The Complete Works of William Shakespeare In Plain and Simple English (Translated) (34 page)

to go and live in the darkness for ever.

KING RICHARD.

Return again, and take an oath with thee.

Lay on our royal sword your banish'd hands;

Swear by the duty that you owe to God,

Our part therein we banish with yourselves,

To keep the oath that we administer:

You never shall, so help you truth and God,

Embrace each other's love in banishment;

Nor never look upon each other's face;

Nor never write, regreet, nor reconcile

This louring tempest of your home-bred hate;

Nor never by advised purpose meet

To plot, contrive, or complot any ill,

'Gainst us, our state, our subjects, or our land.

Come back, and make an oath to go with you.

Put your exiled hands on my royal sword;

swear by the duty that you owe to God

(the duty you owe me disappears with your exile)

to keep the oath we place on you:

you must swear by God and truth that you will never

come together in your exile;

you must never see each other;

you must not write to each other; never greet each other again,

you must never join your hatreds together;

never arrange to meet

to construct any plots against

me, my office, my subjects or my country.

BOLINGBROKE.

I swear.

I swear.

MOWBRAY.

And I, to keep all this.

And so do I, I shall keep to this.

BOLINGBROKE.

Norfolk, so far as to mine enemy.

By this time, had the King permitted us,

One of our souls had wand'red in the air,

Banish'd this frail sepulchre of our flesh,

As now our flesh is banish'd from this land-

Confess thy treasons ere thou fly the realm;

Since thou hast far to go, bear not along

The clogging burden of a guilty soul.

Norfolk, I address you though you are still my enemy.

If the king had allowed it, by this time

one of our souls would be wandering in the air,

exiled from the weak tomb of our flesh,

in the same way as our flesh is exiled from this land–

confess your treason before you flee the country;

since you have a long journey, do not take with you

the heavy burden of a guilty soul.

MOWBRAY.

No, Bolingbroke; if ever I were traitor,

My name be blotted from the book of life,

And I from heaven banish'd as from hence!

But what thou art, God, thou, and I, do know;

And all too soon, I fear, the King shall rue.

Farewell, my liege. Now no way can I stray:

Save back to England, an the world's my way.

No, Bolingbroke; if I was ever traitor,

may my name be blotted out of the book of life,

and let me be exiled from heaven as I am exiled from here!

But God, you, and I all know what you are;

and I'm afraid the King will regret this all too soon.

Farewell, my lord. I can never go astray now,

unless I come back to England, I can walk wherever in the world I like.

Exit

KING RICHARD.

Uncle, even in the glasses of thine eyes

I see thy grieved heart. Thy sad aspect

Hath from the number of his banish'd years

Pluck'd four away. [To BOLINGBROKE] Six frozen winters spent,

Return with welcome home from banishment.

Uncle, I can see the grief in your heart in the

glistening of your eyes. Your sad face

takes four years off the term

of his exile.[To Bolingbroke] When six cold winters have passed,

you will be welcomed home from your banishment.

BOLINGBROKE.

How long a time lies in one little word!

Four lagging winters and four wanton springs

End in a word: such is the breath of Kings.

What a great period can be spanned with one word!

Four slow winters and four lusty springs

vanish with a word: this is the power of kings.

GAUNT.

I thank my liege that in regard of me

He shortens four years of my son's exile;

But little vantage shall I reap thereby,

For ere the six years that he hath to spend

Can change their moons and bring their times about,

My oil-dried lamp and time-bewasted light

Shall be extinct with age and endless night;

My inch of taper will be burnt and done,

And blindfold death not let me see my son.

I thank my lord that he has shortened my son's

exile by four years on my account;

but I shall gain little advantage from that,

for before the six years that he is

sentenced to are up,

my ancient light will have

been extinguished by time;

my candle will have burnt out,

andthe blindness of death will stop me from seeing my son.

KING RICHARD.

Why, uncle, thou hast many years to live.

Why, uncle, you have many years left to live.

GAUNT.

But not a minute, King, that thou canst give:

Shorten my days thou canst with sullen sorrow

And pluck nights from me, but not lend a morrow;

Thou can'st help time to furrow me with age,

But stop no wrinkle in his pilgrimage;

Thy word is current with him for my death,

But dead, thy kingdom cannot buy my breath.

