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Editorial Reviews. Review. "As Fowles intended, the mood is light and summery But there's also an undercurrent of sophistication that serves as a reminder of.
Table of contents

What, pale again? My fear hath catch'd your fondness: now I see The mystery of your loneliness, and find Your salt tears' head: now to all sense 'tis gross You love my son; invention is ashamed, Against the proclamation of thy passion, To say thou dost not: therefore tell me true; But tell me then, 'tis so; for, look thy cheeks Confess it, th' one to th' other; and thine eyes See it so grossly shown in thy behaviors That in their kind they speak it: only sin And hellish obstinacy tie thy tongue, That truth should be suspected.

Speak, is't so?


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If it be so, you have wound a goodly clew; If it be not, forswear't: howe'er, I charge thee, As heaven shall work in me for thine avail, Tell me truly. Yes, Helena, you might be my daughter-in-law. God save you from meaning it! What, why have you turned pale again?

My fear has found out your fondness: now I have solved the mystery of your loneliness, and I see where your tears come from. Now it's completely clear to me that you love my son. It would be shameful to deny it, given how clearly your looks proclaim your passions. Therefore, tell me the truth, and tell me it's true. Your cheeks are confessing it in their blushes, one to the other, and your eyes are so obviously demonstrating it in their behavior that they're practically speaking it.

Only sinful and damned stubbornness keeps you from speaking along with your frustration that the truth should be suspected. Speak, is it true? If it is, you've made a good tangle of things. If not, swear it. But, I command you, as heaven will help me fight for you, tell me the truth. Good madam, pardon me! Do you love my son? Your pardon, noble mistress! Love you my son? Do not you love him, madam? Go not about; my love hath in't a bond, Whereof the world takes note: come, come, disclose The state of your affection; for your passions Have to the full appeach'd.

Don't mess around with me. My love for you is strong enough that everyone recognizes it. Come, come, tell me what your affections are, for your passions have already given you away. Then, I confess, Here on my knee, before high heaven and you, That before you, and next unto high heaven, I love your son. My friends were poor, but honest; so's my love: Be not offended; for it hurts not him That he is loved of me: I follow him not By any token of presumptuous suit; Nor would I have him till I do deserve him; Yet never know how that desert should be.

Constance Garnett - Wikisource, the free online library

I know I love in vain, strive against hope; Yet in this captious and intenible sieve I still pour in the waters of my love And lack not to lose still: thus, Indian-like, Religious in mine error, I adore The sun, that looks upon his worshipper, But knows of him no more. My dearest madam, Let not your hate encounter with my love For loving where you do: but if yourself, Whose aged honour cites a virtuous youth, Did ever in so true a flame of liking Wish chastely and love dearly, that your Dian Was both herself and love: O, then, give pity To her, whose state is such that cannot choose But lend and give where she is sure to lose; That seeks not to find that her search implies, But riddle-like lives sweetly where she dies!

Then, I confess, here on my knee, before heaven and you, first to you, and then to heaven, I love your son. My friends were poor but honest and my love is too. Don't be offended, for it doesn't hurt him to be loved by me. I don't follow him claiming anything of him and I wouldn't want to be with him until I'm worthy of him. I don't know how I'd ever be worthy of him. I know I love him in vain, I have no hope.

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It's like I pour the waters of my love into a strainer trying to catch them, but they always evade me. So, like an Indian, worshipping the wrong religion , I adore the sun, that looks down on his worshipper but doesn't even know the one who worships him exists. My dearest madam, don't hate me for loving the son that you love. If you yourself—whose honor in old age suggests you were a virtuous young woman, ever loved chastely and passionately like me, so that Diana, goddess of chastity, and Venus, goddess of love, merged into one —oh, then, give pity to a girl whose condition means that she cannot choose but to give her love to someone who can never return it.

She is a girl who won't seek to pursue her love but will keep her secret sweetly until death! Had you not lately an intent,—speak truly,— To go to Paris? Madam, I had. I will tell truth; by grace itself I swear. You know my father left me some prescriptions Of rare and proved effects, such as his reading And manifest experience had collected For general sovereignty; and that he will'd me In heedfull'st reservation to bestow them, As notes whose faculties inclusive were More than they were in note: amongst the rest, There is a remedy, approved, set down, To cure the desperate languishings whereof The king is render'd lost.

I will tell the truth; I swear to God. You know that my father left me some medicines with rare and tested powers that he collected for general usefulness based on his reading and impressive experience. He meant to leave them to me for safe-keeping and to use since I understood that their powers were beyond the reputation that they carry. Among those medicines, there is a remedy, that's been tested and studied, that will cure the terrible sickness that is thought to be a death sentence for the king.

This was your motive For Paris, was it? My lord your son made me to think of this; Else Paris and the medicine and the king Had from the conversation of my thoughts Haply been absent then. My lord your son gave me this idea. Otherwise Paris and the medicine and the king would never have crossed my mind. But think you, Helen, If you should tender your supposed aid, He would receive it? But do you think, Helena, if you should offer this supposed help to the king that he would accept it?

He and his physicians all think the same thing: he thinks they can't help him and they think that he can't be helped. Why would they trust a poor, uneducated virgin, when the leading doctors, having put all of their learning to practice, have left the sickness to take its natural course? There's something in't, More than my father's skill, which was the greatest Of his profession, that his good receipt Shall for my legacy be sanctified By the luckiest stars in heaven: and, would your honour But give me leave to try success, I'ld venture The well-lost life of mine on his grace's cure By such a day and hour.

My hope is that, beyond just my father's skill, which was the greatest of his profession, that his good reputation will be blessed by all the stars in heaven and will bring me good fortune. And, if your ladyship would only give me the chance to attempt success, I'd wager my life on his grace being cured down to the very day and hour. Dost thou believe't? Ay, madam, knowingly. Why, Helen, thou shalt have my leave and love, Means and attendants and my loving greetings To those of mine in court: I'll stay at home And pray God's blessing into thy attempt: Be gone to-morrow; and be sure of this, What I can help thee to thou shalt not miss.

Why, Helena, you will have my permission and love, everything you need to travel and servants to wait on you and my loving greetings to my friends at court. I'll stay at home and pray for God's blessing in your attempt. Leave tomorrow, and be sure of this: anything that I can help you with, you shall have. His Masters dissertation focuses on announcements of death in early modern drama, and other research areas of interest include Shakespeare in transformative contexts prisons, schools, etc.

In addition to teaching and learning, he also writes theatre reviews often of Shakespeare productions , composes musical theatre frequently with Shakespearean inspirations , and sings in choirs occasionally in Shakespearean choral settings. A line-by-line translation. Table of Contents. Act 1, Scene 1. Act 1, Scene 2. Act 1, Scene 3. Act 2, Scene 1. Act 2, Scene 2. Act 2, Scene 3. Act 2, Scene 4. Act 2, Scene 5.

English woman and Italian man fell in love using Google translate

Act 3, Scene 1. Act 3, Scene 2. Act 3, Scene 3. Act 3, Scene 4. Act 3, Scene 5. Act 3, Scene 6. Act 3, Scene 7. Act 4, Scene 1. Act 4, Scene 2.

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Act 4, Scene 3. Act 4, Scene 4. Act 4, Scene 5. Act 5, Scene 1. Act 5, Scene 2.


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  • Friday Reads: National Translation Month | Penguin Random House;

    • Act 5, Scene 3. LitCharts Teacher Editions.

    Collaborative Translation for Inclusion

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