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

The Complete Works of William Shakespeare In Plain and Simple English (Translated) by William Shakespeare Page A

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Authors: William Shakespeare
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    HUBERT.
    Uncleanly scruples! Fear not you. Look to't.
     
    Improper doubts! Don't worry. Get it done.
     
    Exeunt
     
    EXECUTIONERS
    Young lad, come forth; I have to say with you.
     
    Young lad, come out; I need to speak with you.
     
    Enter ARTHUR
     
    ARTHUR.
    Good morrow, Hubert.
     
    Good morning, Hubert.
     
    HUBERT.
    Good morrow, little Prince.
     
    Good morning, little Prince.
     
    ARTHUR.
    As little prince, having so great a tide
    To be more prince, as may be. You are sad.
     
    I am as small a prince as one who is going to be
    such a much greater prince can be. You are sad.
     
    HUBERT.
    Indeed I have been merrier.
     
    I have certainly been happier.
     
    ARTHUR.
    Mercy on me!
    Methinks no body should be sad but I;
    Yet, I remember, when I was in France,
    Young gentlemen would be as sad as night,
    Only for wantonness. By my christendom,
    So I were out of prison and kept sheep,
    I should be as merry as the day is long;
    And so I would be here but that I doubt
    My uncle practises more harm to me;
    He is afraid of me, and I of him.
    Is it my fault that I was Geffrey's son?
    No, indeed, ist not; and I would to heaven
    I were your son, so you would love me, Hubert.
     
    God forgive me!
    I imagine that nobody could be sad but me;
    but I remember, when I was in France,
    young gentlemen would be a sad as night
    just for show. I swear by my kingdom,
    that if I was out of prison and keeping sheep,
    I would be as happy as the day is long;
    I would be the same here except for my fear
    that my uncle means to do me more harm;
    he is afraid of me, and I am afraid of him.
    Is it my fault that I was Geoffrey's son?
    No it certainly isn't; I wish to heaven
    that I were your son, Hubert, and that you would love me.
     
    HUBERT.
    [Aside]If I talk to him, with his innocent prate
    He will awake my mercy, which lies dead;
    Therefore I will be sudden and dispatch.
     
    If I talk with him his innocent chatter
    will inspire my mercy, which is dead now;
    so I will get the business over quickly.
     
    ARTHUR.
    Are you sick, Hubert? You look pale to-day;
    In sooth, I would you were a little sick,
    That I might sit all night and watch with you.
    I warrant I love you more than you do me.
     
    Are you ill, Hubert? You look pale today;
    I swear, I wish that you were a little ill,
    so that I could sit up all night to keep you company.
    I believe I love you more than you do me.
     
    HUBERT.
    [Aside]His words do take possession of my bosom.-
    Read here, young Arthur.[Showing a
    paper]
    [Aside]How now, foolish rheum!
    Turning dispiteous torture out of door!
    I must be brief, lest resolution drop
    Out at mine eyes in tender womanish tears.-
    Can you not read it? Is it not fair writ?
     
    His words have taken hold of my heart–
    Read this, young Arthur.
     
    What's this, foolish tears!
    Driving dispassionate torture out of the door!
    I must be quick, unless my strength falls
    out of my eyes in tender effeminate tears–
    can't you read it? Isn't it clearly written?
     
    ARTHUR.
    Too fairly, Hubert, for so foul effect.
    Must you with hot irons burn out both mine eyes?
     
    To clear, Hubert, for such a dark purpose.
    Must you burn both my eyes out with hot irons?
     
    HUBERT.
    Young boy, I must.
     
    Young boy, I must.
     
    ARTHUR.
    And will you?
     
    And will you?
     
    HUBERT.
    And I will.
     
    And I will.
     
    ARTHUR.
    Have you the heart? When your head did but ache,
    I knit my handkerchief about your brows-
    The best I had, a princess wrought it me-
    And I did never ask it you again;
    And with my hand at midnight held your head;
    And, like the watchful minutes to the hour,
    Still and anon cheer'd up the heavy time,
    Saying 'What lack you?' and 'Where lies your grief?'
    Or 'What good love may I perform for you?'
    Many a poor man's son would have lyen still,
    And ne'er have spoke a loving word to you;
    But you at your sick service had a prince.
    Nay, you may think my love was crafty love,
    And call

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