Pray thee, sweet Mistress Margaret, deserve well at my hands by
helping me to the speech of Beatrice.
I ask you, sweet Mistress Margaret, earn my goodwill by helping me get a chance to speak with Beatrice.
Please, Margaret, do me a favor and help me talk to Beatrice.
help me talk to beatrice please
Will you then write me a sonnet in praise of my beauty?
In exchange, will you write me a sonnet praising my beauty?
So in return, you'll write me a love poem about how beautiful I am?
so you'll write me a poem about how hot i am
In so high a style, Margaret, that no man living shall come over
it; for, in most comely truth, thou deservest it.
In such an elevated style, Margaret, that no living man could surpass it; for in honest truth, you deserve it.
I'll write it in such beautiful language that no other man could ever match it; honestly, you really do deserve it.
i'll write it so good no one can top it you deserve it
To have no man come over me! why, shall I always keep below stairs?
No man should surpass me? Why then, should I always remain in the servants' quarters?
You think no man should be my equal? So I'm supposed to stay downstairs forever like a servant?
wait no man surpasses me do i gotta stay downstairs
Thy wit is as quick as the greyhound’s mouth; it catches.
Your wit is as fast as a greyhound's mouth; it catches things quickly.
Your wit is as sharp and quick as a greyhound—it snaps things up in an instant.
your wit catches stuff like a greyhound
And yours as blunt as the fencer’s foils, which hit, but hurt not.
And your wit is as dull as a fencer's practice swords, which strike but don't wound.
And your wit is as blunt as a fencer's practice sword—it hits but doesn't actually hurt.
yours is blunt like practice swords hits but doesn't hurt
A most manly wit, Margaret; it will not hurt a woman: and so, I
pray thee, call Beatrice. I give thee the bucklers.
A truly manly wit, Margaret; it won't harm a woman: and so, I beg you, call Beatrice. I yield to you.
That's real wit, Margaret; it won't actually hurt anybody: so please, call Beatrice for me. You win.
that's real wit margaret it won't hurt call beatrice you win
Give us the swords, we have bucklers of our own.
Give us the swords; we have our own shields.
Give us the real weapons; we've got our own defenses.
give us swords we got our own shields
If you use them, Margaret, you must put in the pikes with a
vice; and they are dangerous weapons for maids.
If you use them, Margaret, you must install the spike with a screw; and they are dangerous weapons for young women.
If you actually use them, Margaret, you'd need to fasten the spike in, and they're dangerous weapons for women anyway.
they're too dangerous for women margaret
Well, I will call Beatrice to you, who I think hath legs.
Well, I will call Beatrice to you, who I believe has legs.
Fine, I'll call Beatrice for you, and I'm pretty sure she has legs to walk with.
i'll get beatrice she's got legs
And therefore will come.
And so you will see her shortly.
And therefore she'll come to see you.
so she'll come
The god of love,
That sits above,
And knows me, and knows me,
How pitiful I deserve,—
I mean, in singing: but in loving, Leander the good swimmer, Troilus the
first employer of panders, and a whole book full of these quondam
carpet-mongers, whose names yet run smoothly in the even road of a blank
verse, why, they were never so truly turned over and over as my poor self
in love. Marry, I cannot show it in rime; I have tried: I can find out no
rime to ‘lady’ but ‘baby’, an innocent rime; for
‘scorn,’ ‘horn’, a hard rime; for ‘school’,
‘fool’, a babbling rime; very ominous endings: no, I was not
born under a riming planet, nor I cannot woo in festival terms.
The god of love who sits above and knows me, and knows how pitifully I deserve—I mean in singing. But in loving, Leander the good swimmer, Troilus the first employer of panders, and a whole book full of these one-time carpet-mongers, whose names still run smoothly in the even rhythm of blank verse—why, they were never as genuinely turned inside out by love as I have been. Truly, I cannot show it in rhyme; I have tried. I cannot find a rhyme for 'lady' except 'baby,' an innocent rhyme; for 'scorn,' 'horn,' a harsh rhyme; for 'school,' 'fool,' a babbling rhyme—very ominous endings. No, I was not born under a rhyming planet, and I cannot woo in festival terms.
