The Jailer is a decent, worried, moderately prosperous man who thinks in practical terms — income, duty, prospects. His language is plain and bourgeois. Watch for his habit of assessing everything in terms of reliability and what can be counted on.
I may depart with little while I live; something I may cast to you, not
much. Alas, the prison I keep, though it be for great ones, yet they
seldom come; before one salmon, you shall take a number of minnows. I
am given out to be better lined than it can appear to me report is a
true speaker. I would I were really that I am delivered to be. Marry,
what I have, be it what it will, I will assure upon my daughter at the
day of my death.
I may give little while I live; something I can give to you, not much. The prison I keep, even though it's for important people, rarely has them; before you'd see one important prisoner, you'd see many ordinary ones. I'm reported to be wealthier than I actually am—report tells the truth. I wish I really were what people say I am. But whatever I have, I will make sure it goes to my daughter when I die.
I don't have much to give while I'm alive, but something I'll manage. The prison I run is supposed to be for great people, but they hardly ever come—I deal with small criminals, not big ones. People think I'm richer than I actually am. I wish I were as rich as people say, but I'll make sure whatever I have goes to my daughter when I die.
i dont have much the prison gets small prisoners not great ones people think im richer than i am ill leave what i have to my daughter
The Wooer is a functional character — he exists mainly to show what the Daughter's life could have been, and to contrast with the impossibility she is reaching for. His lines are few and sensible.
Sir, I demand no more than your own offer, and I will estate your
daughter in what I have promised.
Sir, I ask for no more than what you've already offered, and I will give your daughter what I've promised.
I'm not asking for more than what you said you'd give, and I'll set up your daughter with what I promised.
i want what u already offered ill give her what i promised
Well, we will talk more of this when the solemnity is past. But have
you a full promise of her? When that shall be seen, I tender my
consent.
Well, we will talk more about this when the ceremony is over. But do you have a complete promise for her? When that's proven, I'll give my consent.
We'll talk more about this after the wedding stuff is done. But do you have a real promise for her? Once I see that, I'll say yes.
well talk after the ceremony u got a real promise for her when u show it ill say yes
I have sir. Here she comes.
I do, sir. Here she comes.
I do, sir. Here she is now.
yeah she's coming
Your friend and I have chanced to name you here, upon the old business.
But no more of that now; so soon as the court hurry is over, we will
have an end of it. I’ th’ meantime, look tenderly to the two prisoners.
I can tell you they are princes.
Your friend and I have been talking about this marriage matter, but let's not talk about it now. As soon as the court business is done, we'll finish this. In the meantime, treat the two prisoners gently. I can tell you they are princes.
Your friend and I have already talked about getting you two married, but let's not get into it now. Once the court stuff is over, we'll figure it out. For now, take good care of those two prisoners—they're princes.
ur friend & i talked about ur wedding not now tho be nice to the prisoners theyre princes
The Jailer's Daughter is the play's most surprising character — a prose speaker in a verse play, funny and passionate and doomed. Her speeches escalate from observation to infatuation to obsession to madness with terrifying speed. Watch for the way her language becomes more precise and vivid the deeper her feeling goes.
These strewings are for their chamber. ’Tis pity they are in prison,
and ’twere pity they should be out. I do think they have patience to
make any adversity ashamed. The prison itself is proud of ’em, and they
have all the world in their chamber.
These are flowers for their chamber. It's a shame they're in prison, and it would be a shame if they weren't. I think they have such patience that any hardship would be ashamed of itself. The prison itself is proud to hold them, and they have the entire world contained in their cell.
These flowers are for their prison room. It's sad they're locked up, but it would also be sad to not have them here. They're so patient and noble that any suffering should be ashamed of itself. The prison is actually proud to have them, and they've made their cell contain everything they need.
flowers 4 their cell sad theyre in prison but also sad if theyre not they got the whole world in there theyre so patient
They are famed to be a pair of absolute men.
They're known to be a complete pair of noble men.
They're famous for being absolutely perfect men.
theyre known as perfect men
By my troth, I think fame but stammers ’em; they stand a grise above
the reach of report.
Honestly, I think fame struggles to describe them; they stand a step above what any report can reach.
Honestly, fame can't even do them justice; they're beyond what anyone could report about them.
fame doesnt do them justice theyre above what ppl say about them
I heard them reported in the battle to be the only doers.
I heard they were said to be the only real fighters in the battle.
