The Lord Marshal speaks in the formal cadences of ceremonial procedure — he's the MC of the jousting ground, reciting the legal formulas. His lines are almost entirely technical. Watch for the moment when the ceremony he presides over is abruptly canceled.
My Lord Aumerle, is Harry Hereford armed?
My Lord Aumerle, is Harry Hereford equipped with armor?
My lord, is Harry ready and fully armed?
is harry ready and armed
Aumerle (Richard's cousin, York's son) is an elegant courtier whose loyalty to Richard is absolute — at least for now. He speaks in the clipped, slightly languid tones of someone who's been at court all his life. Watch how his certainty about Richard eventually costs him everything.
Yea, at all points, and longs to enter in.
Yes, fully armed from head to toe, and eager to begin.
Yes, completely armed and ready to fight.
yes fully armed ready to fight
The Duke of Norfolk, sprightfully and bold,
Stays but the summons of the appelant’s trumpet.
The Duke of Norfolk, lively and confident, waits only for the challenger's trumpet signal.
The Duke of Norfolk's ready and raring to go—just waiting for the challenger's trumpet.
norfolk's ready waiting for the trumpet
Why then, the champions are prepared and stay
For nothing but his Majesty’s approach.
So the fighters are ready and waiting for nothing except the King's arrival.
The fighters are all set then—just waiting for the King to show up.
champions ready waiting for the king
Bagot, Green and others, who take their places. A trumpet is sounded,
and answered by another trumpet within. Then enter Mowbray in armour,
defendant, preceded by a Herald.
Bagot, Green, and other supporters take their places. A trumpet sounds and is answered by another trumpet from inside. Then Mowbray enters in armor, the defendant, with a Herald leading him.
Bagot and Green and the others sit down. A trumpet blasts and gets answered by another trumpet from backstage. Then Mowbray walks in wearing full armor, followed by a Herald.
bagot & green sit. trumpet sounds. mowbray enters in armor with herald
Marshal, demand of yonder champion
The cause of his arrival here in arms.
Ask him his name, and orderly proceed
To swear him in the justice of his cause.
Marshal, demand from that challenger Why he has come here armed. Ask his name, and proceed formally To swear him in the justice of his cause.
Marshal, ask that man why he's here. Get his name and have him swear That his cause is just.
marshal. ask him why he's here. get his name. have him swear.
In God’s name and the King’s, say who thou art,
And why thou comest thus knightly clad in arms,
Against what man thou com’st, and what thy quarrel.
Speak truly, on thy knighthood and thy oath,
As so defend thee heaven and thy valour.
In God's name and the king's, state your purpose, Speak your name, your title, and your cause For coming armed to this field.
In God's name and the king's, tell us: Who are you? What's your rank? Why are you here armed?
who are you? what's your rank? why are you armed?
My name is Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk,
Who hither come engaged by my oath—
Which God defend a knight should violate!—
Both to defend my loyalty and truth
To God, my King, and my succeeding issue,
Against the Duke of Hereford that appeals me,
And, by the grace of God and this mine arm,
To prove him, in defending of myself,
A traitor to my God, my king, and me;
And as I truly fight, defend me heaven.
My name is Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk, who has come here bound by my oath—which God forbid a knight should break!—both to defend my loyalty and faithfulness to God, my King, and my descendants, against the Duke of Hereford who challenges me, and by the grace of God and this arm of mine, to prove him, in defending myself, a traitor to my God, my king, and me. And as I fight with truth, may heaven defend me.
I'm Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk. I'm here because of my oath—and God forbid any knight should break his word!—to defend my loyalty and honor to God, my King, and my heirs, against the Duke of Hereford who's accusing me. By God's grace and this arm, I'll prove he's a traitor to God, the King, and me. And if I fight fairly, may heaven help me.
i'm thomas mowbray duke of norfolk here because of my oath to defend my loyalty to god and the king against hereford i'll prove he's a traitor if i fight fair may heaven help me
a Herald.
a Herald comes forward
the Herald steps forward
herald steps up
Marshal, ask yonder knight in arms
Both who he is and why he cometh hither
Thus plated in habiliments of war,
And formally, according to our law,
Depose him in the justice of his cause.
Marshal, ask the knight in armor both who he is and why he has come here dressed in war equipment, and formally, according to our law, make him declare the justice of his cause.
Marshal, ask that knight in armor who he is and why he's come here dressed for battle. Get him to formally swear, according to our laws, whether his cause is just.
marshal ask that knight who he is why he's here in armor get him to swear if his cause is just
What is thy name? And wherefore com’st thou hither
Before King Richard in his royal lists?
Against whom comest thou? and what’s thy quarrel?
