O, what portents are these? Some heavy business hath my lord in hand, And I must know it, else he loves me not. Thy spirit within thee hath been so at war, And thus hath so bestirred thee in thy sleep, That beads of sweat have stood upon thy brow Like bubbles in a late-disturbèd stream, And in thy face strange motions have appeared, Such as we see when men restrain their breath On some great sudden hest. O my good lord, why are you thus alone? For what offense have I this fortnight been A banished woman from my Harry’s bed? Tell me, sweet lord, what is ’t that takes from thee Thy stomach, pleasure, and thy golden sleep? Why dost thou bend thine eyes upon the earth And start so often when thou sit’st alone? Why hast thou lost the fresh blood in thy cheeks And given my treasures and my rights of thee To thick-eyed musing and curst melancholy? In thy faint slumbers I by thee have watched, And heard thee murmur tales of iron wars, Speak terms of manage to thy bounding steed, Cry “Courage! To the field!” And thou hast talk’d Of sallies and retires, of trenches, tents, Of palisadoes, frontiers, parapets, Of basilisks, of cannon, culverin, Of prisoners' ransom and of soldiers slain, And all the currents of a heady fight. To hell with him-let him tell the King! We're ready. Oh, if only I could split myself in half and tell my other half how angry I am that I trusted such an unworthy person with such important news. Don't we have the support of my father, my uncle, and myself?! Lord Edmund Mortimer, the Archbishop of York, and Owen Glendower?! And don't we also have Douglas ? Don't I have letters from all of them agreeing to meet me with their armies by the ninth of next month, and some of them have even set off already? What an unbelievable idiot he is-a non-believer! Ha, just wait for him to run to the King and tell him all about our plan, he'll be so filled with fear.
Heavens, if I was close to this rascal right now, I would smack him with his wife's fan. What a cold-hearted idiot he is! Why, the Archbishop of York supports my plan and how the mission is developing. It's even an excellent plan, with very good allies.
#HENRY IV PART 1 IN MODERN ENGLISH FULL#
It's a good plot, with good allies, and it's full of promise.
What an idiot he is! By God, our plan is as good as any plan that's ever been made our allies are honest and reliable. "Your mission is dangerous, your allies are unreliable, the time unsuitable, and your whole conspiracy is too light to counterbalance an opponent like the King." Is that so? Is it? I will say it again, you are a silly, weak coward, and these are just lies. I can tell you, my silly lord, that even though stinging nettles are dangerous, we will be able to safely find the flower within them. "Your mission is dangerous." Well, that's true, but it's also dangerous to catch a cold, to sleep, to drink. "As for me, my lord, I would be happy to be there, because of the love I have for your family." If he is happy to be here, then why isn't he? Because of the love I have for your family-it's clear he loves his own house more than he loves mine. O, I could divide myself and go to buffets, for moving such a dish of skim milk with so honorable an action! Hang him, let him tell the King. Is there not my father, my uncle, and myself? Lord Edmund Mortimer, my Lord of York, and Owen Glendower? Is there not besides the Douglas? Have I not all their letters to meet me in arms by the ninth of the next month, and are they not some of them set forward already? What a pagan rascal is this-an infidel! Ha, you shall see now in very sincerity of fear and cold heart, will he to the King and lay open all our proceedings. Zounds, an I were now by this rascal, I could brain him with his lady’s fan. What a frosty-spirited rogue is this! Why, my Lord of York commends the plot and the general course of the action.
What a lack-brain is this! By the Lord, our plot is a good plot as ever was laid, our friends true and constant-a good plot, good friends, and full of expectation an excellent plot, very good friends. Say you so, say you so? I say unto you again, you are a shallow, cowardly hind, and you lie. The purpose you undertake is dangerous, the friends you have named uncertain, the time itself unsorted, and your whole plot too light for the counterpoise of so great an opposition. 'Tis dangerous to take a cold, to sleep, to drink but I tell you, my lord fool, out of this nettle, danger, we pluck this flower, safety.
He could be contented why is he not, then? In respect of the love he bears our house-he shows in this he loves his own barn better than he loves our house. But, for mine own part, my lord, I could be well contented to be there, in respect of the love I bear your house.
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