Henry V Act 5, Scene 2 Translation
Actually understand Henry V Act 5, Scene 2. Read every line of Shakespeare’s original text alongside a modern English translation.
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KING HENRY

To my brother the king of France and my sister his wife, I wish good-day and good health.

[To KATHERINE] Joy and good wishes to my most beautiful and royal cousin Katherine.

[To BURGUNDY] And, as a branch and member of this royal family, who has planned this great meeting, I greet you, Duke of Burgundy.

[To others] And French princes and noblemen, health to all of you. And may this meeting bring us peace, which is the reason we are meeting.

BURGUNDY

My duty to you both, on equal love, Great kings of France and England. That I have labored With all my wits, my pains, and strong endeavors, To bring your most imperial Majesties Unto this bar and royal interview, Your mightiness on both parts best can witness. Since, then, my office hath so far prevailed That face to face and royal eye to eye You have congreeted. Let it not disgrace me If I demand before this royal view What rub or what impediment there is Why that the naked, poor, and mangled peace, Dear nurse of arts, plenties, and joyful births, Should not in this best garden of the world, Our fertile France, put up her lovely visage? Alas, she hath from France too long been chased, And all her husbandry doth lie on heaps, Corrupting in its own fertility. Her vine, the merry cheerer of the heart, Unprunèd, dies. Her hedges, even-pleached, Like prisoners wildly overgrown with hair, Put forth disordered twigs. Her fallow leas The darnel, hemlock, and rank fumitory Doth root upon, while that the coulter rusts That should deracinate such savagery. The even mead, that erst brought sweetly forth The freckled cowslip, burnet, and green clover, Wanting the scythe, withal uncorrected, rank, Conceives by idleness, and nothing teems But hateful docks, rough thistles, kecksies, burrs, Losing both beauty and utility. And as our vineyards, fallows, meads, and hedges, Defective in their natures, grow to wildness, Even so our houses and ourselves and children Have lost, or do not learn for want of time, The sciences that should become our country, But grow like savages, as soldiers will That nothing do but meditate on blood, To swearing and stern looks, diffused attire, And everything that seems unnatural. Which to reduce into our former favor You are assembled, and my speech entreats That I may know the let why gentle peace Should not expel these inconveniences And bless us with her former qualities.

BURGUNDY

My obedience to you both, whom I love equally, great kings of France and England. Both sides can bear witness that I have worked with all my wit and strength and made every effort to bring your royal Majesties to this royal meeting. I have done part of my job in bringing you face to face and royal eye to eye. Allow me to ask in front of all you royals what impediment there is to naked, poor, and mangled peace, which allows the arts, plenty, and joyful births to flourish, showing her beautiful face in this most beautiful garden of the world, our fertile France? Sadly, she has been chased from France for too long, and all her crops lie in heaps, rotting. Her vine, which makes the heart happy, dies uncared-for. Her evenly cut hedges, like prisoners with wildly-growing hair, sprout disorderly twigs. Grass, hemlock, and other weeds grow on her fields, while ploughs rust which should get rid of these wild things. The flat meadow, on which formerly grew sweet plants like the freckled cowslip, burnet, and green clover, needing to be mowed, completely uncorrected and neglected, grows useless things, and produces nothing but hateful docks, rough thistles, hollow plants, burrs - losing both beauty and usefulness. And just as our vineyards, fields, meadows, and hedges, grow wild because of defects in their natures, so our houses and our children and we ourselves have lost, or do not learn because there is no time, the knowledge that we should to help our country, but instead grow like savages. Just as soldiers who do nothing but think about blood start to swear and look stern, dress messily, and do everything that seems unnatural. You are assembled to bring us back to the way we were, and I ask you to tell me what stands in the way of gentle peace getting rid of these inconveniences and blessing us the way she used to.

KING HENRY

The princess is a better Englishwoman than I am an Englishman.

[To KATHERINE] Truly, Kate, my courtship of you is as bad your understanding of it. I am glad you can speak no better English because, if you could, you would find me such a plain king that you would think I had sold my farm to buy my crown. I don't know how to mince words about love, but just to say simply, "I love you." Then if you urge me more by saying, "Do you, really?" I've run out of things to say. Give me your answer, please, do: and we'll shake hands and it's a bargain. What do you say, my lady?

KING HENRY

Marry, if you would put me to verses or to dance for your sake, Kate, why you undid me. For the one, I have neither words nor measure; and for the other, I have no strength in measure, yet a reasonable measure in strength. If I could win a lady at leapfrog or by vaulting into my saddle with my armor on my back, under the correction of bragging be it spoken, I should quickly leap into a wife. Or if I might buffet for my love or bound my horse for her favors, I could lay on like a butcher and sit like a jackanapes, never off. But, before God, Kate, I cannot look greenly nor gasp outmy eloquence, nor I have no cunning in protestation, only downright oaths, which I never use till urged, nor never break for urging. If thou canst love a fellow of this temper, Kate, whose face is not worth sun-burning, that never looks in his glass for love of any thing he sees there, let thine eye be thy cook. I speak to thee plain soldier: If thou canst love me for this, take me: if not, to say to thee that I shall die, is true: but for thy love, by the Lord, no; yet I love thee too. And while thou livest, dear Kate, take a fellow of plain anduncoined constancy; because he perforce must do thee right, because he hath not the gift to woo in other places: for these fellows of infinite tongue, that can rhyme themselves into ladies' favours, they do always reason themselves out again. What! a speaker is but a prater; a rhyme is but a ballad. A good leg will fall; astraight back will stoop; a black beard will turn white; a curled pate will grow bald; a fair face will wither; a full eye will wax hollow: but a good heart, Kate, is the sun and the moon; or rather, the sun, and not the moon; for it shines bright and never changes, but keeps its course truly. If thou would have such a one, take me; and take me, take a soldier; take a soldier, take a king. And what sayest thou then to my love? speak, my fair, and fairly, I pray thee.