Speak like a true knight, so defend thee heaven!
Defender of God's faith, state your name, Your rank, and your cause in this battle.
Tell us your name, your rank, and why you're here to fight.
your name. your rank. why you're fighting.
Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby,
Am I, who ready here do stand in arms
To prove by God’s grace and my body’s valour,
In lists, on Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk,
That he’s a traitor foul and dangerous,
To God of heaven, King Richard, and to me.
And as I truly fight, defend me heaven.
Henry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby, I am, and I stand here armed To prove, by God's grace and my body's strength, In lists, against Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk, That he is a traitor to our sovereign lord the king.
I am Henry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby. I'm standing here to prove, by God's grace, That Thomas Mowbray is a traitor To our king.
i'm henry of hereford. i'm here to prove mowbray is a traitor. to our king.
On pain of death, no person be so bold
Or daring-hardy as to touch the lists,
Except the Marshal and such officers
Appointed to direct these fair designs.
Under penalty of death, no one may be daring enough to enter the combat arena, except for the Marshal and the officers assigned to oversee these proper proceedings.
If you value your life, nobody gets near the arena except the Marshal and the officials running this show.
death penalty if you touch the field only marshal & officers allowed
Lord Marshal, let me kiss my sovereign’s hand
And bow my knee before his Majesty.
For Mowbray and myself are like two men
That vow a long and weary pilgrimage;
Then let us take a ceremonious leave
And loving farewell of our several friends.
Lord Marshal, let me kiss my sovereign's hand and bow my knee before his Majesty. For Mowbray and I are like two men who swear to go on a long and exhausting pilgrimage. So let us take a formal farewell and loving goodbye from our respective friends.
Lord Marshal, let me kiss the king's hand and kneel before him. Mowbray and I are like pilgrims about to go on a long, hard journey. So let us say a proper goodbye to all our friends.
let me kiss the king's hand and bow before him mowbray and i are like pilgrims going on a long journey let us say goodbye to our friends
The appellant in all duty greets your highness
And craves to kiss your hand and take his leave.
KING RICHARD. [_Descends from his throne_.]
We will descend and fold him in our arms.
Cousin of Hereford, as thy cause is right,
So be thy fortune in this royal fight.
Farewell, my blood, which if today thou shed,
Lament we may, but not revenge thee dead.
The challenger respectfully greets your highness and begs to kiss your hand and take his leave. We will come down and embrace him. Cousin of Hereford, as your cause is just, may your fortune be favorable in this royal fight. Farewell, my kinsman—if you shed your blood today, we may mourn, but we cannot avenge your death.
The challenger respectfully greets you and asks to kiss your hand and leave. I'll come down and embrace him. Cousin of Hereford, because your cause is just, I hope fortune favors you in this royal battle. Goodbye, my kinsman. If you die today, we can grieve, but we can't make him pay for it.
the challenger greets you asks to kiss your hand i'll come down and embrace him cousin since your cause is just may fortune favor you goodbye my kinsman if you die we grieve but can't avenge you
O, let no noble eye profane a tear
For me, if I be gored with Mowbray’s spear.
As confident as is the falcon’s flight
Against a bird, do I with Mowbray fight.
My loving lord, I take my leave of you.
Of you, my noble cousin, Lord Aumerle;
Not sick, although I have to do with death,
But lusty, young, and cheerly drawing breath.
Lo! as at English feasts, so I regreet
The daintiest last, to make the end most sweet.
O thou, the earthly author of my blood,
Whose youthful spirit, in me regenerate,
Doth with a twofold vigour lift me up
To reach at victory above my head,
Add proof unto mine armour with thy prayers,
And with thy blessings steel my lance’s point,
That it may enter Mowbray’s waxen coat
And furbish new the name of John o’ Gaunt,
Even in the lusty haviour of his son.
Please do not cry for me if Mowbray wounds me with his spear. I am as confident as a falcon diving at a bird. I am ready for this fight. My loving lord, I say goodbye to you. And to you, my cousin Aumerle. I am not sick, even though I face death, but full of life and taking strong breaths. Listen—as at an English feast we save the best course for last, I am saying goodbye to you last to make this farewell matter most. Father, you who gave me life, your youthful strength flows through me and lifts me up to reach for victory. Strengthen my armor with your prayers, make my lance sharp with your blessings, so it pierces Mowbray's soft armor and restores the great name of John of Gaunt through his son.
