“Tu és um traidor e um descrente,
Bom demais para existir e mau demais para viver,
Vez que quão mais belo e límpido é o céu,
Mais feias são as nuvens.”
“Grande malícia produz grande incisão;
Esquecei, perdoai; fazei as pazes de uma vez;
Nossos doutores, com razão,
prognosticam: não é para graves operações
a estação!”
Joga a luva, cavaleirão!
É natural e inevitável
Minha saliva
rivaliza com tua cara
nad’amável
Abomino violência
mas contra o ominoso
Crápula maldito
dê ela o veredito
Morta lenta
ao truculento!
Primo, em meu imo
sei que tu és
ínfimo
merecias era
viver no limo
“O que nos fracos chamamos paciência
É no peito valente apenas
a mais pura e fria covardia”
“Os Céus que se vinguem
Eu ficarei aqui prostrado.”
A obsessão de Shakespeare com tios assassinados e sobrinhos vingadores.
“Therefore, we banish you our territories:
You, cousin Hereford, upon pain of life,
Till twice five summers have enrich’d our fields
Shall not regreet our fair dominions,
But tread the stranger paths of banishment.”
“KING RICHARD II
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.”
“THOMAS MOWBRAY
(…)
The language I have learn’d these forty years,
My native English, now I must forego:
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 engaol’d my tongue,
Doubly portcullis’d 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?”
Você engaiolou minha língua na minha própria boca.
Passarinho não canta mais.
Sou muito idoso para me darem comida na boquinha
Não, nenhuma bonequinha
Faria isso (de graça);
Ou para virar estudante ou aprendiz:
O que é esse castigo senão uma morte muda
A matar asfixiada minha língua que não poderá mais o britânico e indispensável oxigênio respirar?
Não adianta re-clamar
Nem rebradar
Nem re-correr
Nem percorrer de novo
veloz que seja
as sendas
depois do crime!
“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 il
‘Gainst us, our state, our subjects, or our land.”
But if you wanna kill yourselves, just who am I???
Finalmente a carne recebe a sentença que a alma já cumpria.
“Confess thy treasons ere thou fly the realm;
Since thou hast far to go, bear not along
The clogging burthen of a guilty soul.”
Alivia teus pecados
para não morrer
de tão pesado!
Minha parada final é a Inglaterra.
Meu passaporte? A morte.
“thy sad aspect
Hath from the number of his banish’d years
Pluck’d four away.
To HENRY BOLINGBROKE
Six frozen winter spent,
Return with welcome home from banishment.
HENRY BOLINGBROKE
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.”
Traga-me a Copa!
“JOÃO O MACILENTO [pai de Bolingbroke]
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.”
“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 destroy’d.
Alas, I look’d 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.”
Se fosse um estranho e não meu filho
Comutar sua pena seria mais tranqüilo.
Comprei reputação
com grãos de areia d’ampulheta
Vocês calaram enquanto minha língua
pronunciava contra a vontade sua sentença
Mande lembranças do exílio!
If grief be a dove
Grief if it can be shewn
Griffith
to rule berserkly the world
Judeu errante temporário
“gnarling sorrow hath less power to bite the man that mocks at it and sets it light.”
“the apprehension of the good gives but the greater feeling to the worse”
O vento me fez chorar
“GREEN
Well, he is gone; and with him go these thoughts.
Now for the rebels which stand out in Ireland,
Expedient manage must be made, my liege,
Ere further leisure yield them further means
For their advantage and your highness’ loss.”
“KING RICHARD II
Now put it, God, in the physician’s mind
To help him to his grave immediately!
The lining of his coffers shall make coats
To deck our soldiers for these Irish wars.
Come, gentlemen, let’s all go visit him:
Pray God we may make haste, and come too late!
All
Amen.”
“JOHN OF GAUNT
O, but they say the tongues of dying men
Enforce attention like deep harmony:
Where words are scarce, they are seldom spent in vain,
For they breathe truth that breathe their words in pain.
He that no more must say is listen’d more
Than they whom youth and ease have taught to glose;
More are men’s ends mark’d than their lives before:
The setting sun, and music at the close,
As the last taste of sweets, is sweetest last,
Writ in remembrance more than things long past:
Though Richard my life’s counsel would not hear,
My death’s sad tale may yet undeaf his ear.”
