Your lordship is the most patient man in loss, the most coldest that
ever turn’d up ace.
You're the calmest man when you lose, the least affected by bad luck.
You never let it get to you when you lose. That's impressive.
you stay chill when you lose
It would make any man cold to lose.
Losing would make any man emotionally drained or indifferent.
Losing drains anyone, honestly.
losing drains anyone
But not every man patient after the noble temper of your lordship. You
are most hot and furious when you win.
But not every man has the noble patience you do. You're intensely passionate and aggressive when you're winning.
But honestly, most guys can't handle it like you do. When you win though, you get really fired up and mean about it.
most guys can't chill like you when you win you're a totally different person
Winning will put any man into courage. If I could get this foolish
Imogen, I should have gold enough. It’s almost morning, is’t not?
Success gives any man confidence and power. If I could win over this foolish Imogen, I'd have enough wealth and status. Isn't it almost dawn now?
Winning gets you confident. If I could just land this stupid Imogen, I'd be set with money. Is it almost morning?
winning makes you bold if i get imogen i'm basically rich is it morning yet
Day, my lord.
Yes, it's daytime now, my lord.
Yeah, it's daytime.
yeah it's morning
I would this music would come. I am advised to give her music a
mornings; they say it will penetrate.
I wish the musicians would get here. I've been told to serenade her in the mornings; people say it will move her emotionally.
I really hope the musicians show up. I was told to play music for her in the mornings—apparently it works on women.
where are the musicians music in the morning is supposed to work on her
Come on, tune. If you can penetrate her with your fingering, so. We’ll
try with tongue too. If none will do, let her remain; but I’ll never
give o’er. First, a very excellent good-conceited thing; after, a
wonderful sweet air, with admirable rich words to it, and then let her
consider.
Come on, musicians, play. If your skill with the strings can move her heart, wonderful. We'll try singing too. If nothing works, so be it; but I'll never give up. First, play something very clever and witty; then play something wonderfully beautiful and sweet with admirable words, and then she'll think about me.
Alright, start playing. If your music can win her over, great. We'll sing too if we need to. If it doesn't work, fine—but I'm not giving up. First, something clever and smart; then something gorgeous and romantic with beautiful words, and maybe she'll finally think about me.
come on play if music moves her great if not whatever im not giving up something clever first then beautiful make her think about me
Hark, hark! the lark at heaven’s gate sings,
And Phœbus ’gins arise,
His steeds to water at those springs
On chalic’d flow’rs that lies;
And winking Mary-buds begin
To ope their golden eyes.
With everything that pretty is,
My lady sweet, arise;
Arise, arise!
Listen, listen! The lark sings at heaven's gate, And Phoebus begins to rise, His horses come to drink at those springs On chalice-shaped flowers that rest there; And winking daisy buds begin To open their golden eyes. With everything that is beautiful, My sweet lady, arise; Arise, arise!
Hey, listen! The lark's singing at heaven's gate, And the sun god is rising, His horses running to drink from those springs Where the chalice-shaped flowers bloom; And the little daisies that were closed up Open their golden eyes. With all this beauty happening, My sweet lady, you gotta get up; Come on, get up!
listen the lark singing sun god rising horses at springs daisies opening eyes everything beautiful sweet girl wake up come on get up
So, get you gone. If this penetrate, I will consider your music the
better; if it do not, it is a vice in her ears which horsehairs and
calves’ guts, nor the voice of unpaved eunuch to boot, can never amend.
Go on, then. If this works on her, I'll think more highly of your music; if it doesn't, she has a defect in her hearing that neither quality instruments nor the best singers could ever fix.
Get out of here. If this actually works on her, maybe you're not so bad. If it doesn't, it means she's just broken—no instrument or singer could reach her.
go if it works i might respect your music if not she's just broken nobody can fix her
Here comes the King.
The King is approaching.
The King is here.
king's coming
I am glad I was up so late, for that’s the reason I was up so early. He
cannot choose but take this service I have done fatherly.—Good morrow
to your Majesty and to my gracious mother.
I'm glad I stayed up late, because that's why I woke up early. He has to appreciate this service I've done like a father would. Good morning to your Majesty and to my gracious mother.
I'm actually glad I stayed up late, because that's the only reason I'm up so early now. He's gotta see how much effort I put in—he'll be like a proud father. Good morning, your Majesty. And to you, Mother.
actually glad i stayed up late that's why i'm up early he'll def be impressed like a dad would be good morning
Attend you here the door of our stern daughter?
Will she not forth?
Are you standing at the door of my strict daughter's chamber? Will she not come out?