Do not shed tears for me if Mowbray's spear hits me. I am as confident as a falcon diving after a bird, ready for this fight. My loving lord, I'm saying goodbye. And to you, Aumerle. I'm not scared even though this could be my last day, but strong and breathing easy. Like at a good feast where you save the best dish for last, I'm saving you for last to make this goodbye really stick. Father, your strength is in me and pushes me forward. Bless my armor with your prayers, sharpen my lance with your blessing, so it pierces Mowbray and brings honor back to John of Gaunt through his son.
don't cry for me i got this father bless my lance let me honor your name
God in thy good cause make thee prosperous.
Be swift like lightning in the execution,
And let thy blows, doubly redoubled,
Fall like amazing thunder on the casque
Of thy adverse pernicious enemy.
Rouse up thy youthful blood, be valiant, and live.
May God make you successful in your just cause. Be swift like lightning in your actions, and let your blows, doubled and redoubled, fall like amazing thunder on the helmet of your dangerous enemy. Awaken your youthful warrior's heart, be brave, and survive.
May God help you win because your cause is just. Be quick like lightning, and strike your enemy like thunder, blow after blow. Wake up your young warrior's heart, be strong, and survive.
may god help you be quick like lightning strike like thunder over and over be brave live
Mine innocence and Saint George to thrive!
May my innocence and Saint George bring me success!
May my innocence and Saint George help me win!
my innocence and st george will help me win
[_Rising_.]
However God or fortune cast my lot,
There lives or dies, true to King Richard’s throne,
A loyal, just, and upright gentleman.
Never did captive with a freer heart
Cast off his chains of bondage and embrace
His golden uncontrolled enfranchisement,
More than my dancing soul doth celebrate
This feast of battle with mine adversary.
Most mighty liege, and my companion peers,
Take from my mouth the wish of happy years.
As gentle and as jocund as to jest
Go I to fight. Truth hath a quiet breast.
Whatever God or fortune decides for me, I am a loyal, just, and upright gentleman who will live or die true to King Richard. No captive ever shed his chains and embraced freedom with a lighter heart than my soul now celebrates this battle with my adversary. Most mighty king and noble companions, hear this wish from my mouth for happy years. As calmly and joyfully as I would jest, I go to fight. Truth gives a peaceful heart.
No matter what God or fate has in store, I'm a loyal and honorable man who will be true to King Richard whether I live or die. I'm like a prisoner who's just been freed—my soul is celebrating this fight more joyfully than I can say. My king and noble friends, I wish you all the best years ahead. I go to this fight as calmly as I would joke with friends. Truth brings peace.
loyal to king richard, live or die my soul celebrates this battle no matter what happens truth brings peace
Richard's decision to stop the combat at the last second is the play's first major display of his brand of political intelligence — which is real, even if it ultimately fails him. If Bolingbroke wins, the combat proves Mowbray guilty of Gloucester's murder — and since Richard ordered it, that implicates the king. If Mowbray wins, Bolingbroke is publicly disgraced, which might make him more dangerous (martyrdom has its uses) and would also leave the popular Bolingbroke humiliated and angry. By stopping the fight and banishing both men, Richard solves the immediate problem: Mowbray can't testify about Gloucester, and Bolingbroke can't stay in England building his popular power base. What Richard doesn't calculate — can't calculate — is what exile does to a man like Bolingbroke. It turns a grievance into a cause.
Farewell, my lord. Securely I espy
Virtue with valour couched in thine eye.
Order the trial, Marshal, and begin.
Goodbye, my lord. I clearly see virtue and courage shining in your eyes. Marshal, begin the trial.
Goodbye, my lord. I can see courage and strength in your eyes. Marshal, let's start this.
goodbye i see your courage begin
Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby,
Receive thy lance; and God defend the right.
BOLINGBROKE. [_Rising_.]
Strong as a tower in hope, I cry “Amen”!
Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby, take your lance and may God protect what is just. Bolingbroke rises and cries: Strong as a tower in hope, I say 'Amen.'
Harry of Hereford, take your lance and may God back what's right. Bolingbroke stands: I'm solid as a tower, and I say 'Amen.'
take your lance may god back the right i'm solid. amen.
[_To an officer_.] Go bear this lance to Thomas, Duke of Norfolk.
Go deliver this lance to Thomas, Duke of Norfolk.
Take this lance and give it to the Duke of Norfolk.
give this lance to norfolk
Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby,
Stands here for God, his sovereign, and himself,
On pain to be found false and recreant,
To prove the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray,
A traitor to his God, his King, and him,
And dares him to set forward to the fight.
Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby, stands here for God, his sovereign, and himself, under penalty of being found false and disloyal, to prove the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray, a traitor to his God, his King, and him, and dares him to move forward to the fight.
Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby stands here speaking for God, for his sovereign the King, and for himself. Under penalty for being false or disloyal, he declares that Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk, is a traitor to God, to the King, and to Hereford. And he challenges Mowbray to come forward and fight.
harry of hereford, lancaster, derby stands here for god, the king, himself under penalty for being false mowbray is a traitor to god, king & hereford he challenges mowbray to fight
Here standeth Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk,
On pain to be found false and recreant,
Both to defend himself and to approve
Henry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby,
To God, his sovereign, and to him disloyal,
Courageously and with a free desire,
Attending but the signal to begin.
Here stands Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk. Under penalty of being declared a coward if he fails, he is ready to defend himself and face Henry of Hereford. He stands courageously with sincere conviction, waiting only for the signal to start.
Here stands Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk. If he backs down he'll be branded a coward, but he's ready to face Henry. He's waiting courageously for the signal to go.
mowbray stands ready waiting for the signal courageous
Stay! the King hath thrown his warder down.
Stop! The King has thrown down his marshal's baton.
Hold it! The King just dropped his baton — everything stops now!
wait— the king threw it down stop right there everything freezes
Let them lay by their helmets and their spears,
And both return back to their chairs again.
Withdraw with us, and let the trumpets sound
While we return these dukes what we decree.
Have them put down their helmets and spears and return to their seats. Come with me, and let the trumpets sound while I announce what I have decided for these dukes.
Tell them to put their armor down and sit back. Come with me—sound the trumpets while I tell them what I've decided.
put down weapons sit down the king will decree
[_To the Combatants_.] Draw near,
And list what with our council we have done.
For that our kingdom’s earth should not be soiled
With that dear blood which it hath fostered;
And for our eyes do hate the dire aspect
Of civil wounds ploughed up with neighbours’ swords;
And for we think the eagle-winged pride
Of sky-aspiring and ambitious thoughts,
With rival-hating envy, set on you
To wake our peace, which in our country’s cradle
Draws the sweet infant breath of gentle sleep,
Which so roused up with boist’rous untuned drums,
With harsh-resounding trumpets’ dreadful bray,
And grating shock of wrathful iron arms,
Might from our quiet confines fright fair peace
And make us wade even in our kindred’s blood:
Therefore we banish you our territories.
You, cousin Hereford, upon pain of life,
Till twice five summers have enriched our fields
Shall not regreet our fair dominions,
But tread the stranger paths of banishment.
Come closer and listen to what my council and I have decided. Our kingdom's soil should not be dirtied with that precious blood our soil has nurtured. And we hate to see civil wounds cut into our land by our neighbors' swords. We believe your ambitious pride and desire to outdo each other have stirred you to disturb our peace, which rests in our country's cradle like a sleeping infant, and which would be frightened by harsh drums and loud trumpets and the terrible sound of angry armor, making us shed our own kindred's blood. Therefore we banish you from our lands. You, cousin of Hereford, must not set foot on our soil for ten years, on pain of death.
Listen to what we've decided. We don't want English blood spilled on English soil because of some feud. We hate seeing neighbors fighting each other with swords. Your pride and ambition and jealousy have disturbed the peace of this kingdom, which is fragile like a sleeping baby. The noise of war would tear that peace apart and make us all bleed. So we're banishing both of you. You, Hereford, cannot return to England for ten years. If you do, it's a death sentence.
i'm banishing both of you no more fighting no english blood on english soil hereford: ten years exile come back and you die
Your will be done. This must my comfort be:
That sun that warms you here shall shine on me,
And those his golden beams to you here lent
Shall point on me and gild my banishment.
Your will is done. This is my only comfort: That sun warming you here will shine on me, And those golden beams you receive Will shine on me in my banishment.
I accept, your majesty. At least the same sun that shines on you here Will shine on me in exile. That's my only comfort.
i accept. the same sun will shine on me in exile. that's my comfort.
Norfolk, for thee remains a heavier doom,
Which I with some unwillingness pronounce:
The sly slow hours shall not determinate
The dateless limit of thy dear exile.
The hopeless word of “never to return”
Breathe I against thee, upon pain of life.
Mowbray, for you remains a heavier doom, Which I pronounce with some reluctance: The slow-moving hours will never end Your exile from your native land forever.
Mowbray, your sentence is worse. And I'm sorry to say it: You are banished forever. You will never come home.
mowbray your sentence is worse. you're banished forever. never coming home.
A heavy sentence, my most sovereign liege,
And all unlooked for from your highness’ mouth.
A dearer merit, not so deep a maim
As to be cast forth in the common air,
Have I deserved at your highness’ hands.
The language I have learnt these forty years,
My native English, now I must forgo;
And now my tongue’s use is to me no more
Than an unstringed viol or a harp,
Or like a cunning instrument cased up
Or, being open, put into his hands
That knows no touch to tune the harmony.
