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Richard II

Richard II Translation Act 2, Scene 1

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Enter JOHN OF GAUNT sick, with the DUKE OF YORK, & c

JOHN OF GAUNT

Will the king come, that I may breathe my lastIn wholesome counsel to his unstaid youth?

JOHN OF GAUNT

Will the king come, so that I may spend my last breath giving wholesome advice to his reckless youth? 

DUKE OF YORK

Vex not yourself, nor strive not with your breath;For all in vain comes counsel to his ear.

DUKE OF YORK

Don't upset yourself, or waste your breath: it's no use giving him advice. 

JOHN OF GAUNT

O, but they say the tongues of dying men Enforce attention like deep harmony: Where words are scarce, they are seldom spent in vain, For they breathe truth that breathe their words in pain. He that no more must say is listen'd more Than they whom youth and ease have taught to glose; More are men's ends mark'd than their lives before: The setting sun, and music at the close, As the last taste of sweets, is sweetest last, Writ in remembrance more than things long past: Though Richard my life's counsel would not hear, My death's sad tale may yet undeaf his ear.

JOHN OF GAUNT

Oh, but they say people are more likely to listen to the last words of dying men: when words are few, they rarely miss their mark, for those who speak when they're close to death are always truthful. The person who will soon have nothing to say is listened to more than the young, who tend to ramble on and waste words; the death of a man is more notable than his life before. Like the setting sun or the final note of a piece of music, what comes last is sweetest and most memorable. So although Richard would rather not hear my advice, the sad story of my death may make him listen to me. 

DUKE OF YORK

No; it is stopp'd with other flattering sounds, As praises, of whose taste the wise are fond, Lascivious metres, to whose venom sound The open ear of youth doth always listen; Report of fashions in proud Italy, Whose manners still our tardy apish nation Limps after in base imitation. Where doth the world thrust forth a vanity— So it be new, there's no respect how vile— That is not quickly buzzed into his ears? Then all too late comes counsel to be heard, Where will doth mutiny with wit's regard. Direct not him whose way himself will choose: 'Tis breath thou lack'st, and that breath wilt thou lose.

DUKE OF YORK

No; his ears are filled with other sounds, like flattering praise from his hangers-on (which the young are always happy to hear) and reports of Italian fashions (which our country still shamefully attempts to imitate). When is there some new vanity in the world—for it's novelty that matters to him, not morality—that isn't quickly buzzed into his ears? Then advice comes all too late, since his desires are stronger than his willpower. Don't give advice to him, since he only does what he wants: you're already short of breath, so don't waste it on him.

JOHN OF GAUNT

Methinks I am a prophet new inspired And thus expiring do foretell of him: His rash fierce blaze of riot cannot last, For violent fires soon burn out themselves; Small showers last long, but sudden storms are short; He tires betimes that spurs too fast betimes; With eager feeding food doth choke the feeder: Light vanity, insatiate cormorant, Consuming means, soon preys upon itself. This royal throne of kings, this scepter'd isle, This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars, This other Eden, demi-paradise, This fortress built by Nature for herself Against infection and the hand of war, This happy breed of men, this little world, This precious stone set in the silver sea, Which serves it in the office of a wall, Or as a moat defensive to a house, Against the envy of less happier lands, This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England, This nurse, this teeming womb of royal kings, Fear'd by their breed and famous by their birth, Renowned for their deeds as far from home, For Christian service and true chivalry, As is the sepulchre in stubborn Jewry, Of the world's ransom, blessed Mary's Son, This land of such dear souls, this dear dear land, Dear for her reputation through the world, Is now leased out, I die pronouncing it, Like to a tenement or pelting farm: England, bound in with the triumphant sea Whose rocky shore beats back the envious siege Of watery Neptune, is now bound in with shame, With inky blots and rotten parchment bonds: That England, that was wont to conquer others, Hath made a shameful conquest of itself. Ah, would the scandal vanish with my life, How happy then were my ensuing death!

