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A Roller Coaster of Deception and Whimsy
Take a deep dive into a world where mistaken identities stir up chaos, leading to laugh-out-loud scenarios and bewildering mix-ups. Think it's the plot of a modern-day sitcom? Think again! It's pure Shakespeare – but perhaps not the kind you remember grappling with in school.
Enter Ephesus, a vibrant Greek city that unknowingly plays host to two sets of twins, each unaware of the other's existence. With both pairs given eerily similar names, what ensues is a whirlwind of errors: seductions gone wrong, unjust accusations, and a series of unfortunate events that would leave anyone's head spinning. From charges of treachery to claims of demonic possession, the play treads the fine line between hilarity and chaos.
But let's be real – while the story is a gem, Shakespeare's intricate language can sometimes be a puzzle. If deciphering Elizabethan English feels like untangling a knotted string, BookCaps is here to simplify! Dive into a refreshing modern rendition of "The Comedy of Errors," keeping the essence but making it accessible to the contemporary reader. And for those keen on a deep dive, the original text awaits right beside, offering a delightful contrast and richer understanding. Rediscover Shakespeare's genius in a form that speaks to you, and get ready for a ride filled with laughs, gasps, and a hearty dose of drama!
PURCHASE A COPY OF THE COMEDY OF ERRORS IN PLAIN AND SIMPLE ENGLISH NOW!
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EXCERPT FROM THE COMEDY OF ERRORS IN PLAIN AND SIMPLE ENGLISH
SCENE I. A hall in DUKE SOLINUS'S palace.
Enter DUKE SOLINUS, AEGEON, Gaoler, Officers, and other Attendants
AEGEON
Proceed, Solinus, to procure my fall
And by the doom of death end woes and all.
Go ahead, Solinus, secure my downfall
Doom me to die and end all of my misery.
DUKE SOLINUS
Merchant of Syracuse, plead no more;
I am not partial to infringe our laws:
The enmity and discord which of late
Sprung from the rancorous outrage of your duke
To merchants, our well-dealing countrymen,
Who wanting guilders to redeem their lives
Have seal'd his rigorous statutes with their bloods,
Excludes all pity from our threatening looks.
For, since the mortal and intestine jars
'Twixt thy seditious countrymen and us,
It hath in solemn synods been decreed
Both by the Syracusians and ourselves,
To admit no traffic to our adverse towns Nay, more,
If any born at Ephesus be seen
At any Syracusian marts and fairs;
Again: if any Syracusian born
Come to the bay of Ephesus, he dies,
His goods confiscate to the duke's dispose,
Unless a thousand marks be levied,
To quit the penalty and to ransom him.
Thy substance, valued at the highest rate,
Cannot amount unto a hundred marks;
Therefore by law thou art condemned to die.
Merchant of Syracuse, stop pleading with me;
I am not the type to bend our laws:
The hatred and disagreement which recently
Came from the bitter outrage of your duke
To merchants, our well-dealing countrymen,
Who wanting money to redeem their lives
Have paid their blood for this harsh laws,
Leaves no room for pity in our threatening looks.
Since the violent and deadly conflicts started
Between your rebellious countrymen and us,
In solemn councils of church it has been decreed
Both by the Syracusians and ourselves,
That no one from either town will be allowed in the other. No, more than that,
If anyone born in Ephesus is seen
At any Syracusian marts and fairs;
Likewise: if anyone who is Syracusian born
Comes to the bay of Ephesus, he dies,
His goods confiscated for the duke’s disposal,
Unless someone can pay a thousand marks,
To stop the penalty and ransom him.
Your goods, valued at the highest rate,
Cannot amount to even a hundred marks;
Therefore by law you are condemned to die.
AEGEON
Yet this my comfort: when your words are done,
My woes end likewise with the evening sun.
At least I have this: when your words are done,
My misery will end with the evening sun.
