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Henry VI, Part 2

Henry VI, Part 2 Translation Act 5, Scene 2

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Alarums to the battle. Enter WARWICK

WARWICK

Clifford of Cumberland, 'tis Warwick calls: And if thou dost not hide thee from the bear, Now, when the angry trumpet sounds alarum And dead men's cries do fill the empty air, Clifford, I say, come forth and fight with me: Proud northern lord, Clifford of Cumberland, Warwick is hoarse with calling thee to arms.

WARWICK

Clifford of Cumberland, Warwick calls you! And if you don't hide from the bear, now, when the angry trumpet calls to battle and the cries of dying men fill the empty air, then come forward and fight with me, Clifford! You proud northern lord, Clifford of Cumberland, I'm losing my voice by calling you to fight!

Enter YORK

WARWICK

How now, my noble lord? What, all afoot?

WARWICK

How is it going, my noble lord? Are they all fighting?

YORK

The deadly-handed Clifford slew my steed, But match to match I have encounter'd him And made a prey for carrion kites and crows Even of the bonny beast he loved so well.

YORK

The murderous Clifford killed my horse, but I have followed him and finally met him. And now I've killed his horse, that he loved so much. 

Enter CLIFFORD

WARWICK

Of one or both of us the time is come.

WARWICK

The time has come for one or both of us now.

YORK

Hold, Warwick, seek thee out some other chase,For I myself must hunt this deer to death.

YORK

Stop, Warwick, and find some other prey for yourself. This deer is mine to kill.

WARWICK

Then, nobly, York; 'tis for a crown thou fight'st.As I intend, Clifford, to thrive to-day,It grieves my soul to leave thee unassail'd.

WARWICK

Then I hope you fight nobly, York. You fight for a crown, after all. Since I am planning to win today, Clifford, it makes me sad to leave without attacking you.

Exit

CLIFFORD

What seest thou in me, York? Why dost thou pause?

CLIFFORD

What do you see in me, York? Why did you stop?

YORK

With thy brave bearing should I be in love,But that thou art so fast mine enemy.

YORK

I would admire your bravery, if you weren't my worst enemy.

CLIFFORD

Nor should thy prowess want praise and esteem,But that 'tis shown ignobly and in treason.

CLIFFORD

Your cunning should be worthy of respect and praise, except you use your cleverness for treasonous ends. 

YORK

So let it help me now against thy swordAs I in justice and true right express it.

YORK

Well, I hope my cunning helps me against your sword, since I use it for justice and what's right.

CLIFFORD

My soul and body on the action both!

CLIFFORD

I bet my body and soul on the outcome of this fight!

YORK

A dreadful lay! Address thee instantly.

YORK

A bad bet! Prepare yourself now!

They fight, and CLIFFORD falls

CLIFFORD

La fin couronne les oeuvres.

CLIFFORD

The end crowns the works.

Dies

YORK

Thus war hath given thee peace, for thou art still.Peace with his soul, heaven, if it be thy will!

YORK

And so war has given you peace, because now you're still. Peace be with his soul, heaven, if that's your will!

Exit

Enter YOUNG CLIFFORD

YOUNG CLIFFORD

Shame and confusion! All is on the rout; Fear frames disorder, and disorder wounds Where it should guard. O war, thou son of hell, Whom angry heavens do make their minister Throw in the frozen bosoms of our part Hot coals of vengeance! Let no soldier fly. He that is truly dedicate to war Hath no self-love, nor he that loves himself Hath not essentially but by circumstance The name of valour.

YOUNG CLIFFORD

Shame and confusion! Everything is out of control. Fear creates disorder, and disorder hurts the thing it should be protecting. Oh, war, you are a son of hell. The angry heavens throw you into cold hearts to ignite a fire of revenge! No soldier should retreat. Whoever is truly devoted to war doesn't think about protecting himself, and whoever tries to protect himself won't ever be brave except by accident.