Within my mouth you have engaoled my tongue,
Doubly portcullised with my teeth and lips,
And dull unfeeling, barren ignorance
Is made my gaoler to attend on me.
I am too old to fawn upon a nurse,
Too far in years to be a pupil now.
What is thy sentence, then, but speechless death,
Which robs my tongue from breathing native breath?
A heavy sentence, my most sovereign liege, And all unlooked for from your majesty. I would have deserved better from your hands Than to be cast out like common air. I have learned English these forty years, My native language, and now I must abandon it. My tongue is now useless to me— Like an unstrung viol or harp, Or like a fine instrument locked in a chest, Or put into hands that cannot tune it. You have imprisoned my tongue within my mouth, Locked behind my teeth and lips. Ignorance will be my jailer. I am too old to learn a new language, Too old to be a student again. Is not endless silent exile worse than death? For it robs me of my native tongue.
This is harsh, your majesty, And I didn't expect it from you. I deserved better than to be cast out. I've spoken English my whole life. It's the only language I know. And now I have to leave it behind. Without it, I'm like a broken instrument. You've locked my tongue in my own mouth. I'm too old to learn a new language. So what's exile but a slow death? A death where I can't speak.
harsh sentence your majesty. i didn't expect this. i've spoken english my whole life. it's all i have. now i'm silent. exile is worse than death. i can't speak.
It boots thee not to be compassionate.
After our sentence plaining comes too late.
Compassion will not help you now. Once I have pronounced sentence, complaining is pointless.
Being sorry does not help. Once I have made my decision, it is too late to complain.
sorry too late the king's word is final
Then thus I turn me from my country’s light,
To dwell in solemn shades of endless night.
Then thus I turn myself away from my country's light to dwell in the solemn shadows of endless darkness.
Then I turn away from my country and its light to live in endless darkness.
i turn away from my country from its light to endless darkness
Return again, and take an oath with thee.
Lay on our royal sword your banished hands.
Swear by the duty that you owe to God—
Our part therein we banish with yourselves—
To keep the oath that we administer:
You never shall, so help you truth and God,
Embrace each other’s love in banishment;
Nor never look upon each other’s face;
Nor never write, regreet, nor reconcile
This louring tempest of your home-bred hate;
Nor never by advised purpose meet
To plot, contrive, or complot any ill
’Gainst us, our state, our subjects, or our land.
Come back and take an oath. Place your banished hands on our royal sword. Swear by the duty you owe to God—that part of your duty we banish along with yourselves—to keep the oath we administer. You never shall, so help you truth and God, embrace each other's love in banishment, nor look upon each other's face, nor write, greet, or make peace with each other regarding this bitter storm of your homegrown hatred, nor ever, with deliberate intent, meet to plot, scheme, or plan any harm against us, our state, our subjects, or our land.
Come back and swear an oath. Put your banished hands on this royal sword. Swear by the duty you owe to God—and we're banishing that duty too—to keep this oath I'm making you take. You can never comfort each other or hug in exile. Never look at each other's face again. Never write or try to make up. Never let this hatred between you calm down. And never, on purpose, meet up to plan anything against me, the kingdom, my subjects, or England.
come back and swear put your hands on this sword swear by god you must keep this oath never hug each other never look at each other never write or make up never plan anything against me or england
I swear.
I swear.
I swear.
i swear.
And I, to keep all this.
And I swear to keep all these oaths.
And I swear to follow all this.
i swear
Norfolk, so far as to mine enemy:
By this time, had the King permitted us,
One of our souls had wandered in the air,
Banished this frail sepulchre of our flesh,
As now our flesh is banished from this land.
Confess thy treasons ere thou fly the realm.
Since thou hast far to go, bear not along
The clogging burden of a guilty soul.
Norfolk, speaking to you as to my enemy—if the King had permitted us, one of our souls would by now have left the body, banished from this weak prison of flesh, just as now our flesh is banished from this land. Confess your treasons before you flee the kingdom. Since you have far to go, do not carry along with you the heavy burden of a guilty soul.
Norfolk, you're my enemy now. If the King had let us fight, one of us would be dead by now, our soul flying away from this body, the way we're both flying away from England. Before you leave, confess your crimes. You're going far away—don't carry the weight of a guilty conscience with you.
norfolk you're my enemy if the king let us fight one of us would be dead our soul leaving our body like we're leaving england confess before you go don't carry guilt
No, Bolingbroke. If ever I were traitor,
My name be blotted from the book of life,
And I from heaven banished as from hence!
But what thou art, God, thou, and I do know;
And all too soon, I fear, the King shall rue.
Farewell, my liege. Now no way can I stray;
Save back to England, all the world’s my way.