JOHN OF GAUNT

I think I am a prophet, newly inspired, and as I die I make this prediction. His bad behavior cannot last, for violent fires soon burn themselves out; small rain showers last long, but sudden storms are short; he who rides too fast will soon exhaust himself; he who eats too quickly will choke; vanity is like an insatiable vulture that feeds on itself. This royal throne of kings, this crowned island, this land of majesty, this seat of war, this other Eden—almost paradise—this fortress built by Nature as her home against disease and invaders, this happy race of men, this little world, this precious stone set in the silver sea (which acts as a wall or a moat that defends a castle against the jealousy of less happy nations), this blessed plot of land, this earth, this realm, this England, this nurse, this birthplace of royal kings who are feared and respected for their ancestry, as famous for their deeds of Christian service and true chivalry as is the tomb of Jesus! This land of such dear souls, this dear dear land, beloved for her reputation through the world—is now rented out, I die pronouncing it, like a tenement or a paltry little farm. England, surrounded by the triumphant sea, with a rocky shore that beats back the jealousy of the sea god Neptune, is now fenced in by its own shame, sealed with ink blots and rotten legal documents. The England that used to conquer others has made a shameful conquest of itself. Ah, if the scandal ended with my life, I could die happy!

Enter KING RICHARD II and QUEEN, DUKE OF AUMERLE, BUSHY, GREEN, BAGOT, LORD ROSS, and LORD WILLOUGHBY

DUKE OF YORK

The king is come: deal mildly with his youth; For young hot colts being raged do rage the more.

DUKE OF YORK

The king is here: be gentle to this youth, since young horses only get angrier when shouted at. 

QUEEN

How fares our noble uncle, Lancaster?

QUEEN

How are you, noble uncle Lancaster? 

KING RICHARD II

What comfort, man? how is't with aged Gaunt?

KING RICHARD II

Can you give us some comfort, York? How is old Gaunt?

JOHN OF GAUNT

O how that name befits my composition! Old Gaunt indeed, and gaunt in being old: Within me grief hath kept a tedious fast; And who abstains from meat that is not gaunt? For sleeping England long time have I watch'd; Watching breeds leanness, leanness is all gaunt: The pleasure that some fathers feed upon, Is my strict fast; I mean, my children's looks; And therein fasting, hast thou made me gaunt: Gaunt am I for the grave, gaunt as a grave, Whose hollow womb inherits nought but bones.

JOHN OF GAUNT

Oh, how that name fits me! Old Gaunt indeed, and gaunt in being old: grief has made me lose my appetite, and the man who doesn't eat loses weight. I've stayed up late to keep an eye on sleeping England, and lack of sleep makes you thin too. And I am fasting as well of the pleasure that some fathers feed on—by which I mean the sight of my children—and so by depriving me of that, you have  made me gaunt: I am gaunt for the grave, gaunt as a grave, whose hollow womb inherits nothing but bones.

KING RICHARD II

Can sick men play so nicely with their names?

KING RICHARD II

Can sick men make such amusing puns on their names?

JOHN OF GAUNT

No, misery makes sport to mock itself: Since thou dost seek to kill my name in me, I mock my name, great king, to flatter thee.

JOHN OF GAUNT

No, I joke because I'm mocking my own misery: since you have tried to kill my family name by banishing my son, I mock my name to flatter you. 

KING RICHARD II

Should dying men flatter with those that live?

KING RICHARD II

Should dying men flatter those that live?

JOHN OF GAUNT

No, no, men living flatter those that die.

JOHN OF GAUNT

No, no, living men flatter those that die.

KING RICHARD II

Thou, now a-dying, say'st thou flatterest me.

KING RICHARD II

But you, who are dying, say that you flatter me. 

JOHN OF GAUNT

O, no! thou diest, though I the sicker be.

JOHN OF GAUNT

Oh, no! You're dying, although I'm the sicker one. 

KING RICHARD II

I am in health, I breathe, and see thee ill.

KING RICHARD II

I'm healthy, I breathe, and  I see that you're sick. 

JOHN OF GAUNT

Now He that made me knows I see thee ill; Ill in myself to see, and in thee seeing ill. Thy death-bed is no lesser than thy land Wherein thou liest in reputation sick; And thou, too careless patient as thou art, Commit'st thy anointed body to the cure Of those physicians that first wounded thee: A thousand flatterers sit within thy crown, Whose compass is no bigger than thy head; And yet, incaged in so small a verge, The waste is no whit lesser than thy land. O, had thy grandsire with a prophet's eye Seen how his son's son should destroy his sons, From forth thy reach he would have laid thy shame, Deposing thee before thou wert possess'd, Which art possess'd now to depose thyself. Why, cousin, wert thou regent of the world, It were a shame to let this land by lease; But for thy world enjoying but this land, Is it not more than shame to shame it so? Landlord of England art thou now, not king: Thy state of law is bondslave to the law; And thou—

