose; nor

The azur'd hare-bell, like thy veins; no, nor

The leaf of eglantine, whom not to slander,

Out-sweet'ned not thy breath. The ruddock would,

With charitable bill- O bill, sore shaming

Those rich-left heirs that let their fathers lie

Without a monument!- bring thee all this;

Yea, and furr'd moss besides, when flow'rs are none,

To winter-ground thy corse-

Fidele, as long as summer lasts

and I live here I'll sweeten your sad grave

with the fairest flowers, Fidele.You shall have

the pale primroses, that are like you face;

and the blue-lined harebell, like your veins; and

sweet briar leaf, which, not to put it down,

was not sweeter thanyour breath.The robin will,

with his kind beak - oh, a beak that shames

those rich heirs who let their fathers lie

without a monument! - bring you all this;

yes, and when there are no flowers he'll bring you

furry moss, to cover your body in winter.

GUIDERIUS.

Prithee have done,

And do not play in wench-like words with that

Which is so serious. Let us bury him,

And not protract with admiration what

Is now due debt. To th' grave.

Please stop it,

and stop talking girlish nonsense when the matter

is so serious.Let us bury him,

and not string out with boasting

what now has to be done.Let's go to the grave.

ARVIRAGUS.

Say, where shall's lay him?

Where shall we bury him?

GUIDERIUS.

By good Euriphile, our mother.

Next to good Euriphile, our mother.

ARVIRAGUS.

Be't so;

And let us, Polydore, though now our voices

Have got the mannish crack, sing him to th' ground,

As once to our mother; use like note and words,

Save that Euriphile must be Fidele.

So be it.

And let us, Polydore, although our voices

have now become manly basses, sing him into the ground,

as we once did with our mother; use the same music and words,

except that Euriphile must be exchanged for Fidele.

GUIDERIUS.

Cadwal,

I cannot sing. I'll weep, and word it with thee;

For notes of sorrow out of tune are worse

Than priests and fanes that lie.

Cadwal, I cannot sing.I'll weep, and speak the words with you;

for songs of sorrow sung out of tune are worse

than lying priests and their temples.

ARVIRAGUS.

We'll speak it, then.

We'll say the words, then.

BELARIUS.

Great griefs, I see, med'cine the less, for Cloten

Is quite forgot. He was a queen's son, boys;

And though he came our enemy, remember

He was paid for that. Though mean and mighty rotting

Together have one dust, yet reverence-

That angel of the world- doth make distinction

Of place 'tween high and low. Our foe was princely;

And though you took his life, as being our foe,

Yet bury him as a prince.

Great sorrows, I see, make the lesser ones disappear, for Cloten