Richard II Translation Act 5, Scene 5
Enter KING RICHARD
KING RICHARD II
I have been studying how I may compare This prison where I live unto the world: And for because the world is populous And here is not a creature but myself, I cannot do it; yet I'll hammer it out. My brain I'll prove the female to my soul, My soul the father; and these two beget A generation of still-breeding thoughts, And these same thoughts people this little world, In humours like the people of this world, For no thought is contented. The better sort, As thoughts of things divine, are intermix'd With scruples and do set the word itself Against the word: As thus, 'Come, little ones,' and then again, 'It is as hard to come as for a camel To thread the postern of a small needle's eye.' Thoughts tending to ambition, they do plot Unlikely wonders; how these vain weak nails May tear a passage through the flinty ribs Of this hard world, my ragged prison walls, And, for they cannot, die in their own pride. Thoughts tending to content flatter themselves That they are not the first of fortune's slaves, Nor shall not be the last; like silly beggars Who sitting in the stocks refuge their shame, That many have and others must sit there; And in this thought they find a kind of ease, Bearing their own misfortunes on the back Of such as have before endured the like. Thus play I in one person many people, And none contented: sometimes am I king; Then treasons make me wish myself a beggar, And so I am: then crushing penury Persuades me I was better when a king; Then am I king'd again: and by and by Think that I am unking'd by Bolingbroke, And straight am nothing: but whate'er I be, Nor I nor any man that but man is With nothing shall be pleased, till he be eased With being nothing. Music do I hear?
KING RICHARD II
I've been thinking how I might compare my prison to the world: but because the world is full of people and here there's no one but me, I can't do it. But I'll give it a try. My brain will be the mother and my soul will be the father, and together they'll produce a generation of children, my thoughts. Those thoughts will populate this little world—they'll have moods just like people in the real world, none of them satisfied. The better sort of thoughts, thoughts of heaven, have too many doubts and make me read the Bible against itself: for example, "Come, little one" versus "It is as hard to come as for a camel to thread the eye of a small needle." Ambitious thoughts dwell on ways to escape, like tearing a passage through my rough prison walls with my weak fingernails—and since, there's no hope of escape, die before they have the chance to go any further. Happier thoughts flatter themselves that they aren't the first people to be unlucky, and won't be the last: like beggars sitting in the stocks who tell themselves that many have and other will be in the same place, and in that thought find a kind of comfort, imagining others who have endured the same misfortunes. So I, in one person, play many people—none happy. Sometimes I'm a king; then treason makes me wish to be a beggar (and so I am); then crushing suffering persuades me that it was better when I was a king; then I'm king again, but soon remember that Bolingbroke has taken my throne, and I am nothing at all. But whatever I am, neither I nor anyone will pleased with anything, unless he's happy with being nothing. Is this music that I'm hearing?
Music
KING RICHARD II
Ha, ha! keep time: how sour sweet music is, When time is broke and no proportion kept! So is it in the music of men's lives. And here have I the daintiness of ear To cheque time broke in a disorder'd string; But for the concord of my state and time Had not an ear to hear my true time broke. I wasted time, and now doth time waste me; For now hath time made me his numbering clock: My thoughts are minutes; and with sighs they jar Their watches on unto mine eyes, the outward watch, Whereto my finger, like a dial's point, Is pointing still, in cleansing them from tears. Now sir, the sound that tells what hour it is Are clamorous groans, which strike upon my heart, Which is the bell: so sighs and tears and groans Show minutes, times, and hours: but my time Runs posting on in Bolingbroke's proud joy, While I stand fooling here, his Jack o' the clock. This music mads me; let it sound no more; For though it have helped madmen to their wits, In me it seems it will make wise men mad. Yet blessing on his heart that gives it me! For 'tis a sign of love; and love to Richard Is a strange brooch in this all-hating world.
KING RICHARD II
Ha, ha! Keep time: sweet music is sour when it doesn't stay on beat! This is true as well in the music of men's lives. But while here I have a good enough ear to notice when time is broken in a song, when I was king I couldn't hear my own time break. I wasted time, and now time wastes me. For now time itself could tell the time by me: my thoughts are minutes, my eyes are the face of the clock, and the finger that wipes the tears from them is the hand that tells us the time. My groans are like the chimes that ring on the hour; so my sighs and tears and groans show minutes, times, and hours, like a clock. But actually, Bolingbroke is in charge of my time; I'm just his Jack of the clock. The music will make me go mad; stop it now. For though it's helped madmen to be sane again, it seems it will make sane men mad. And yet I bless the person who plays the music, since that's a sign of love; and not many people in this hateful world love me.
Enter a Groom of the Stable
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Hail, royal prince!
GROOM
Hail, royal prince!