KING HENRY

Well, if you want me to write poetry or dance for you, Kate, you'll destroy me. For the first, I don't have words or a sense of rhythm. And for the other, I don't have a strong sense of balance, although I have a pretty good balance of strength. If I could win a woman at leapfrog or by jumping into my saddle while wearing my armor, if I do say so myself, I would quickly leap my way into marriage. Or if I could fight for my love or make my horse jump for her to love me, I could fight like a butcher and cling to my horse like a monkey, never stopping. But, by God, Kate, I can't look weak or gasp out fancy words, and I don't have clever things to say, just plain oaths, which I never make until there's a reason, or break for any reason. If you can love a fellow like that, Kate, whose face is so ugly it's not even worth protecting from sunburn, who never looks in his mirror because he loves what he sees there, let your eyes be your cook. I'm speaking plain soldier to you: if you can love me for this, take me. If not, to say I'll die is true—but for your love, by God, no. But I love you. And while you're alive, dear Kate, marry a plain and honestly faithful man. He must treat you well, because he doesn't have the skill to flirt with anyone else. These fellows of infinite words, who can rhyme their way into ladies' affections—they always talk themselves back out again. What! A speaker is just a babbler; a rhyme is just a jingle. A nice leg will lose its shape; a straight back will stoop; a black beard will turn white; curly hair will fair out; a beautiful face will shrivel up; a beautiful eye will turn hollow; but a good heart, Kate, is the sun and moon. Or rather, the sun and not the moon; because it shines bright and never changes, but keeps its course. If you will take someone like that, take me. If you take me, you take a soldier. If you take a soldier, you take a king. What do you say to my love? Speak, agreeable one, and agree, please.

KING HENRY

Can any of your neighbors tell, Kate? I’ll ask them. Come, I know thou lovest me; and at night, when you come into your closet, you’ll question this gentlewoman aboutme, and, I know, Kate, you will to her dispraise those parts in me that you love with your heart. But, good Kate, mock me mercifully, the rather, gentle princess, because I love thee cruelly. If ever thou beest mine, Kate, as I have a saving faith within me tells me thou shalt, I get thee with scambling, and thou must therefore needs prove a good soldier-breeder. Shall not thou and I, between Saint Denis and Saint George, compound a boy, half French, half English, that shall goto Constantinople and take the Turk by the beard? Shallwe not? What say’st thou, my fair flower de luce?

KING HENRY

Can any of your neighbors tell, Kate? I'll ask them. Come on, I know you love me; and at night, when you go to your room, you'll ask this gentlewoman about me, and I know that you'll complain about the things you secretly love about me. But, good Kate, be merciful in mocking me, because I'm terribly in love with you. If you're ever mine, Kate, which I have faith that you will, I will win you by fighting, and you must for that reason give birth to soldiers. Won't the two of us, between Saint Denis and Saint George, give birth to a boy, half French, half English, who will go to Constantinople and fight the Turks? Won't we? What do you say, my beautiful French princess?

KING HENRY

Now fie upon my false French. By mine honor, in true English, I love thee, Kate. By which honor I dare not swear thou lovest me, yet my blood begins to flatter me that thou dost, notwithstanding the poor and untemperingeffect of my visage. Now, beshrew my father’s ambition!He was thinking of civil wars when he got me; thereforewas I created with a stubborn outside, with an aspect of iron, that when I come to woo ladies, I fright them. But, in faith, Kate, the elder I wax, the better I shall appear. My comfort is that old age, that ill layer-up ofbeauty, can do no more spoil upon my face. Thou hast me, if thou hast me, at the worst, and thou shalt wear me, if thou wear me, better and better. And therefore tell me, most fair Katherine, will you have me? Put off your maiden blushes, avouch the thoughts of your heart with the looks of an empress, take me by the hand, and say “Harry of England, I am thine,” which word thou shalt no sooner bless mine ear withal, but I will tell thee aloud “England is thine, Ireland is thine, France is thine, and Harry Plantagenet is thine,” who, though Ispeak it before his face, if he be not fellow with the best king, thou shalt find the best king of good fellows. Come, your answer in broken music, for thy voice is music and thy English broken. Therefore, queen of all, Katherine, break thy mind to me in broken English. Wilt thou have me?

KING HENRY

Darn my bad French. By my honor, in honest English, I love you, Kate. I don't dare swear you love me by that honor, but I begin to flatter myself you do, despite the bad effect my face has. Now, damn my father's ambition! He was thinking about civil war when he conceived me, so I was created with an ugly appearance, with a face of iron, so when I flirt with ladies, I frighten them. But, really, Kate, the older I get, the better I will look. My comfort is that old age, which treats beauty so badly, can't do any more damage to my face. You take me, if you take me, at my worst, and if you put me on you'll wear me better and better. So tell me, most beautiful Katherine, will you have me? Stop blushing, admit your desires with the pride of an empress, take me by the hand and say, "Harry of England, I am yours," and I will no sooner hear that but I will tell you, "England is yours, Ireland is yours, France is yours, and Harry Plantagenet is yours." And he, although I say it in front of him, although he can't keep company with the best kings, you will find he's the best company. Come, tell me your answer in broken music, because your voice is music and your English broken. So, queen of everything, Katherine, break it to me in broken English. Will you have me?