Are you waiting outside my daughter's door? Is she going to come out or not?
you waiting outside her room she coming out
I have assail’d her with musics, but she vouchsafes no notice.
I've tried to win her over with music, but she doesn't deign to pay any attention.
I played music for her, but she totally ignored me.
i played her music she just ignored me
The exile of her minion is too new;
She hath not yet forgot him; some more time
Must wear the print of his remembrance on’t,
And then she’s yours.
The banishment of the person she loves is too recent; she hasn't forgotten him yet. Some more time needs to pass, carrying the mark of her memory of him, and then you'll win her.
Her boyfriend just got kicked out. She hasn't gotten over him yet. Give it more time—she needs to forget about him first, then she's yours.
her guy just got exiled she's still not over it give it time then she's yours
You are most bound to th’ King,
Who lets go by no vantages that may
Prefer you to his daughter. Frame yourself
To orderly solicits, and be friended
With aptness of the season; make denials
Increase your services; so seem as if
You were inspir’d to do those duties which
You tender to her; that you in all obey her,
Save when command to your dismission tends,
And therein you are senseless.
You owe everything to the King, who misses no opportunity to advance you toward winning his daughter. Shape your behavior with calm, measured requests, and align yourself with the right moments; when she refuses you, respond with more service; make it seem like you're divinely inspired to perform these duties for her. Obey her in everything except when she orders you away, and about that you must have no sense or feeling.
You owe the King everything—he's going out of his way to set you up with his daughter. Be respectful and calm in how you approach this. Read the moment. When she says no, just try harder. Act like it's your calling to serve her. Do whatever she wants, except don't actually leave when she tells you to.
you owe the king everything he's helping you get with his daughter be respectful when she says no push harder do what she wants but don't actually leave
Senseless? Not so.
Senseless? I disagree.
Senseless? No, I'll stick around.
i'm not leaving
So like you, sir, ambassadors from Rome;
The one is Caius Lucius.
As it pleases you to know, there are ambassadors from Rome here; one of them is Caius Lucius.
Sirs, ambassadors from Rome are here. One of them is Caius Lucius.
ambassadors from rome are here one's caius lucius
The waking song 'Hark, hark! The lark at heaven's gate sings' is one of Shakespeare's finest lyrics. It's been set to music by Schubert and dozens of others. Its imagery — the lark, Phoebus and his horses, the chalice-flowers, the marigolds opening — is genuinely beautiful. Shakespeare wrote it for a scene in which Cloten is trying to pressure a married woman into leaving her husband. The song's beauty is the trap: it's meant to soften Imogen by associating Cloten's pursuit with the loveliness of dawn. It doesn't work. She doesn't come out. The song is so good and the context so bad that the dissonance is itself significant — it's one of the play's most sustained demonstrations that beauty and goodness are not the same thing.
A worthy fellow,
Albeit he comes on angry purpose now;
But that’s no fault of his. We must receive him
According to the honour of his sender;
And towards himself, his goodness forespent on us,
We must extend our notice. Our dear son,
When you have given good morning to your mistress,
Attend the Queen and us; we shall have need
T’ employ you towards this Roman. Come, our queen.
He's a worthy man, even though he arrives with an angry mission now; but that's not his personal fault. We must receive him with the honor that his authority deserves, and toward him personally, remembering his past kindness to us, we must show our regard. Our dear son, when you've paid your respects to your mistress, come attend the Queen and me; we'll need to use you in dealings with this Roman. Come, our queen.
He's a good man, even though he's coming here with a rough message. It's not his fault, though. We need to treat him with proper respect because of his position, and show him we remember how he's treated us in the past. Son, after you're done with Imogen, come find me and the Queen—we need your help dealing with this Roman visitor. Come on, my queen.
he's a good guy even if he's angry we gotta treat him with respect son go visit imogen then meet us we need you for the roman ambassador let's go
If she be up, I’ll speak with her; if not,
Let her lie still and dream. By your leave, ho!
If she's awake, I'll speak with her; if not, let her stay in bed and sleep peacefully. With your permission, I'll go!
If she's already awake, I'll talk to her. If not, I'll let her sleep. See you guys!
if she's up i'll talk to her if not let her sleep bro
I know her women are about her; what
If I do line one of their hands? ’Tis gold
Which buys admittance (oft it doth) yea, and makes
Diana’s rangers false themselves, yield up
Their deer to th’ stand o’ th’ stealer; and ’tis gold
Which makes the true man kill’d and saves the thief;
Nay, sometime hangs both thief and true man. What
Can it not do and undo? I will make
One of her women lawyer to me, for
I yet not understand the case myself.