But, King, you cannot give me an extra minute;

you can shorten my days with miserable sadness,

and take nights away from me, but you cannot add a day;

you can help time to line my face with wrinkles,

but you can't stop a single one of them growing;

your words can easily buy my death,

but your whole kingdom can't buy my life back once I'm dead.

KING RICHARD.

Thy son is banish'd upon good advice,

Whereto thy tongue a party-verdict gave.

Why at our justice seem'st thou then to lour?

Your son is exiled on wise advice,

to which you agreed.

Why does our sentence now seem so bad?

GAUNT.

Things sweet to taste prove in digestion sour.

You urg'd me as a judge; but I had rather

You would have bid me argue like a father.

O, had it been a stranger, not my child,

To smooth his fault I should have been more mild.

A partial slander sought I to avoid,

And in the sentence my own life destroy'd.

Alas, I look'd when some of you should say

I was too strict to make mine own away;

But you gave leave to my unwilling tongue

Against my will to do myself this wrong.

Things which taste sweet can often upset the digestion.

You asked me to rule as a judge; I would rather

that you asked me to argue as a father.

Oh, if it had been a stranger, not my child,

I would not have punished him so harshly.

I wanted to avoid accusations of bias,

and by doing so destroyed my own life.

Alas, I hoped that some of you would say

that I was being too strict in exiling my own son;

but you allowed my unwilling tongue

to commit this harm against myself.

KING RICHARD.

Cousin, farewell; and, uncle, bid him so.

Six years we banish him, and he shall go.

Cousin, farewell; and, uncle, say the same to him.

I have banished him for six years, and he shall go.

Flourish. Exit KING with train

AUMERLE.

Cousin, farewell; what presence must not know,

From where you do remain let paper show.

Cousin, farewell; what I can't hear from your own mouth,

let me know in your letters.

MARSHAL.

My lord, no leave take I, for I will ride

As far as land will let me by your side.

My lord, I won't say goodbye, for I will ride

with you to the frontiers of the kingdom.

GAUNT.

O, to what purpose dost thou hoard thy words,

That thou returnest no greeting to thy friends?

Why are you saving your words,

not answering your friends?

BOLINGBROKE.

I have too few to take my leave of you,

When the tongue's office should be prodigal

To breathe the abundant dolour of the heart.

I have too few words to say goodbye,

my tongue is not rich enough to show

the wealth of grief that is in my heart.

GAUNT.

Thy grief is but thy absence for a time.

Your sadness is only at your exile for a time.

BOLINGBROKE.

Joy absent, grief is present for that time.

For all that time joy will be absent, grief present.

GAUNT.

What is six winters? They are quickly gone.

What are six winters? They will pass quickly.

BOLINGBROKE.

To men in joy; but grief makes one hour ten.

For happy men; sorrow makes every hour seem like ten.

GAUNT.

Call it a travel that thou tak'st for pleasure.

Think of it as a holiday you are taking for pleasure.

BOLINGBROKE.

My heart will sigh when I miscall it so,

Which finds it an enforced pilgrimage.

If I misdescribed it like that my heart would sigh,

it thinks of this as an enforced pilgrimage.

GAUNT.

The sullen passage of thy weary steps

Esteem as foil wherein thou art to set

The precious jewel of thy home return.

Think of your weary dull journey as

a setting in which you will place

the precious jewel of your return home.

BOLINGBROKE.

Nay, rather, every tedious stride I make

Will but remember me what a deal of world

I wander from the jewels that I love.

Must I not serve a long apprenticehood

To foreign passages; and in the end,

Having my freedom, boast of nothing else

But that I was a journeyman to grief?

No, it's more like every tedious step I take

will remind me how far I am travelling

away from the jewels that I love.

I am condemned to spending years

wandering abroad; and in the end,

when I regain my freedom, all I shall have

when I come home is sorrow.

GAUNT.

All places that the eye of heaven visits

Are to a wise man ports and happy havens.

Teach thy necessity to reason thus:

There is no virtue like necessity.

Think not the King did banish thee,

But thou the King. Woe doth the heavier sit

Where it perceives it is but faintly borne.