Seeing his dead father

YOUNG CLIFFORD

O, let the vile world end, And the premised flames of the last day Knit earth and heaven together! Now let the general trumpet blow his blast, Particularities and petty sounds To cease! Wast thou ordain'd, dear father, To lose thy youth in peace, and to achieve The silver livery of advised age, And, in thy reverence and thy chair-days, thus To die in ruffian battle? Even at this sight My heart is turn'd to stone: and while 'tis mine, It shall be stony. York not our old men spares; No more will I their babes: tears virginal Shall be to me even as the dew to fire, And beauty that the tyrant oft reclaims Shall to my flaming wrath be oil and flax. Henceforth I will not have to do with pity: Meet I an infant of the house of York, Into as many gobbets will I cut it As wild Medea young Absyrtus did: In cruelty will I seek out my fame. Come, thou new ruin of old Clifford's house: As did AEneas old Anchises bear, So bear I thee upon my manly shoulders; But then AEneas bare a living load, Nothing so heavy as these woes of mine.

YOUNG CLIFFORD

Oh, I hope the horrible world ends, and the preordained flames of the judgement day unite earth and heaven together! I wish that the trumpet sounding the end of days to all men would sound now, to stop these small and petty sounds! Was it your destiny, dear father, to lose your youth in peace, and to grow old just so you can die in this rough battle? This sight alone has turned my heart into stone, and as long as it's mine, it will be stony. York doesn't spare our old men, so I won't spare their babies. These innocent tears will be for me like the dew to a fire, and beauty that often subdues cruelty will be oil and wax to my flaming anger. From now on, I won't have pity. If I meet an infant from the house of York, I'll cut it into as many chunks of raw flesh as wild Medea did to young Absyrtus. I'll try to become famous for cruelty. Come, you new ruin of the house of old Clifford. Like Aeneas carried old Anchises, I'll carry you on my manly shoulders. But then again, Aeneas carried a living body, so he didn't suffer as much as I do.

Exit, bearing off his father

Enter RICHARD and SOMERSET to fight. SOMERSET is killed

RICHARD

So, lie thou there; For underneath an alehouse' paltry sign, The Castle in Saint Alban's, Somerset Hath made the wizard famous in his death. Sword, hold thy temper; heart, be wrathful still: Priests pray for enemies, but princes kill.

RICHARD

So, you lie there. Because he died under a sign of a worthless pub called the Castle in Saint Alban's, Somerset has proven the wizard's prophecy. Sword, stop your violence; heart, continue to be angry. Priests pray for enemies, but princes kill.

Exit

Fight: excursions. Enter KING HENRY VI, QUEEN MARGARET, and others

QUEEN MARGARET

Away, my lord! You are slow; for shame, away!

QUEEN MARGARET

We must get away, my lord! Oh, you are slow; let's go!

KING HENRY VI

Can we outrun the heavens? Good Margaret, stay.

KING HENRY VI

Can we run faster than the heavens? Good Margaret, wait.

QUEEN MARGARET

What are you made of? You'll nor fight nor fly: Now is it manhood, wisdom and defence, To give the enemy way, and to secure us By what we can, which can no more but fly.

QUEEN MARGARET

What are you made of? You won't fight or run! Now it's brave, wise, and smart to let the enemy win and to save ourselves however we can. And we can do nothing else but run!

Alarum afar off

QUEEN MARGARET

If you be ta'en, we then should see the bottom Of all our fortunes: but if we haply scape, As well we may, if not through your neglect, We shall to London get, where you are loved And where this breach now in our fortunes made May readily be stopp'd.

QUEEN MARGARET

If you are captured, we would hit the rock bottom of our luck. But if we manage to escape—as we may still do, if you don't slow us down—we can get to London, where you are loved and where this hole in our luck can be easily repaired.

Re-enter YOUNG CLIFFORD

YOUNG CLIFFORD

But that my heart's on future mischief set, I would speak blasphemy ere bid you fly: But fly you must; uncurable discomfit Reigns in the hearts of all our present parts. Away, for your relief! And we will live To see their day and them our fortune give: Away, my lord, away!

YOUNG CLIFFORD

If I weren't afraid of hell, I would speak blasphemy before I told you to run. But you must go. Our surviving forces are undeniably defeated. Run away for your safety! We'll survive to see our victorious day and give them piece of our luck. Run, my lord, run!

Exeunt

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Nina romancikova
About the Translator: Nina Romancikova

Nina Romancikova is from Slovakia but her love of literature and theater has brought her to the UK and she has been living and studying there for the past six years. She graduated with a degree in English Literature and Language at University of Glasgow in 2016. Nina is now finishing her Masters in Shakespeare Studies at King's College London and is currently working as a Research Intern at Shakespeare's Globe.