JOHN OF GAUNT

God knows I see you sick; my vision may not be so good anymore, but I see you are ill. Your deathbed is no less than your land, where you lie with a disease of bad reputation; and you, too careless patient that you are, put your body in the hands of the doctors who first hurt you. A thousand flatters sit within your crown, which is no larger than your head: and yet despite its small size, there is a sickness there that might encompass the whole country. Oh, had your grandfather been able to see the future, seeing how his grandson would destroy his own sons, he would have taken the crown out of your grasp, deposing you before you had it—and now, you are about to depose yourself. Why, cousin,  if you were king of the world it would be a shame to rent out this land; but since you're only king of this country, it's even more shameful to treat it as you do. You're just the landlord of England, not king: you rule as a slave to the law, not by your own right; and you—

KING RICHARD II

A lunatic lean-witted fool, Presuming on an ague's privilege, Darest with thy frozen admonition Make pale our cheek, chasing the royal blood With fury from his native residence. Now, by my seat's right royal majesty, Wert thou not brother to great Edward's son, This tongue that runs so roundly in thy head Should run thy head from thy unreverent shoulders.

KING RICHARD II

A crazy dim-witted fool, thinking that he can presume to criticize me just because he's ill—daring with his criticisms to make us turn pale, chasing the royal blood from our cheeks. Now, by the royal majesty of my throne, if you weren't my father's brother, I would have your head for this. 

JOHN OF GAUNT

O, spare me not, my brother Edward's son, For that I was his father Edward's son; That blood already, like the pelican, Hast thou tapp'd out and drunkenly caroused: My brother Gloucester, plain well-meaning soul, Whom fair befal in heaven 'mongst happy souls! May be a precedent and witness good That thou respect'st not spilling Edward's blood: Join with the present sickness that I have; And thy unkindness be like crooked age, To crop at once a too long wither'd flower. Live in thy shame, but die not shame with thee! These words hereafter thy tormentors be! Convey me to my bed, then to my grave: Love they to live that love and honour have.

JOHN OF GAUNT

Oh, don't spare me, my brother Edward's son, because I'm the son of his father Edward; you've already drained the family blood and drunkenly rolled around in it: I mean my brother Gloucester, a plain and well-meaning soul now in heaven, sacrificed like the pelican. That proves that you had no problem spilling your grandfather's blood before. Your unkindness to our family makes my sickness worse, cutting down the already-withered flower of my life. Live in your shame, but shame won't die with you: you will be remembered this way! Let these words torment you from now on! Take me to my bed, then to my grave: people only love to live when they have love and honor, and I have neither. 

Exit, borne off by his Attendants

KING RICHARD II

And let them die that age and sullens have;For both hast thou, and both become the grave.

KING RICHARD II

And let them die that are old and bad-tempered! For you are both, and both are appropriate for the grave. 

DUKE OF YORK

I do beseech your majesty, impute his words To wayward sickliness and age in him: He loves you, on my life, and holds you dear As Harry Duke of Hereford, were he here.

DUKE OF YORK

I beg your majesty, know that he only spoke this way because he is old and sick. He loves you—I swear it on my life—and holds you as dear as his own son, Harry Duke of Hereford, were he here.

KING RICHARD II

Right, you say true: as Hereford's love, so his;As theirs, so mine; and all be as it is.

KING RICHARD II

Right, you speak true.  He loves me just as much as Hereford does. And as they love me, I love them: that's how we got here.

Enter NORTHUMBERLAND

NORTHUMBERLAND

My liege, old Gaunt commends him to your majesty.

NORTHUMBERLAND

My liege, old Gaunt sends greetings to your majesty. 

KING RICHARD II

What says he?

KING RICHARD II

What does he say? 

NORTHUMBERLAND

Nay, nothing; all is said. His tongue is now a stringless instrument; Words, life and all, old Lancaster hath spent.

NORTHUMBERLAND

Nothing; he's said all he can. His tongue is now a stringless instrument; his words and his life are finished. 

DUKE OF YORK

Be York the next that must be bankrupt so!Though death be poor, it ends a mortal woe.

DUKE OF YORK

May I be next! Death is hard, but it ends the struggles of our lives. 