By your leave.
I know her ladies-in-waiting are with her; what if I slip one of them some money? Gold buys admittance—it often does—yes, and it makes Diana's huntresses abandon their sacred vows, give up their deer to the poacher; and gold makes the honest man killed and saves the thief; no, sometimes it hangs both thief and honest man. What can't it do and undo? I will make one of her women argue my case for me, because I don't understand the situation myself. Excuse me.
I know her servants are with her; what if I bribe one of them? Money buys you access—it always does—and it makes the hunters break their rules, it kills good men and saves criminals; sometimes it hangs both types. There's nothing gold can't do or undo. I'll pay one of her ladies to plead my case for me, since I'm not sure how to handle this myself. Excuse me.
her women are with her i can bribe them with gold gold does anything buy access kills honest men saves thieves i'll pay one to help me i don't understand this anyway
Who’s there that knocks?
Who is knocking at the door?
Who's knocking?
who's there
A gentleman.
A gentleman.
A gentleman.
a gentleman
No more?
Nothing more than that?
Is that all?
that's it
Yes, and a gentlewoman’s son.
Yes, and the son of a gentlewoman.
And a noblewoman's son.
yeah and i'm a lady's son
That’s more
Than some whose tailors are as dear as yours
Can justly boast of. What’s your lordship’s pleasure?
That's more than some men who spend as much as you do on fine tailoring can honestly claim. What do you want, my lord?
That's actually more impressive than some super rich guys can say, honestly. So what do you want?
that's more than some guys who spend like you can claim what do you want
Your lady’s person; is she ready?
To see your lady; is she ready to receive me?
Your lady—is she available?
is the princess ready for me
Ay,
To keep her chamber.
Yes, she's ready to stay in her room.
Yeah, she's ready to stay in her bedroom.
yeah to stay in her room
There is gold for you; sell me your good report.
Here's money for you; help me by giving me a good report to your lady.
Here's some money. Tell your lady good things about me.
here's money tell your lady i'm awesome
How? My good name? or to report of you
What I shall think is good? The Princess!
What? You want to buy my reputation? Or are you asking me to report about you whatever flattering things I think she'd like to hear? Here's the Princess!
Wait, you want to buy my reputation? Or do you want me to just make stuff up about you? Here comes the Princess!
you want me to sell my reputation or just lie about you here she is
Good morrow, fairest sister. Your sweet hand.
Good morning, most beautiful sister. May I have your hand.
Good morning, beautiful. Give me your hand.
hey gorgeous let me have your hand
Good morrow, sir. You lay out too much pains
For purchasing but trouble. The thanks I give
Is telling you that I am poor of thanks,
And scarce can spare them.
Good morning. You're spending so much effort just to win rejection. All the thanks I can offer is to tell you straight that I have little gratitude to spare, and even less for you.
Good morning. You're putting in way too much work just to get rejected. Look, I don't have much thank-you to give you, and even less than that.
you're working so hard for nothing i don't have thanks to give you let alone extra
Still I swear I love you.
I continue to declare my love for you.
I'm telling you, I love you no matter what.
you got my heart
If you but said so, ’twere as deep with me.
If you swear still, your recompense is still
That I regard it not.
If you'd just said it once, it wouldn't matter to me at all. Since you keep swearing it, your reward is that I still don't care.
If you'd just said it once, it means nothing to me. If you keep swearing it, the only thing you get is me not caring.
saying it once is already meaningless keep swearing and all you get is nothing
This is no answer.
That's not a real answer.
That's not an answer.
that's not what i asked
Imogen's 'his meanest garment' insult is deliberately structured. She doesn't say Posthumus is better than Cloten — she says his worst piece of clothing is better than Cloten entirely. The gradation is important: she starts at the bottom of Posthumus (his worst garment) and compares it to the top of Cloten (himself, with all his supposed virtue). The insult demolishes by comparison at its weakest versus strongest point. And it sticks: Cloten repeats it obsessively for the rest of his stage time — 'his garment,' 'his meanest garment,' 'his mean'st garment' — like a man who can't stop pressing a bruise. It will drive him to steal Posthumus's actual clothes in Act 3 and wear them as a kind of grotesque answer to the insult. The image plants a seed that grows into murder.
But that you shall not say I yield, being silent,
I would not speak. I pray you spare me. Faith,
I shall unfold equal discourtesy
To your best kindness; one of your great knowing
Should learn, being taught, forbearance.
