The Complete Works of William Shakespeare In Plain and Simple English (Translated) (145 page)

the undeserver may sleep, when the man of action is called on.

Farewell, good wenches:  if I be not sent away post, I will see

you again ere I go.

Pay the musicians, sir. Farewell, hostess; farewell, Doll.

You see, my good lasses, how good men are sought out:

useless men may sleep, while the man of action is called for.

Farewell, good lasses: if I'm not sent away at once, I will

see you again before I go.

DOLL.

I cannot speak; if my heart be not ready to burst,--well, sweet

Jack, have a care of thyself.

I cannot speak, I think my heart is about to burst–well,

sweet Jack, take care of yourself.

FALSTAFF.

Farewell, farewell.

Farewell, farewell.

[Exeunt Falstaff and Bardolph.]

HOSTESS.

Well, fare thee well: I have known thee these twenty-nine years,

come peascod-time; but an honester and truer-hearted man,----

well, fare thee well.

Well, farewell: I have known you for the last twenty nine years,

come next harvest time; but a more honest and true hearted man–

well, farewell.

BARDOLPH.

[Within.] Mistress Tearsheet!

Mistress Tearsheet!

HOSTESS.

What's the matter?

What's the matter?

BARDOLPH.

[Within.] Bid Mistress Tearsheet come to my master.

Tell Mistress Tearsheet to come to my master.

HOSTESS.

O, run, Doll, run; run, good Doll:  come.  She comes blubbered. Yea, will you come, Doll?

Oh, run, Doll, run; run, good Doll: come.

She's covered in tears. Will you come, Doll?

[Exeunt.]

[Enter the King in his nightgown, with a Page.]

KING.

Go call the Earls of Surrey and of Warwick;

But, ere they come, bid them o'er-read these letters,

And well consider of them:  make good speed.

[Exit Page.]

How many thousands of my poorest subjects

Are at this hour asleep! O sleep, O gentle sleep,

Nature's soft nurse, how have I frighted thee,

That thou no more wilt weigh my eyelids down

And steep my senses in forgetfulness?

Why rather, sleep, liest thou in smoky cribs,

Upon uneasy pallets stretching thee

And hush'd with buzzing night-flies to thy slumber

Than in the perfumed chambers of the great,

Under the canopies of costly state,

And lull'd with sound of sweetest melody?

O thou dull god, why liest thou with the vile

In loathsome beds, and leavest the kingly couch

A watch-case or a common 'larum-bell?

Wilt thou upon the high and giddy mast

Seal up the ship-boy's eyes, and rock his brains

In cradle of the rude imperious surge

And in the visitation of the winds,

Who take the ruffian billows by the top,

Curling their monstrous heads and hanging them

With deafening clamour in the slippery clouds,

That, with the hurly, death itself awakes?

Canst thou, O partial sleep, give thy repose

To the wet sea-boy in an hour so rude;

And in the calmest and most stillest night,

With all appliances and means to boot,

Deny it to a king? Then happy low, lie down!

Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.

Go and summon the earls of Surrey and of Warwick;

but before they come, tell them to read over these letters

and to think about them. Be quick.

How many thousands of my poorest subjects

are sleep now! O sleep, gentle sleep,

the softness of nature, what have I done to you,

that you will no longer let my eyelids close,

and let my senses recover with forgetfulness?

Why, sleep, do you prefer smoky hovels,

stretching yourself out upon uncomfortable beds,

resting amongst the buzzing night flies,

to the scented chambers of great men,

and the most luxurious beds,

with the sound of the sweetest music?

Oh you dull god, why do you lie with the lowly

 in their horrible beds, leaving the King's bed

as restless as the inside of a watch, or an alarm bell?

Will you allow a ship's boy to sleep when he is

up in the crow's nest, soothing him on the

rough ocean, when the winds come and blow

the waves into great mountains,

throwing them up at the sky, with a racket

that could awake death itself?

Can you, choosy sleep, give your rest

to a wet sailor boy at such a rough time,

and on the calmest and stillest night,

with all the best things to encourage you,

deny it to a King? Then enjoy your rest, happy lowly ones!

The head that wears the crown gets no rest.

[Enter Warwick and Surrey.]

WARWICK.

Many good morrows to your majesty!

Many good mornings to your Majesty!

KING.

Is it good morrow, lords?

Is it morning, Lords?

WARWICK.

'Tis one o'clock, and past.

It's past one o'clock.

KING.

Why then, good morrow to you all, my lords.

Have you read o'er the letters that I sent you?

Why then, good morning to you, my lords.

Have you read over the letters that I sent you?

WARWICK.

We have, my liege.

We have, my lord.

KING.

Then you perceive the body of our kingdom

How foul it is; what rank diseases grow,

And with what danger, near the heart of it.

Then you can see how rotten our kingdom

has become; what terrible threats there are

growing near the heart of it.

WARWICK.

It is but as a body yet distemper'd;

Which to his former strength may be restored

With good advice and little medicine:

My Lord Northumberland will soon be cool'd.

It's just like a body with a slight illness;

it can be restored to its former strength

with good advice and a little medicine:

my Lord Northumberland will soon be beaten.

KING.

O God! that one might read the book of fate,

And see the revolution of the times

Make mountains level, and the continent,

Weary of solid firmness, melt itself

Into the sea! and, other times, to see

The beachy girdle of the ocean

Too wide for Neptune's hips; how chances mock,

And changes fill the cup of alteration

With divers liquors! O, if this were seen,

The happiest youth, viewing his progress through,

What perils past, what crosses to ensue,

Would shut the book, and sit him down and die.

'Tis not ten years gone

Since Richard and Northumberland, great friends,

Did feast together, and in two years after

Were they at wars:  it is but eight years since

This Percy was the man nearest my soul,

Who like a brother toil'd in my affairs

And laid his love and life under my foot,

Yea, for my sake, even to the eyes of Richard

Gave him defiance. But which of you was by--

You, cousin Nevil, as I may remember--

[To Warwick.]

When Richard, with his eye brimful of tears,

Then check'd and rated by Northumberland,

Did speak these words, now proved a prophecy?

"Northumberland, thou ladder by the which

My cousin Bolingbroke ascends my throne;"

Though then, God knows, I had no such intent,

But that necessity so bow'd the state

That I and greatness were compell'd to kiss:

"The time shall come," thus did he follow it,

"The time will come, that foul sin, gathering head,

Shall break into corruption:" so went on,

Foretelling this same time's condition

And the division of our amity.

Oh God, if only one could read the future,

and see time moving on,

flattening mountains, and the dry land,

weary of being firm, melting

into the sea, and at other times see

the great circle of the ocean

spreading wider than we can now imagine; how luck

plays such a great role in all changes;

if this could be seen, the happiest young man,

looking at what life had in store,

the dangers he would face, the crosses he'd have to bear,

would close the book and sit down and die.

Not ten years have passed

since Richard and Northumberland, great friends,

were feasting together, and two years after that

they were fighting. It's only eight years ago

that Percy was my closest friend;

he worked for me like a brother,

and devoted his love and his life to me;

for my sake he defied Richard

to his face. But which of you was here–

you, cousin Nevil, as I recall–

when Richard, with his eyes overflowing with tears,

interrupted and criticised by Northumberland,

said these words, which now seem prophetic?

“Northumberland, you ladder on which

my cousin Bolingbroke climbs up to my throne"