“Lascivious metres, to whose venom sound
The open ear of youth doth always listen”
“That England, that was wont to conquer others,
Hath made a shameful conquest of itself.
Ah, would the scandal vanish with my life,
How happy then were my ensuing death!”
Seja gentil com o potro, pois potrinhos destemperados e agrestes, se incitados, mais agrestes ficam.
“KING RICHARD II
Can sick men play so nicely with their names?”
“KING RICHARD II
Should dying men flatter with those that live?
JOHN OF GAUNT
No, no, men living flatter those that die.”
“Thy death-bed is no lesser than thy land
Wherein thou liest in reputation sick”
Se tu não fosses meu parente, tua língua que corre tão solta e desimpedida faria com que tua cabeça rolasse ladeira – ombros e dorso – abaixo ainda mais frouxa e veloz, sem quase tempo de se despedir de teu pescoço.
Sobreviva à vergonha!
Filho do roubo sullens has.
(traduza)
“More hath he spent in peace than they in wars.”
Stand up, rise
Wipe off the dust
Avenge yourself!
“BUSHY
Each substance of a grief hath 20 shadows,
Which shows like grief itself, but is not so;
For sorrow’s eye, glazed with blinding tears,
Divides one thing entire to many objects;
Like perspectives, which rightly gazed upon
Show nothing but confusion, eyed awry
Distinguish form: so your sweet majesty,
Looking awry upon your lord’s departure,
Find shapes of grief, more than himself, to wail;
Which, look’d on as it is, is nought but shadows
Of what it is not. Then, thrice-gracious queen,
More than your lord’s departure weep not: more’s not seen;
Or if it be, ‘tis with false sorrow’s eye,
Which for things true weeps things imaginary.”
“QUEEN
(…) though on thinking on no thought I think,
Makes me with heavy nothing faint and shrink.”
Mesmo não pensando em nada
Ou melhor, justamente por não pensar em nada
Eu penso
Pensamentos graves
Gravidade me derruba me adensa me condensa
Esse nada tão pesado me enverga
Me entontece, narcotiza,
Me estremece a alma até a raiz.
Nada mais
Nada menos
do que o Nada
“conceit is still derived
From some forefather grief; mine is not so,
For nothing had begot my something grief;
Or something hath the nothing that I grieve:
‘Tis in reversion that I do possess;
But what it is, that is not yet known; what
I cannot name; ‘tis nameless woe, I wot.”
“O orgulho deriva ainda
Dum’angústia mais antiga; caso meu não é.
Nada gerou este meu pesar:
Nem Nada tem esse Nada que me aflige:
É tudo ao avesso comigo;
O que isto é, ainda não sei mas saberei;
ainda está para nascer seu nome.
Tristeza inominada, mas não inominável.”
SOSSEGO AFLITO
Fins urgentes
clamam afobação
Em terra de apressado
Suado e em pranto é confortável
“QUEEN
(…)
Uncle, for God’s sake, speak comfortable words.
DUKE OF YORK
Should I do so, I should belie my thoughts:
Comfort’s in heaven; and we are on the earth,
Where nothing lives but crosses, cares and grief.
Your husband, he is gone to save far off,
Whilst others come to make him lose at home:
Here am I left to underprop his land,
Who, weak with age, cannot support myself:
Now comes the sick hour that his surfeit made;
Now shall he try his friends that flatter’d him.”
FUTURA VIÚVA
Titio, per favore, pel’amor de Dio, que tu venhas trazendo palavras de consolo para est’alm’aflita!
DUQUE DA VELHIORQUE
Continue a esperar
Fizess’isso eu, trairia meus próprios pensamentos.
Conforto e sossego estão no céu limpo das tempestades
Estamos na terra, lugar de tormentos contínuos,
e previsões do tempo sempre flutuantes…
Aqui nada ‘é’, só ‘passa’, se preocupa, se mortifica.
Seu marido está ido, para conquistas no estrangeiro,
enquanto outros se aprochegam para fazê-lo perder tudo
em seu lar e leito.