KING RICHARD II

The ripest fruit first falls, and so doth he; His time is spent, our pilgrimage must be. So much for that. Now for our Irish wars: We must supplant those rough rug-headed kerns, Which live like venom where no venom else But only they have privilege to live. And for these great affairs do ask some charge, Towards our assistance we do seize to us The plate, corn, revenues and moveables, Whereof our uncle Gaunt did stand possess'd.

KING RICHARD II

The ripest fruit falls first, and so does he; his time is over, so we must carry on his absence. So much for that. Now for our Irish wars: we must defeat these rough woolly-headed rebels, which spread like poison, and since we need money to fund these great affairs, we will take all of Gaunt's property, jewels, and income. 

DUKE OF YORK

How long shall I be patient? ah, how long Shall tender duty make me suffer wrong? Not Gloucester's death, nor Hereford's banishment Not Gaunt's rebukes, nor England's private wrongs, Nor the prevention of poor Bolingbroke About his marriage, nor my own disgrace, Have ever made me sour my patient cheek, Or bend one wrinkle on my sovereign's face. I am the last of noble Edward's sons, Of whom thy father, Prince of Wales, was first: In war was never lion raged more fierce, In peace was never gentle lamb more mild, Than was that young and princely gentleman. His face thou hast, for even so look'd he, Accomplish'd with the number of thy hours; But when he frown'd, it was against the French And not against his friends; his noble hand Did will what he did spend and spent not that Which his triumphant father's hand had won ; His hands were guilty of no kindred blood, But bloody with the enemies of his kin. O Richard! York is too far gone with grief, Or else he never would compare between.

DUKE OF YORK

How long shall I be patient? Ah, how long shall duty to my king make me allow wrongdoing? Not Gloucester's death, nor Hereford's banishment, not Gaunt's criticisms, nor England's private injuries, nor poor Bolingbroke being prevented from marrying, nor my own disgrace has ever made me give a sour look or provoke one wrinkle on my sovereign's face.

[to Richard]
 I am the last of noble Edward's sons, of whom your father, Prince of Wales, was first: that young and princely gentleman was more fierce than a lion and more gentle than a lamb in peace. You have his face, for he looked exactly like you at your age. But when he frowned, it was against the French and not against his friends; he spent within his means and not what his father had earned; his hands were not stained with the blood of his family, but bloody with the enemies of his family. Oh Richard! York is too far gone with grief, or else he never would compare the two of you.

KING RICHARD II

Why, uncle, what's the matter?

KING RICHARD II

Why, uncle, what's the matter?

DUKE OF YORK

O my liege, Pardon me, if you please; if not, I, pleased Not to be pardon'd, am content withal. Seek you to seize and gripe into your hands The royalties and rights of banish'd Hereford? Is not Gaunt dead, and doth not Hereford live? Was not Gaunt just, and is not Harry true? Did not the one deserve to have an heir? Is not his heir a well-deserving son? Take Hereford's rights away, and take from Time His charters and his customary rights; Let not to-morrow then ensue to-day; Be not thyself; for how art thou a king But by fair sequence and succession? Now, afore God—God forbid I say true!— If you do wrongfully seize Hereford's rights, Call in the letters patent that he hath By his attorneys-general to sue His livery, and deny his offer'd homage, You pluck a thousand dangers on your head, You lose a thousand well-disposed hearts And prick my tender patience, to those thoughts Which honour and allegiance cannot think.

DUKE OF YORK

Oh my liege, pardon me, if you please; if not, I will be content not to be pardoned. Will you seize and grip into your hands all the rightful inheritance of banished Hereford? Isn't Gaunt dead, and doesn't Hereford live? Was not Gaunt fair, and is not Harry loyal? Didn't Gaunt deserve to have an heir? Is not his heir a well-deserving son? Take Hereford's rights away, and you take away ancient customs and rights: tomorrow won't come after today, and you won't be yourself—for how are you a king except by fair inheritance and succession? Now, before God—God forbid my prediction comes true!—if you wrongfully seize Hereford's rights, taking away his legal right to the income and honors of the dukedom of Lancaster, you bring a thousand dangers on your head, you lose a thousand hearts that would have been well-disposed towards you, and you test my patience by bringing me to thoughts which honor and allegiance cannot allow me to think.

KING RICHARD II

Think what you will, we seize into our handsHis plate, his goods, his money and his lands.

KING RICHARD II

Think what you want. We'll take his jewelry, his goods, his money and his lands.