No, Bolingbroke. If ever I were a traitor, let my name be erased from the book of life, and let me be banished from heaven as I am from here! But what you are, God, you, and I know. And all too soon, I fear, the King will regret this. Farewell, my liege. Now I have no choice about where to go except back to England—the whole world is my path.
No, Bolingbroke. If I'm ever a traitor, erase my name from God's book and banish me from heaven like you're banishing me from England! But what you really are—only God, you, and I know that. And the King will regret this soon, I'm sure. Goodbye, my liege. Now I can't go anywhere except back to England—the whole world is open to me as an exile.
no bolingbroke if i'm a traitor erase me from god's book banish me from heaven but what you really are only god knows the king will regret this goodbye the whole world's my path
Uncle, even in the glasses of thine eyes
I see thy grieved heart. Thy sad aspect
Hath from the number of his banished years
Plucked four away. [_To Bolingbroke_.] Six frozen winters spent,
Return with welcome home from banishment.
Uncle, I can see the grief in your eyes. Your sadness has moved me to reduce his exile from ten years to six. Bolingbroke, after six cold winters you will return home from exile.
Uncle, I see the sadness in your face. Your grief moves me to cut his exile short to six years. Bolingbroke, come back after six winters from exile.
uncle i see your grief six years not ten bolingbroke: come home
The exchange between Gaunt and Bolingbroke after Richard leaves is one of Shakespeare's finest short dialogues on the subject of consolation — and why it doesn't work. Gaunt offers every philosophical resource available: Stoic acceptance, cognitive reframing, making necessity a virtue. Bolingbroke demolishes each one with a simple physical image. You can't hold fire by thinking of cold mountains. You can't feed hunger by imagining food. The mind cannot deceive the body, and the body cannot deceive the heart. What's devastating about the scene is that both men are right: Gaunt is right that suffering is easier when you refuse to take it seriously; Bolingbroke is right that refusing to take real pain seriously is a lie. Shakespeare gives neither man the last word philosophically. But he gives Bolingbroke the more memorable lines.
How long a time lies in one little word!
Four lagging winters and four wanton springs
End in a word: such is the breath of kings.
What a long stretch of time fits into a single word! Four slow winters and four careless springs end with just one word spoken by a king.
One tiny word can mean so much time! Four dreary winters and four wild springs—all over with one sentence from the king.
one word = 8 years gone kings have power
I thank my liege that in regard of me
He shortens four years of my son’s exile;
But little vantage shall I reap thereby,
For, ere the six years that he hath to spend
Can change their moons and bring their times about,
My oil-dried lamp and time-bewasted light
Shall be extinct with age and endless night;
My inch of taper will be burnt and done,
And blindfold death not let me see my son.
I thank my lord for reducing my son's exile by four years out of compassion for me. But I gain little from this mercy, because before the six years he must spend are finished, my life—worn out by time like an old burned-down lamp—will end in darkness. I will die without seeing my son again.
I'm grateful you cut four years off my son's exile because of me. But that does not really help, because I will be dead before those six years are done. My life is almost burned out—I won't live to see him come home.
thanks for cutting his exile but i'll be dead soon won't see him again
Why, uncle, thou hast many years to live.
Why, uncle, you have many years left to live.
Uncle, you have got plenty of years left in you.
you have years left
But not a minute, king, that thou canst give.
Shorten my days thou canst with sullen sorrow,
And pluck nights from me, but not lend a morrow.
Thou canst help time to furrow me with age,
But stop no wrinkle in his pilgrimage;
Thy word is current with him for my death,
But dead, thy kingdom cannot buy my breath.
But you cannot give me even a minute of life, king. You can shorten my life with harsh treatment and steal nights of sleep from me, but you cannot give me back tomorrow. You can help time to age me, but you cannot stop its march. Your word has power over my death, but when I am dead, all your kingdom's gold cannot buy me back to life.
But you cannot give me a single extra minute of life, king. You can make my life miserable and steal my sleep, but you cannot give me tomorrow back. Time will age me and you cannot stop it. Your word controls my death, but once I am gone, all your wealth cannot bring me back.
you can't give me life can't stop time can't buy me back when i'm dead
Thy son is banished upon good advice,
Whereto thy tongue a party-verdict gave.
Why at our justice seem’st thou then to lour?
Your son is banished with good reason, and you yourself helped voice that judgment. So why do you look angry at our justice?
Your son is banished for good reasons, and you voted for it yourself. So why are you angry at me for carrying out the law?
your son deserves exile you voted for it why mad at me
Things sweet to taste prove in digestion sour.
You urged me as a judge, but I had rather
You would have bid me argue like a father.