Que ironia eu e meus (poucos) homens agora
se acaso formos sitiados nessa cidade sem-senhor
Senhor que uma vez
Dela baniu seu sobrinho;
–Eu! Que mal tenho forças para conservar-me de pé…
Último bastião destas riquezas em perigo!
Muros que antes Bolingbroke repeliam
agora o deverão acolher, favoráveis.
Porque chegou a hora fatídica
da colheita e vendeta dos excessos de
Sua Majestade Ricardo Segundo;
Que ele agora teste o caráter
de sua côrte de bajuladores!
“every thing is left at six and seven.”
“A esperança de dias felizes é pouco menos feliz que esperanças realizadas”
Eu te rendo mais serviços, assim como sou rendido
“Three Judases, each one thrice worse than Judas!”
“For God’s sake, let us sit upon the ground
And tell sad stories of the death of kings;
How some have been deposed; some slain in war,
Some haunted by the ghosts they have deposed;
Some poison’d by their wives: some sleeping kill’d;
All murder’d: for within the hollow crown
That rounds the mortal temples of a king
Keeps Death his court and there the antic sits”
Morrer lutando é como escarnecer a morte;
O risco de instante a instante é insultante
para a Morte,
é como triunfar perante
essa Deusa Imortal e Egoísta
cada vez menos indistinta e distante,
que adora feições cabisbaixas,
mãos atadas,
pernas paralisadas,
espírito servil.
“SIR STEPHEN SCROOP
Men judge by the complexion of the sky
The state and inclination of the day:
So may you by my dull and heavy eye,
My tongue hath but a heavier tale to say.
I play the torturer, by small and small
To lengthen out the worst that must be spoken:
Your uncle York is join’d with Bolingbroke,
And all your northern castles yielded up,
And all your southern gentlemen in arms
Upon his party.”
“Henry Bolingbroke
On both his knees doth kiss King Richard’s hand
And sends allegiance and true faith of heart
To his most royal person, hither come
Even at his feet to lay my arms and power,
Provided that my banishment repeal’d
And lands restored again be freely granted:
If not, I’ll use the advantage of my power
And lay the summer’s dust with showers of blood
Rain’d from the wounds of slaughter’d Englishmen”
“KING RICHARD II
Northumberland, say thus the king returns:
His noble cousin is right welcome hither;
And all the number of his fair demands
Shall be accomplish’d without contradiction:
With all the gracious utterance thou hast
Speak to his gentle hearing kind commends.
We do debase ourselves, cousin, do we not,
To DUKE OF AUMERLE
To look so poorly and to speak so fair?
Shall we call back Northumberland, and send
Defiance to the traitor, and so die?”
DUKE OF AUMERLE
No, good my lord; let’s fight with gentle words
Till time lend friends and friends their helpful swords.
KING RICHARD II
O God, O God! that e’er this tongue of mine,
That laid the sentence of dread banishment
On yon proud man, should take it off again
With words of sooth! O that I were as great
As is my grief, or lesser than my name!
Or that I could forget what I have been,
Or not remember what I must be now!
Swell’st thou, proud heart? I’ll give thee scope to beat,
Since foes have scope to beat both thee and me.
(…)
Would not this ill do well? Well, well, I see
I talk but idly, and you laugh at me.
Most mighty prince, my Lord Northumberland,
What says King Bolingbroke? will his majesty
Give Richard leave to live till Richard die?
You make a leg, and Bolingbroke says ay.
(…)
In the base court? Base court, where kings grow base,
To come at traitors’ calls and do them grace.
In the base court? Come down? Down, court!
down, king!
For night-owls shriek where mounting larks
should sing.
Exeunt from above
HENRY BOLINGBROKE
What says his majesty?
NORTHUMBERLAND
Sorrow and grief of heart
Makes him speak fondly, like a frantic man
Yet he is come.
Enter KING RICHARD and his attendants below”
“Uncle, give me your hands: nay, dry your eyes;
Tears show their love, but want their remedies.
Cousin, I am too young to be your father,
Though you are old enough to be my heir.
What you will have, I’ll give, and willing too;
For do we must what force will have us do.
Set on towards London, cousin, is it so?”
“My legs can keep no measure in delight,
When my poor heart no measure keeps in grief”
“For what I have I need not to repeat;
And what I want it boots not to complain.”