DUKE OF YORK

I'll not be by the while: my liege, farewell: What will ensue hereof, there's none can tell; But by bad courses may be understood That their events can never fall out good.

DUKE OF YORK

I'll not stand here while you do: my liege, goodbye. What will happen after this, no one knows, but bad courses of action never lead to good results. 

Exit

KING RICHARD II

Go, Bushy, to the Earl of Wiltshire straight: Bid him repair to us to Ely House To see this business. To-morrow next We will for Ireland; and 'tis time, I trow: And we create, in absence of ourself, Our uncle York lord governor of England; For he is just and always loved us well. Come on, our queen: to-morrow must we part; Be merry, for our time of stay is short.

KING RICHARD II

Go to the Earl of Wiltshire straight away, Bushy, and tell him to go to Ely House to see to this business. We'll go to Ireland the day after next: it's time to, I think. In our absence, we appoint our uncle York lord governor of England, for he is just and always loved us well. Come on, our queen: tomorrow must we part; be merry, for our time together is short. 

Flourish. Exeunt KING RICHARD II, QUEEN, DUKE OF AUMERLE, BUSHY, GREEN, and BAGOT

NORTHUMBERLAND

Well, lords, the Duke of Lancaster is dead.

NORTHUMBERLAND

Well, lords, the Duke of Lancaster is dead.

LORD ROSS

And living too; for now his son is duke.

LORD ROSS

And living too; for now his son is duke.

LORD WILLOUGHBY

Barely in title, not in revenue.

LORD WILLOUGHBY

But only in title, not in income. 

NORTHUMBERLAND

Richly in both, if justice had her right.

NORTHUMBERLAND

He would be rich in both, if justice had its way.

LORD ROSS

My heart is great; but it must break with silence,Ere't be disburden'd with a liberal tongue.

LORD ROSS

I have much in my heart, but  it must break with silence before I say what I think. 

NORTHUMBERLAND

Nay, speak thy mind; and let him ne'er speak moreThat speaks thy words again to do thee harm!

NORTHUMBERLAND

No, come out with it, and let him never speak again that betrays you by repeating what he hears!

LORD WILLOUGHBY

Tends that thou wouldst speak to the Duke of Hereford? If it be so, out with it boldly, man; Quick is mine ear to hear of good towards him.

LORD WILLOUGHBY

Would you speak on behalf of the Duke of Hereford? If it be so, come out with it boldly, man; I'm eager to hear those who speak good of him. 

LORD ROSS

No good at all that I can do for him; Unless you call it good to pity him, Bereft and gelded of his patrimony.

LORD ROSS

I can't do much good at all for him, unless you call it good to pity him for having lost his inheritance. 

NORTHUMBERLAND

Now, afore God, 'tis shame such wrongs are borne In him, a royal prince, and many more Of noble blood in this declining land. The king is not himself, but basely led By flatterers; and what they will inform, Merely in hate, 'gainst any of us all, That will the king severely prosecute 'Gainst us, our lives, our children, and our heirs.

NORTHUMBERLAND

Now, before God, it is a shame that he, a royal prince, is wronged in this way, as are so many more of noble blood in this declining land. The king is not himself, but directed by flatterers; and they will tell him lies about us to make him enemies to us, our lives, our children, and our heirs.

LORD ROSS

The commons hath he pill'd with grievous taxes, And quite lost their hearts: the nobles hath he fined For ancient quarrels, and quite lost their hearts.

LORD ROSS

He's taxed the common people so much that he has quite lost their love; he's fined the nobles too, for old quarrels, and quite lost their hearts.

LORD WILLOUGHBY

And daily new exactions are devised, As blanks, benevolences, and I wot not what: But what, o' God's name, doth become of this?

LORD WILLOUGHBY

Every day new taxes are invented, such as blanks, benevolences, and I know not what: but what, in God's name, will come of this? 

NORTHUMBERLAND

Wars have not wasted it, for warr'd he hath not, But basely yielded upon compromise That which his noble ancestors achieved with blows: More hath he spent in peace than they in wars.

NORTHUMBERLAND

He hasn't spent it on wars, for he hasn't fought any; instead, he makes compromises when his noble ancestors would have fought on the battlefield: he's spent more in peace than they spent in war. 

LORD ROSS

The Earl of Wiltshire hath the realm in farm.

LORD ROSS

The Earl of Wiltshire uses the realm like a farm. 