DUKE SOLINUS
Well, Syracusian, say in brief the cause
Why thou departed'st from thy native home
And for what cause thou camest to Ephesus.
Well, Syracusian, briefly explain the cause of
Why you left your native home
And why you came to Ephesus.
AEGEON
A heavier task could not have been imposed
Than I to speak my griefs unspeakable:
Yet, that the world may witness that my end
Was wrought by nature, not by vile offence,
I'll utter what my sorrows give me leave.
In Syracusa was I born, and wed
Unto a woman, happy but for me,
And by me, had not our hap been bad.
With her I lived in joy; our wealth increased By prosperous voyages I often made
To Epidamnum; till my factor's death
And the great care of goods at random left
Drew me from kind embracements of my spouse:
From whom my absence was not six months old
Before herself, almost at fainting under
The pleasing punishment that women bear,
Had made provision for her following me
And soon and safe arrived where I was.
There had she not been long, but she became
A joyful mother of two goodly sons;
And, which was strange, the one so like the other,
As could not be distinguish'd but by names.
That very hour, and in the self-same inn,
A meaner woman was delivered
Of such a burden, male twins, both alike:
Those,--for their parents were exceeding poor,--
I bought and brought up to attend my sons.
My wife, not meanly proud of two such boys,
Made daily motions for our home return:
Unwilling I agreed. Alas! too soon,
We came aboard.
A league from Epidamnum had we sail'd,
Before the always wind-obeying deep
Gave any tragic instance of our harm:
But longer did we not retain much hope;
For what obscured light the heavens did grant
Did but convey unto our fearful minds
A doubtful warrant of immediate death;
Which though myself would gladly have embraced,
Yet the incessant weepings of my wife,
Weeping before for what she saw must come,
And piteous plainings of the pretty babes,
That mourn'd for fashion, ignorant what to fear,
Forced me to seek delays for them and me.
And this it was, for other means was none:
The sailors sought for safety by our boat,
And left the ship, then sinking-ripe, to us:
My wife, more careful for the latter-born,
Had fasten'd him unto a small spare mast,
Such as seafaring men provide for storms;
To him one of the other twins was bound,
Whilst I had been like heedful of the other:
The children thus disposed, my wife and I,
Fixing our eyes on whom our care was fix'd,
Fasten'd ourselves at either end the mast;
And floating straight, obedient to the stream,
Was carried towards Corinth, as we thought.
At length the sun, gazing upon the earth,
Dispersed those vapours that offended us;
And by the benefit of his wished light,
The seas wax'd calm, and we discovered Two ships from far making amain to us,
Of Corinth that, of Epidaurus this:
But ere they came,--O, let me say no more!
Gather the sequel by that went before.
You couldn’t have imposed a heavier task
Than to make me speak my unspeakable griefs:
Yet, so the world can witness that my death
Was brought about without meaning to offend,
I'll utter what I can about my sorrows.
In Syracusa was I born, and married
To a woman, who was happy until she met me,
I could’ve made her happy, had luck been better.
With her I lived in joy; our wealth increased By prosperous voyages I often made
To Epidamnum; till my agent’s death
And the burden of caring for the rest of my goods
Took me away from my wife’s embrace:
I was not gone six months
Before she, about to faint under
The pain of pregnancy,
Had made arrangements to follow me
And soon and safe arrived where I was.
Not long afterwards she became
A joyful mother of two twin sons;
It was strange, each one so like the other,
That the only thing telling them apart was their names.
That very hour, and in the self-same inn,
A lower-class woman delivered
Similarly, male twins, both alike:
Those,--for their parents were exceedingly poor,-
I bought and raised to serve my sons.
My wife, extremely proud of two such boys,
Begged me daily for our home return:
Unwilling, I agreed. Unfortunately, we came aboard too soon.