The god of love looks down and knows me—knows how pathetically I deserve it, I mean as a singer anyway. But as a lover? Leander the swimmer, Troilus the pander, and all those old romantic guys whose names fit perfectly into blank verse—they were never as completely turned upside down by love as I am. I can't put it into rhyme, I've tried. I can't find anything that rhymes with 'lady' except 'baby,' which is useless. 'Scorn' needs 'horn,' 'school' needs 'fool'—all terrible rhymes. I'm just not built for this romantic verse stuff.
i'm in love but can't write poetry everything rhymes badly even the god of love would laugh
Sweet Beatrice, wouldst thou come when I called thee?
Sweet Beatrice, would you come when I called you?
Beatrice, would you actually come if I called you?
beatrice if i called would u come
Yea, signior; and depart when you bid me.
Yes, sir; and I'll leave when you tell me to.
Yes, I'll do both—come and leave whenever you say.
yeah i'll come and go when u say
O, stay but till then!
Please stay with me until that happens!
Please, just stay here until that moment!
just stay till then
‘Then’ is spoken; fare you well now: and yet, ere I
go, let me go with that I came for; which is, with knowing what hath
passed between you and Claudio.
That word 'then' has been spoken, so goodbye for now: but before I go, let me leave with what I came for; which is knowledge of what happened between you and Claudio.
Well, you said 'then,' so I'm leaving now. But before I go, I need to know what happened between you and Claudio.
bye but first tell me what happened with claudio
Only foul words; and thereupon I will kiss thee.
Only foul insults passed between us; and on that subject, I will kiss you.
Just ugly insults; and now I'm going to kiss you.
just curse words and now i'm kissing you
Foul words is but foul wind, and foul wind is but foul breath,
and foul breath is noisome; therefore I will depart unkissed.
Foul words are just foul air, and foul air is just foul breath, and foul breath is disgusting; therefore I will leave without being kissed.
Foul words are just foul air, and foul air is just stinky breath, and stink is disgusting, so I'm not letting you kiss me.
your words are foul air foul air is stinky breath stink is gross no kiss
Thou hast frighted the word out of his right sense, so forcible
is thy wit. But I must tell thee plainly, Claudio undergoes my challenge,
and either I must shortly hear from him, or I will subscribe him a coward.
And, I pray thee now, tell me, for which of my bad parts didst thou first
fall in love with me?
You've scared the meaning right out of that word with your wit—it's so powerful. But I must tell you plainly: Claudio has accepted my challenge, and either I will soon hear from him, or I'll call him a coward. And now, I beg you, tell me: which of my bad qualities did you first fall in love with?
You've beaten the sense right out of that word—your wit is that strong. But I need to be honest: Claudio has accepted my challenge, and if I don't hear from him soon, I'll call him a coward. So now, please tell me: which of my bad sides did you fall in love with?
your wit is so strong claudio accepted my challenge which of my bad parts did u fall for
For them all together; which maintained so politic a state
of evil that they will not admit any good part to intermingle with
them. But for which of my good parts did you first suffer love for me?
All of them together; they maintain such a well-organized state of badness that they won't allow any good quality to mix in with them. But tell me, which of my good qualities did you first suffer love for?
All of them together, actually—they're so organized in their badness that they won't even let a good quality sneak in. But which of my good parts made you suffer from love for me?
all your bad parts they're so organized in their badness which of my good parts made u fall for me
‘Suffer love,’ a good epithet! I do suffer love
indeed, for I love thee against my will.
Excellent way to put it! I truly do suffer from love, because I love you against my own will.
That's the perfect word! I really do suffer, because I love you even though I don't want to.
i really do suffer i love you even though i don't want to
In spite of your heart, I think. Alas, poor heart! If you spite
it for my sake, I will spite it for yours; for I will never love that
which my friend hates.
Yes, in spite of what your heart wants, I think. Poor heart! If you treat it badly for my sake, I will treat mine badly for yours; because I will never love anyone that my friend hates.
Yes, against what your heart wants, I'd say. Poor heart! If you're mean to it because of me, I'll be mean to mine because of you; I could never love someone that my friend hates.
yeah despite your heart poor thing if you're cruel to it for me i'll be cruel to mine for you
Thou and I are too wise to woo peaceably.