LORD WILLOUGHBY

The king's grown bankrupt, like a broken man.

LORD WILLOUGHBY

The king's grown bankrupt, like a broken man.

NORTHUMBERLAND

Reproach and dissolution hangeth over him.

NORTHUMBERLAND

Criticism and debauchery surround him. 

LORD ROSS

He hath not money for these Irish wars, His burthenous taxations notwithstanding, But by the robbing of the banish'd duke.

LORD ROSS

He has no money for these Irish wars, even with all those heavy taxes, except by the robbing of the banished duke. 

NORTHUMBERLAND

His noble kinsman: most degenerate king! But, lords, we hear this fearful tempest sing, Yet see no shelter to avoid the storm; We see the wind sit sore upon our sails, And yet we strike not, but securely perish.

NORTHUMBERLAND

Who is his noble cousin—most wicked king! But, lords, we hear this fearful tempest coming, but see no shelter in which to hide from the storm; we see the wind wreck our sails, and if we don't strike back, we'll surely die.

LORD ROSS

We see the very wreck that we must suffer; And unavoided is the danger now, For suffering so the causes of our wreck.

LORD ROSS

We see the shipwreck that will come to us; there's no avoiding the danger now, for we will suffer the same. 

NORTHUMBERLAND

Not so; even through the hollow eyes of death I spy life peering; but I dare not say How near the tidings of our comfort is.

NORTHUMBERLAND

Not so; even through the hollow eyes of death I can see life; but I dare not say how close we are to finding hope. 

LORD WILLOUGHBY

Nay, let us share thy thoughts, as thou dost ours.

LORD WILLOUGHBY

No, let us share your thoughts, as you do ours. 

LORD ROSS

Be confident to speak, Northumberland: We three are but thyself; and, speaking so, Thy words are but as thoughts; therefore, be bold.

LORD ROSS

Don't be afraid to speak, Northumberland: telling us would be like telling yourself; and, speaking so, your words are just like your own thoughts; come out with it, then.

NORTHUMBERLAND

Then thus: I have from Port le Blanc, a bay In Brittany, received intelligence That Harry Duke of Hereford, Rainold Lord Cobham, That late broke from the Duke of Exeter, His brother, Archbishop late of Canterbury, Sir Thomas Erpingham, Sir John Ramston, Sir John Norbery, Sir Robert Waterton and Francis Quoint, All these well furnish'd by the Duke of Bretagne With eight tall ships, three thousand men of war, Are making hither with all due expedience And shortly mean to touch our northern shore: Perhaps they had ere this, but that they stay The first departing of the king for Ireland. If then we shall shake off our slavish yoke, Imp out our drooping country's broken wing, Redeem from broking pawn the blemish'd crown, Wipe off the dust that hides our sceptre's gilt And make high majesty look like itself, Away with me in post to Ravenspurgh; But if you faint, as fearing to do so, Stay and be secret, and myself will go.

NORTHUMBERLAND

Then here it is: I have from Port le Blanc, a bay in Brittany, received news that Harry Duke of Hereford, Rainold Lord Cobham (that late ran away from the Duke of Exeter), his brother, Archbishop late of Canterbury, Sir Thomas Erpingham, Sir John Ramston, Sir John Norbery, Sir Robert Waterton and Francis Quoint have been given eight tall ships and three thousand men by the Duke of Bretagne, and will soon land on our northern shore. They would have come earlier, but are waiting for the king to leave for Ireland. If you would free us from slavery, mend our country's broken wing, save the crown from pawnbroking, wipe off the dust that hides our scepter's gold,  and make high majesty look like itself again, come away with me now to Ravenspurgh; but if you're afraid, stay and tell no one, and I'll go on my own. 

LORD ROSS

To horse, to horse! urge doubts to them that fear.

LORD ROSS

To horse, to horse! Encourage those who are afraid.  

LORD WILLOUGHBY

Hold out my horse, and I will first be there.

LORD WILLOUGHBY

If my horse holds out, I'll be the first there. 

Exeunt

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Eve houghton
About the Translator: Eve Houghton

Eve Houghton graduated from Yale College in 2017 and is currently pursuing the MPhil in Renaissance Literature at the University of Cambridge. In 2018, she will return to Yale to begin her PhD in English. Her research interests include early modern commonplace books and note-taking practices, paratexts, reception studies, and the history of reading.