O que eu tenho, já tenho em demasia;
O que me falta, só de pedir me dá azia.
“Gardener
…O, what pity is it
That he had not so trimm’d and dress’d his land
As we this garden! We at time of year
Do wound the bark, the skin of our fruit-trees,
Lest, being over-proud in sap and blood,
With too much riches it confound itself:
Had he done so to great and growing men,
They might have lived to bear and he to taste
Their fruits of duty: superfluous branches
We lop away, that bearing boughs may live:
Had he done so, himself had borne the crown,
Which waste of idle hours hath quite thrown down.”
GUERRA NOS MARES: UMA NOVA ESPERANÇA
“Ascend his throne, descending now from him;
And long live Henry, fourth of that name!
HENRY BOLINGBROKE
In God’s name, I’ll ascend the regal throne.”
“BISHOP OF CARLISLE
(…)
My Lord of Hereford here, whom you call king,
Is a foul traitor to proud Hereford’s king:
And if you crown him, let me prophesy:
The blood of English shall manure the ground,
And future ages groan for this foul act;
Peace shall go sleep with Turks and infidels,
And in this seat of peace tumultuous wars
Shall kin with kin and kind with kind confound;
Disorder, horror, fear and mutiny
Shall here inhabit, and this land be call’d
The field of Golgotha and dead men’s skulls.
O, if you raise this house against this house,
It will the woefullest division prove
That ever fell upon this cursed earth.
Prevent it, resist it, let it not be so,
Lest child, child’s children, cry against you woe!”
“RICHARD
(…) I hardly yet have learn’d
To insinuate, flatter, bow, and bend my limbs:
Give sorrow leave awhile to tutor me
To this submission. Yet I well remember
The favours of these men: were they not mine?
Did they not sometime cry, <all hail!> to me?
So Judas did to Christ: but he, in twelve,
Found truth in all but one: I, in twelve thousand, none.
God save the king! Will no man say amen?
Am I both priest and clerk? well then, amen.
God save the king! although I be not he;
And yet, amen, if heaven do think him me.”
“O that I were a mockery king of snow,
Standing before the sun of Bolingbroke,
To melt myself away in water-drops!”
“[to the QUEEN] Hie thee to France
And cloister thee in some religious house:
Our holy lives must win a new world’s crown,
Which our profane hours here have stricken down.”
“The love of wicked men converts to fear;
That fear to hate, and hate turns one or both
To worthy danger and deserved death.”
“O amor do malvado cedo se torna medo;
O medo vira ódio, e o ódio torna amigo e adversário
Vítima de todos os perigos, dentre eles a morte.”
“DUCHESS OF YORK
(…)
But now I know thy mind; thou dost suspect
That I have been disloyal to thy bed,
And that he is a bastard, not thy son:
Sweet York, sweet husband, be not of that mind:
He is as like thee as a man may be,
Not like to me, or any of my kin,
And yet I love him.”
“Twice saying <pardon> doth not pardon twain,
But makes one pardon strong.”
A PRISÃO E SEUS MONÓLOGOS
“Ha, ha! keep time: how sour sweet music is,
When time is broke and no proportion kept!
So is it in the music of men’s lives.
And here have I the daintiness of ear
To cheque time broke in a disorder’d string;
But for the concord of my state and time
Had not an ear to hear my true time broke.
I wasted time, and now doth time waste me;
For now hath time made me his numbering clock:
My thoughts are minutes; and with sighs they jar
Their watches on unto mine eyes, the outward watch,
Whereto my finger, like a dial’s point,
Is pointing still, in cleansing them from tears.
Now sir, the sound that tells what hour it is
Are clamorous groans, which strike upon my heart,
Which is the bell: so sighs and tears and groans
Show minutes, times, and hours: but my time
Runs posting on in Bolingbroke’s proud joy,
While I stand fooling here, his Jack o’ the clock.
This music mads me; let it sound no more;
For though it have holp madmen to their wits,
In me it seems it will make wise men mad.
Yet blessing on his heart that gives it me!
For ‘tis a sign of love; and love to Richard
Is a strange brooch in this all-hating world.”
Seclusão Anagógica 