O, had it been a stranger, not my child,
To smooth his fault I should have been more mild.
A partial slander sought I to avoid,
And in the sentence my own life destroyed.
Alas, I looked when some of you should say
I was too strict to make mine own away;
But you gave leave to my unwilling tongue
Against my will to do myself this wrong.
Things that taste sweet become bitter when digested. You made me act as a judge, but I wish you had asked me to speak as a father instead. If this were a stranger and not my own child, I would have been gentler to excuse his mistake. I tried to avoid showing bias, but in pronouncing sentence I destroyed my own life. I expected someone would say I was too harsh on my own son, but instead you let me harm myself by forcing me to speak against my own will.
What tastes sweet turns sour in your stomach. You pushed me to be a judge, but I wish you had let me be a father instead. If it was someone else's kid, I would have let it slide. I tried to be fair, but by passing judgment I ruined my own life. I thought someone would tell me I was being too hard on my son, but you let me destroy myself.
sweet tastes sour i had to judge my own son it ruined my life i did it to myself
Cousin, farewell, and, uncle, bid him so.
Six years we banish him, and he shall go.
Goodbye, cousin, and uncle, say the same to him. He is banished for six years and must leave.
Goodbye, cousin, and uncle, tell him goodbye too. He is banished for six years and has to go.
goodbye six years exile
Cousin, farewell. What presence must not know,
From where you do remain let paper show.
Goodbye, cousin. What you cannot say in person, communicate through letters from where you are.
Goodbye, cousin. Write to me when you get there—letters can say what you cannot say in person.
goodbye write letters from exile
My lord, no leave take I, for I will ride,
As far as land will let me, by your side.
My lord, I am not saying goodbye, because I will ride as far as the land extends at your side.
My lord, I am not really leaving you—I will ride alongside you as far as I can go.
i'm riding with you all the way
O, to what purpose dost thou hoard thy words,
That thou return’st no greeting to thy friends?
Why are you holding back your words so much that you are not even greeting your friends?
Why are not you saying anything? Say hello to your friends!
say goodbye to us don't stay silent
I have too few to take my leave of you,
When the tongue’s office should be prodigal
To breathe the abundant dolour of the heart.
I do not have enough words to properly say goodbye to you all, when my tongue should be freely pouring out the overwhelming sadness in my heart.
I do not have enough words to say goodbye the way I should, when I should be letting all my pain and sadness pour out.
not enough words so much sadness
Thy grief is but thy absence for a time.
Your sadness is only because you will be away for a while.
Your sadness is just from being gone temporarily.
it's temporary
Joy absent, grief is present for that time.
When happiness is gone, sadness fills that time instead.
When joy leaves, sadness shows up in its place.
no joy = grief fills the space
What is six winters? They are quickly gone.
What is six winters? They pass quickly.
Six winters? They will go by fast.
6 winters? quick
To men in joy; but grief makes one hour ten.
Six winters pass quickly for men who are happy, but sadness makes a single hour feel like ten.
Quick for happy people, but sadness makes every hour feel like forever.
happy = time flies sad = 1 hour feels like 10
Call it a travel that thou tak’st for pleasure.
Call your exile a pleasure trip instead.
Think of it as a vacation, not exile.
think of it as vacation
My heart will sigh when I miscall it so,
Which finds it an enforced pilgrimage.
My heart will groan if I call it that, because my heart knows it is a forced journey, not a pleasure trip.
My heart cannot lie—it is not a vacation, it is a forced journey.
my heart knows it's forced not pleasure
The sullen passage of thy weary steps
Esteem as foil wherein thou art to set
The precious jewel of thy home return.
Count your sad and tired journey as a dark backdrop that will make your return home shine like a precious jewel.
Think of the hard journey as the dark background that makes coming home sparkle like a jewel.
rough journey = dark backdrop coming home is the jewel
Nay, rather, every tedious stride I make
Will but remember me what a deal of world
I wander from the jewels that I love.
Must I not serve a long apprenticehood
To foreign passages, and in the end,
Having my freedom, boast of nothing else
But that I was a journeyman to grief?
No, every tiring step I take will only remind me how much world is between me and the people I love. Do I have to spend years in foreign lands, and when I finally get my freedom back, the only thing I can brag about is that I spent time as grief's servant?
No, every step just reminds me how far I am from the people I love. Years in foreign lands, and what do I get out of it? Just to say I was sadness's servant?
every step = reminder years of exile = apprenticeship to grief
All places that the eye of heaven visits
Are to a wise man ports and happy havens.
Teach thy necessity to reason thus:
There is no virtue like necessity.