I heard they were the only ones who actually fought in that battle.
they were the only real fighters in battle
The Jailer's Daughter is one of the play's most carefully observed characters — a young woman in a society with almost no upward mobility, who falls in love with a man as far above her as the moon. She knows this immediately and articulates it clearly in her soliloquy: 'To marry him is hopeless; to be his whore is witless.' She has no available category for what she feels. What's remarkable is that the play does not condescend to her. Her speeches are the most psychologically vivid in the play — funnier, wilder, and more self-aware than almost anything the noble characters say. She will eventually go mad, which in this play is a form of honesty: she has felt something too large for her world to contain, and her mind breaks trying to hold it. Her story runs parallel to the main plot not to comment on it ironically but to deepen it: here is what desire for the unattainable actually costs.
Nay, most likely, for they are noble sufferers. I marvel how they would
have looked had they been victors, that with such a constant nobility
enforce a freedom out of bondage, making misery their mirth and
affliction a toy to jest at.
That's probably right, because they are noble in their suffering. I wonder how they would have looked if they'd been victorious, since with such steady honor they force freedom out of captivity, turning misery into joy and suffering into something to laugh at.
That makes sense, since they're so noble even in suffering. I wonder what they'd look like if they'd actually won, because they're so dignified that they turn prison into freedom, make their pain into fun, and laugh at their troubles.
theyre noble sufferers wonder what theyd look like if they won they turn suffering into jokes misery into joy
Do they so?
Do they so?
In other words: do they so?
they so
It seems to me they have no more sense of their captivity than I of
ruling Athens. They eat well, look merrily, discourse of many things,
but nothing of their own restraint and disasters. Yet sometime a
divided sigh, martyred as ’twere i’ th’ deliverance, will break from
one of them—when the other presently gives it so sweet a rebuke that I
could wish myself a sigh to be so chid, or at least a sigher to be
comforted.
It seems to me they're no more aware of being held prisoner than I am of ruling Athens. They eat well, look cheerful, talk about many things, but never about their captivity and troubles. Yet sometimes one sighs with real pain, and the other immediately gives such a sweet and gentle response that I wish I could be that sigh to be comforted so sweetly, or at least be a sigher to receive such comfort.
They seem just as unaware of being locked up as I would be at running Athens. They eat fine, look happy, talk about everything, but never their own troubles. Sometimes one of them sighs with real hurt, and the other comforts them so sweetly that I wish I could be that sigh to feel such comfort, or at least I'd want to be comforted like that.
they dont feel locked up they eat well talk happy never talk about their captivity sometimes one sighs & other comforts so sweetly wish i could feel that
I never saw ’em.
I've never seen them.
I haven't seen them before.
never seen them
The Duke himself came privately in the night, and so did they.
The Duke came secretly in the night, and so did they.
The Duke came in the middle of the night secretly, and that's when they arrived too.
duke came secretly at night they came at night too
What the reason of it is, I know not. Look, yonder they are; that’s
Arcite looks out.
I don't know why, but there they are over there. That's Arcite looking out.
I have no idea why they're here, but there they are. That one looking out is Arcite.
no idea why they're here but there's arcite looking out
No, sir, no, that’s Palamon. Arcite is the lower of the twain; you may
perceive a part of him.
No, sir, that's Palamon. Arcite is the shorter of the two; you can see part of him from here.
No, that one's Palamon. Arcite's the shorter one; you can see him from over here.
thats palamon arcite is shorter u can see him
Go to, leave your pointing; they would not make us their object. Out of
their sight.
Stop pointing at them; they don't want us looking at them like that. Out of their sight.
Stop pointing—they don't want us staring at them. Get out of view.
stop pointing they dont want to be stared at get out of sight
It is a holiday to look on them. Lord, the difference of men!
Looking at them is a pleasure. What a difference there is between men!
It's a treat just to look at them. Man, there really are different kinds of men!
its a pleasure to look at them the difference between men is wild
The Reckoning
A scene of class and observation: the Daughter speaks of the two prisoners with the breathless admiration of someone looking through glass at people she can never reach. But she's smarter than she knows — her portrait of them ('the prison itself is proud of them') is the most eloquent in the play. Her father is haggling over her future while she is quietly falling in love with an impossibility. The audience understands what she doesn't yet: this will not end well.
If this happened today…
A junior employee at a high-security firm is overheard talking to a colleague about the two high-profile detainees who arrived last night — 'You should see them, honestly, they carry themselves like royalty.' Meanwhile her father — the facility manager — is in the break room negotiating her engagement to his deputy. She doesn't know the negotiation is happening. She also doesn't know she's already decided something.