You and I are too intelligent to court each other in a peaceful way.
We're both too clever to fall in love quietly and normally.
we're too smart to flirt like normal people
It appears not in this confession: there’s not one wise
man among twenty that will praise himself.
That's not evident from what you just said: there's not one wise man in twenty who will praise himself.
That doesn't match what you're doing: no really wise man would praise himself like you're doing.
that's not wise no wise person brags about themselves
An old, an old instance, Beatrice, that lived in the time of
good neighbours. If a man do not erect in this age his own tomb ere he
dies, he shall live no longer in monument than the bell rings and the
widow weeps.
That's an old, old saying, Beatrice, from the time of good neighbors. If a man in this age does not build his own monument while living, he will only be remembered for as long as the funeral bell rings and the widow weeps.
That's an old idea, Beatrice, from better times. If a man today doesn't make his own legacy while he's alive, he'll only be remembered while the funeral bell is ringing and the widow is crying.
that's old-fashioned if you don't make your own legacy you're only remembered at the funeral
And how long is that think you?
And how long do you think that lasts?
And how long do you think that takes?
how long is that
Question: why, an hour in clamour and a quarter in rheum:
therefore is it most expedient for the wise,—if Don Worm, his conscience,
find no impediment to the contrary,—to be the trumpet of his own virtues,
as I am to myself. So much for praising myself, who, I myself will bear
witness, is praiseworthy. And now tell me, how doth your cousin?
The answer is: about an hour of noise and a quarter hour of tears. Therefore it is most sensible for wise men—if their conscience finds no objection—to be the loudest promoter of their own virtues, as I am for myself. That's enough about praising myself, who I will myself testify is worthy of praise. Now tell me, how is your cousin?
The answer: an hour of bell ringing and fifteen minutes of crying. So it makes sense for wise men—assuming their conscience agrees—to brag about themselves, like I do. That's enough self-praise from me, though I'd definitely say I'm worth praising. So how's your cousin doing?
an hour of noise 15 minutes of crying so wise people gotta brag i'm praiseworthy how's your cousin
Very ill.
Very ill.
Very ill.
very ill.
And how do you?
And how are you doing?
And how are you feeling?
how are you
Very ill too.
Very ill too.
Very ill too.
very ill too.
Serve God, love me, and mend. There will I leave you too, for
here comes one in haste.
Worship God, love me, and recover from your illness. I will leave you too, because someone is hurrying over here.
Keep worshipping God, love me, and feel better. I'm leaving now because someone's rushing over.
love god love me feel better gotta go someone's coming
Madam, you must come to your uncle. Yonder’s old coil at
home: it is proved, my Lady Hero hath been falsely accused, the Prince and
Claudio mightily abused; and Don John is the author of all, who is fled
and gone. Will you come presently?
Madam, you must go to your uncle right now. There's a big commotion at home: it has been proven that Lady Hero was falsely accused, the Prince and Claudio were greatly deceived; and Don John is responsible for everything, and he has fled. Will you come immediately?
Madam, you need to go to your uncle right now. There's chaos at home: it turns out Lady Hero was falsely accused, the Prince and Claudio got completely fooled, and Don John caused the whole thing and has run away. Will you come immediately?
go to your uncle now Hero was falsely accused the prince and claudio got played don john did it and ran come now
Will you go hear this news, signior?
Will you come hear this news, sir?
Do you want to come hear what's happening, sir?
you coming to hear this
I will live in thy heart, die in thy lap, and be buried in thy
eyes; and moreover I will go with thee to thy uncle’s.
I will live on in your heart, die resting in your lap, and be buried within your eyes; and furthermore I will go with you to your uncle's house.
I'll live in your heart, die in your arms, and be buried in your eyes; and I'll go with you to your uncle's house.
i'll live in your heart die in your lap be buried in your eyes and i'm coming with you
The Reckoning
The lovers' verbal sparring yields to genuine emotion; wit becomes a shield for vulnerability, then finally a vehicle for truth. Love unmasks itself despite both characters' resistance.
If this happened today…
People often hide real feelings behind humor and sarcasm; sometimes an outside crisis cuts through the defenses and forces honesty.