I'm only speaking now so you can't claim I agreed by staying silent. I'm begging you to stop. I'm going to have to match your rudeness with rudeness toward your generosity; someone of your supposedly great understanding should learn when taught to back off.
I'm talking to you so you can't say I agreed by not saying anything. Please, just give me space. I'm going to have to be rude to your kindness—it's inevitable. Someone as smart as you should know when to stop when someone tells you to.
i'm saying this so you can't say i said yes please stop i'm gonna have to be rude you should know when to back off
To leave you in your madness ’twere my sin;
I will not.
It would be sinful of me to abandon you in this state of confusion; I won't do it.
It'd be wrong to just leave you in this crazy state. I'm not going anywhere.
i can't leave you like this i'm staying
Fools are not mad folks.
Foolish people and mad people are not the same thing.
Fools and crazy people are different things.
fools and crazy people aren't the same
Do you call me fool?
Are you calling me a fool?
Are you calling me stupid?
you calling me dumb
As I am mad, I do;
If you’ll be patient, I’ll no more be mad;
That cures us both. I am much sorry, sir,
You put me to forget a lady’s manners
By being so verbal; and learn now, for all,
That I, which know my heart, do here pronounce,
By th’ very truth of it, I care not for you,
And am so near the lack of charity
To accuse myself I hate you; which I had rather
You felt than make’t my boast.
Since I'm in an agitated state, yes I do. If you'll show patience, I'll stop being agitated—that fixes us both. I'm truly sorry, sir, that you've made me forget proper manners by being so aggressive in your advances. But let everyone know this: I, who know my own heart, declare upon its very truth that I don't care for you. I'm so close to a lack of charity that I almost accuse myself of hating you—which I'd rather you discover through how I treat you than hear me boast about it.
Since I'm upset, yes. If you could just back off, I'd stop being upset—we'd both be better. I'm sorry you've pushed me to forget how to act like a lady. But I need to make this clear: I know my heart, and the truth is I don't care about you. I'm so close to actually hating you that I almost come out and say it. I'd rather you figure that out from how I treat you than have me tell you.
yeah if you back off i'll chill i'm sorry you made me rude but honestly i don't care about you i'm basically hating you figure it out
You sin against
Obedience, which you owe your father. For
The contract you pretend with that base wretch,
One bred of alms and foster’d with cold dishes,
With scraps o’ th’ court, it is no contract, none.
And though it be allowed in meaner parties
(Yet who than he more mean?) to knit their souls
(On whom there is no more dependency
But brats and beggary) in self-figur’d knot,
Yet you are curb’d from that enlargement by
The consequence o’ th’ crown, and must not foil
The precious note of it with a base slave,
A hilding for a livery, a squire’s cloth,
A pantler; not so eminent!
You're disobeying your father, which is your duty. This supposed relationship of yours with that worthless person—someone born from charity and raised on scraps from the court—it's not a real contract at all. Even though it might be allowed for common people (and is there anyone more common than him?) to bind themselves together in self-invented bonds (people with no future except children and poverty), you're prevented by your royal status from doing so. You cannot damage your royal dignity with a low servant, a nobody wearing livery, barely a squire—not someone of such little importance!
You're being disrespectful to your father. This thing you have with that loser—he's basically charity-raised, ate scraps from the kitchen—it's not even a real relationship. Common people can make up their own bond if they want to, even if they're going nowhere (and he's nowhere). But you can't because you're royal. You can't wreck your name by being with some servant boy. He's a nobody.
you're disrespecting your dad that guy's a nobody born from charity common people can be together but you can't wreck your name with him
Profane fellow!
Wert thou the son of Jupiter, and no more
But what thou art besides, thou wert too base
To be his groom. Thou wert dignified enough,
Even to the point of envy, if ’twere made
Comparative for your virtues to be styl’d
The under-hangman of his kingdom, and hated
For being preferr’d so well.
Vile creature! Even if you were the son of Jupiter and nothing else were wrong with you, you'd still be too low-born to be his servant. You'd be honored enough, almost envyably so, if your virtues were enough to make you the lowest official in his kingdom, and you'd be resented just for that elevation.
You disgusting jerk! Even if you were literally Jupiter's son, you'd still be too low-class to work for him as a servant. You'd be plenty dignified if your best qualities got you the lowest job in his government, and people would still hate you for getting that much.
you're vile even if you were a god's son you couldn't serve him he's that much better than you
The south fog rot him!
May disease rot him—may southern humidity destroy him!
I hope he gets some nasty disease!
hope he rots
He never can meet more mischance than come
To be but nam’d of thee. His mean’st garment
That ever hath but clipp’d his body, is dearer
In my respect, than all the hairs above thee,
Were they all made such men. How now, Pisanio!