Think not the King did banish thee,
But thou the King. Woe doth the heavier sit
Where it perceives it is but faintly borne.
Go, say I sent thee forth to purchase honour,
And not the King exiled thee; or suppose
Devouring pestilence hangs in our air,
And thou art flying to a fresher clime.
Look what thy soul holds dear, imagine it
To lie that way thou goest, not whence thou com’st.
Suppose the singing birds musicians,
The grass whereon thou tread’st the presence strewed,
The flowers fair ladies, and thy steps no more
Than a delightful measure or a dance;
For gnarling sorrow hath less power to bite
The man that mocks at it and sets it light.
All places under the sun become ports of safety and rest for a wise man. Teach yourself to see necessity as virtue. Do not think the King banished you—think that you banished the King. Sadness only weighs heavy if you let it weigh you down. Tell people I sent you out to gain honor, not that the King exiled you. Or imagine that disease hangs over our country and you are flying to cleaner air. Picture what you love most as being in the direction you are heading, not behind you. Imagine birds are musicians, the grass is a royal court, flowers are beautiful women, and your steps are a dance. Sorrow has less power to hurt those who laugh at it and treat it lightly.
Every place in the world is a safe harbor for someone wise. Learn to see your exile as a chance. Do not think the King kicked you out—think you are choosing to leave the King. Sadness only crushes you if you let it. Tell people I sent you to find honor, not that you are exiled. Or pretend you are running from a plague to better air. Picture the place you are going like it holds everything you love. Imagine the birds singing, the grass like a royal court, flowers like beautiful women, and your walk like a dance. Sadness cannot hurt you if you smile at it and brush it off.
exile = opportunity don't let sadness crush you find honor look forward not back laugh at sorrow
O, who can hold a fire in his hand
By thinking on the frosty Caucasus?
Or cloy the hungry edge of appetite
By bare imagination of a feast?
Or wallow naked in December snow
By thinking on fantastic summer’s heat?
O no, the apprehension of the good
Gives but the greater feeling to the worse.
Fell sorrow’s tooth doth never rankle more
Than when it bites but lanceth not the sore.
Who can hold fire in his hand by just thinking about frozen mountains? Who can fill his hungry stomach with just the thought of food? Who can warm up naked in winter snow by imagining summer heat? No one. Thinking about good things actually makes bad things feel worse. Sadness hurts most when it wounds but does not fully heal the wound.
You cannot warm your hand by thinking about cold mountains. You cannot fill your stomach by imagining a feast. You cannot stay warm in the snow by thinking about summer. Remembering good times just makes the bad times hurt more. Pain cuts deepest when it wounds but does not kill the wound.
imagination doesn't help memories of good = pain sorrow cuts deepest when it lingers
Come, come, my son, I’ll bring thee on thy way.
Had I thy youth and cause, I would not stay.
Come, come, my son, I will escort you on your way. If I had your youth and your just cause, I would not stay here either.
Come on, my son. I'll go with you. If I were young like you and had your cause to fight for, I wouldn't stay either.
come on my son i'll go with you if i were young i'd leave too
Then, England’s ground, farewell; sweet soil, adieu,
My mother and my nurse that bears me yet!
Where’er I wander, boast of this I can,
Though banished, yet a true-born Englishman.
Then goodbye, England's ground; goodbye, sweet soil, my mother and my nurse who still sustains me. Wherever I wander, I can boast of this one thing: though banished, I remain a true-born Englishman.
Goodbye, England, goodbye sweet ground—you are my mother, my nurse that keeps me alive. Wherever I go, I can say one thing: I am banished but still a true Englishman.
goodbye england i'm banished but still english
The Reckoning
This scene is a masterclass in Richard's genius for using ceremony to avoid accountability — and in how that genius ultimately makes everything worse. He stages the most elaborate public event in the play, lets both men prepare to die, then stops it at the last possible second and banishes both. Everyone is left humiliated: Mowbray loses everything, Bolingbroke loses six years of his life, and Gaunt loses his son. The private grief in the scene's second half — Gaunt and Bolingbroke's farewell — is heartbreaking precisely because it's so clipped, so inadequate to the loss. Gaunt tries to philosophize the pain away and Bolingbroke politely demolishes every comfort he offers.
If this happened today…
A tech founder calls a formal all-hands to resolve an internal dispute between two executives, complete with the full presentation setup and seating chart. Everyone prepares their case. At the last moment — just before testimony begins — he announces he's putting both executives on involuntary leave, citing 'cultural fit' and 'company stability.' One is gone for good. The other is told to come back in six years. The founder returns to his meetings. In the parking lot, the exiled executive's father tries to talk him through it with mindfulness advice. The son says: you can't think your way out of a six-year exile.