KING RICHARD II
Thanks, noble peer; The cheapest of us is ten groats too dear. What art thou? and how comest thou hither, Where no man never comes but that sad dog That brings me food to make misfortune live?
KING RICHARD II
Thanks, noble lord, but you've priced me ten groats above what I am—I'm not even a noble, let alone royal. Who are you? And how did you get in, since no one ever comes here but the sad jailer that brings me just enough food to keep me alive?
GROOM
I was a poor groom of thy stable, king, When thou wert king; who, travelling towards York, With much ado at length have gotten leave To look upon my sometimes royal master's face. O, how it yearn'd my heart when I beheld In London streets, that coronation-day, When Bolingbroke rode on roan Barbary, That horse that thou so often hast bestrid, That horse that I so carefully have dress'd!
GROOM
I was a poor groom of your stable, king—when you were king, that is—and on my way to York I got permission to stop here and see the man who used to be my royal master. Oh, it broke my heart on coronation day to see Bolingbroke ride through the streets of London on Barbary, the horse that you used to ride and that I would so carefully saddle for you!
KING RICHARD II
Rode he on Barbary? Tell me, gentle friend,How went he under him?
KING RICHARD II
So he rode on Barbary? Tell me, kind friend, how did the horse take to him?
GROOM
So proudly as if he disdain'd the ground.
GROOM
Very proudly, as if he had contempt for the ground beneath his feet.
KING RICHARD II
So proud that Bolingbroke was on his back! That jade hath eat bread from my royal hand; This hand hath made him proud with clapping him. Would he not stumble? would he not fall down, Since pride must have a fall, and break the neck Of that proud man that did usurp his back? Forgiveness, horse! why do I rail on thee, Since thou, created to be awed by man, Wast born to bear? I was not made a horse; And yet I bear a burthen like an ass, Spurr'd, gall'd and tired by jouncing Bolingbroke.
KING RICHARD II
So proud that Bolingbroke was on his back! That horse used to eat bread from my royal hand; he was proud when I touched him. Why didn't he stumble? Why didn't he fall down—since pride must have a fall—so that Bolingbroke would fall break his neck? But I forgive you, horse! Why am I angry at you, since you were born to carry men on your back? I was not born a horse, but I bear a burden like a donkey, spurred on and exhausted by Bolingbroke.
Enter Keeper, with a dish
KEEPER
Fellow, give place; here is no longer stay.
KEEPER
Man, go away; you can't stay here any longer.
KING RICHARD II
If thou love me, 'tis time thou wert away.
KING RICHARD II
[To GROOM] If you love me, it's time for you to go.
GROOM
What my tongue dares not, that my heart shall say.
GROOM
My heart will show what I can't tell you with words.
Exit
KEEPER
My lord, will't please you to fall to?
KEEPER
My lord, will you eat?
KING RICHARD II
Taste of it first, as thou art wont to do.
KING RICHARD II
Taste it first, as you always do.
KEEPER
My lord, I dare not: Sir Pierce of Exton, wholately came from the king, commands the contrary.
KEEPER
My lord, I don't dare; Sir Pierce of Exton, who came here on the king's orders, commands that I don't taste your food for poison.
KING RICHARD II
The devil take Henry of Lancaster and thee!Patience is stale, and I am weary of it.
KING RICHARD II
You and Henry of Lancaster should both go to the devil! I'm tired of being patient.
Beats the keeper
KEEPER
Help, help, help!
KEEPER
Help, help, help!
Enter EXTON and Servants, armed
KING RICHARD II
How now! what means death in this rude assault?Villain, thy own hand yields thy death's instrument.
KING RICHARD II
What's happening? Is death coming for me? Villain, I'll take the weapon that would kill me from your own hands.
Snatching an axe from a Servant and killing him
KING RICHARD II
Go thou, and fill another room in hell.
KING RICHARD II
Go and fill another room in hell.
He kills another. Then Exton strikes him down
KING RICHARD II
That hand shall burn in never-quenching fire That staggers thus my person. Exton, thy fierce hand Hath with the king's blood stain'd the king's own land. Mount, mount, my soul! thy seat is up on high; Whilst my gross flesh sinks downward, here to die.
KING RICHARD II
The hand that kills me will burn in hell forever. Exton, you've stained the land with its own king's blood. Go up to heaven, my soul! Your place is up there, while my body sinks downward to die.
Dies
EXTON
As full of valour as of royal blood: Both have I spill'd; O would the deed were good! For now the devil, that told me I did well, Says that this deed is chronicled in hell. This dead king to the living king I'll bear Take hence the rest, and give them burial here.
EXTON
He's as full of bravery as he is of royal blood—and I've killed both. Oh, I wish this were a good deed! For now the devil, that told me I was doing the right thing, tells me that this is a deed of hell. I'll take this dead king to the living king; [to servants] take away the rest of the bodies and bury them.
Exeunt