He couldn't suffer worse misfortune than to be merely mentioned by you. His most common garment, the one that's barely touched his body, is dearer to me than all your hair, if each strand were turned into a man like you. What's wrong, Pisanio!
He couldn't have worse luck than being talked about by you. His cheapest shirt—the one that barely touches him—means more to me than everything about you. I swear. What's up, Pisanio!
he couldn't be worse off than having you talk about him his basic shirt means more to me than you pisanio where are you
‘His garment’! Now the devil—
His garment! Now the devil—
His shirt! Now—
his garment damn
To Dorothy my woman hie thee presently.
Go immediately to Dorothy, my attendant.
Pisanio, go find my maid Dorothy right now.
go get dorothy my maid now
‘His garment’!
His garment!
His garment!
his garment
I am sprited with a fool;
Frighted, and ang’red worse. Go bid my woman
Search for a jewel that too casually
Hath left mine arm. It was thy master’s; shrew me,
If I would lose it for a revenue
Of any king’s in Europe! I do think
I saw’t this morning; confident I am
Last night ’twas on mine arm; I kiss’d it.
I hope it be not gone to tell my lord
That I kiss aught but he.
I'm being tormented by a fool; I'm frightened and made angry. Go tell my maid to search for a bracelet that carelessly fell from my arm. It belonged to your master; curse me if I'd lose it for all the treasure of any European king! I'm sure I saw it this morning; I'm confident it was on my arm last night—I kissed it. I hope it hasn't gone off to tell my husband that I kiss anyone but him.
This idiot is driving me crazy and scaring me. Tell my maid to find a bracelet that fell off my arm. It was from Posthumus—I'd never trade it for any king's money. I know I had it this morning. I wore it last night and kissed it. I really hope nothing's going to tell my husband I was kissing anyone but him.
this fool is messing with me find my bracelet from posthumus i'd never sell it i had it last night i'm scared it'll tell my husband something bad
’Twill not be lost.
It won't be lost.
Don't worry, it won't be lost.
it's not lost
I hope so. Go and search.
I hope that's true. Go search for it.
I hope so. Go look for it.
hope so go look
You have abus’d me.
‘His meanest garment’!
You've insulted me greatly. His most common garment!
You totally disrespected me. Calling his cheap clothes better than me!
you disrespected me his basic shirt better than me
Ay, I said so, sir.
If you will make ’t an action, call witness to ’t.
Yes, that's what I said, sir. If you want to make it a legal matter, bring witnesses.
Yeah, that's what I said. You wanna sue me? Get witnesses.
yeah i said it wanna take me to court go ahead
I will inform your father.
I'll tell your father about this.
I'm gonna tell your dad.
i'm telling your dad
Your mother too.
She’s my good lady and will conceive, I hope,
But the worst of me. So I leave you, sir,
To th’ worst of discontent.
And your mother. She's my good lady and will think, I hope, only the worst of me. So I leave you, sir, to the worst disappointment.
Tell your mom too. She's a good lady, and honestly, I hope she thinks the worst of me. That's fine with me. I'm leaving you now to your misery.
tell your mom too i hope she thinks the worst of me go be miserable
I’ll be reveng’d.
‘His mean’st garment’! Well.
I'll have revenge. His most common garment! Well.
I'm gonna get even. Calling his cheap clothes better than me! Fine.
i'll get revenge his garment better than me fine then
The Reckoning
The waking song is genuinely beautiful — one of Shakespeare's finest lyrics — deployed in the service of one of the play's worst intentions. Cloten's harassment of Imogen is relentless, and she meets it with an increasing directness that reaches its climax in 'His meanest garment / That ever hath but clipped his body is dearer / In my respect than all the hairs above thee.' It's an extraordinary insult — not just that Posthumus is better than Cloten, but that Posthumus's laundry is better than Cloten. And then she repeats it. He cannot let it go. Shakespeare makes the grotesque comedy almost unbearable by showing how little recourse Imogen has.
If this happened today…
The boss's son is standing outside your office door with a hired string quartet playing Spotify's most romantic playlist. You can hear it through the wall. Your actual boss (the CEO, his father) comes by, nods approvingly, and gets called away on business. Now it's just you and the son. He tells you he loves you. You tell him you'd rather be anywhere else. He tells you that you owe him love because you're legally obligated to prefer him to the guy who was fired. You tell him, very clearly and to his face, that the fired guy's old gym bag is worth more to you than everything Cloten owns. He's still repeating it to himself as you walk away.