We had sailed a league from Epidamnum,
Before the sea that always obeys the wind
Gave any signs of danger:
Before too long we had no hope left;
The mass covering the light from the heavens
Made us, in our fear-stricken state
Believe that we were facing immediate death;
Which I myself would have gladly embraced,
But my wife’s ceaseless sobbing,
Weeping for what she saw about to happen,
And pitiful cries of our beautiful babies,
Crying without even understanding what to fear,
Forced me to seek a way for us to survive.
This is what I did, since I had no other choice:
The sailors had all abandoned ship,
Taking the safety boats and leaving us to sink:
My wife, more concerned for the younger son,
Had tied him onto a small spare mast,
Such as seafaring men provide for storms;
She then tied one of the other twins to him,
While I did the same to the remaining two:
With the children taken care of, my wife and I,
Locking eyes,
Fastened ourselves to either end of the mast;
And floating straight, obedient to the current,
Were carried towards Corinth, or so we thought.
After a while the sun, gazing upon the earth
Dispersed those terrible clouds;
And because of his much wished-for light,
The seas became calm, and we discovered Two far-off ships coming towards us,
One from Corinth the other from Epidaurus:
But before they came,-- O, I can’t say any more!
You can guess what happened by what I’ve said.
DUKE SOLINUS
Nay, forward, old man; do not break off so;
For we may pity, though not pardon thee.
No, keep going, old man; don’t leave it like that;
We may take pity, though we won’t pardon you.
AEGEON
O, had the gods done so, I had not now
Worthily term'd them merciless to us!
For, ere the ships could meet by twice five leagues,
We were encounterd by a mighty rock;
Which being violently borne upon,
Our helpful ship was splitted in the midst;
So that, in this unjust divorce of us,
Fortune had left to both of us alike
What to delight in, what to sorrow for.
Her part, poor soul! seeming as burdened
With lesser weight but not with lesser woe,
Was carried with more speed before the wind;
And in our sight they three were taken up
By fishermen of Corinth, as we thought.
At length, another ship had seized on us;
And, knowing whom it was their hap to save,
Gave healthful welcome to their shipwreck'd guests;
And would have reft the fishers of their prey,
Had not their bark been very slow of sail;
And therefore homeward did they bend their course.
Thus have you heard me sever'd from my bliss;
That by misfortunes was my life prolong'd,
To tell sad stories of my own mishaps.
O, if only the gods had taken pity, I would
Not now be rightfully calling them merciless!
Because before the ships reached within ten leagues of us,
We were met by a huge rock;
And since we were moving so fast,
It split our ship down the middle;
So that, as we were unjustly separated,
Fortune had left to each of us
Something to delight in as well as to sorrow for.
For her, poor soul! Since she was burdened
With less weight, but not with less misfortune,
Was carried away with more speed by the wind;
And I saw her and the babies taken up
By fishermen of Corinth, or so I thought.
At length, another ship had reached us;
And, knowing who they were lucky to be saving,
Were welcoming and took good care of us, their shipwrecked guests;
And would have gone to rescue my wife,
If their ship hadn’t been so slow to sail;
And so they changed course to sail towards home.
Now you see how I was severed from my bliss;
That because of bad luck my life was prolonged,
To tell sad stories of my own mishaps.
DUKE SOLINUS
And for the sake of them thou sorrowest for,
Do me the favour to dilate at full
What hath befall'n of them and thee till now.
And for the sake of those you lost,
Do me the favor to expand your tale, and tell me
What became of them and you up until now.
AEGEON
My youngest boy, and yet my eldest care,
At eighteen years became inquisitive
After his brother: and importuned me
That his attendant--so his case was like,
Reft of his brother, but retain'd his name--
Might bear him company in the quest of him,
Whom whilst I labour'd of a love to see,
I hazarded the loss of whom I loved.
Five summers have I spent in furthest Greece,
Roaming clean through the bounds of Asia,
And, coasting homeward, came to Ephesus; Hopeless to find, yet loath to leave unsought
Or that or any place that harbours men.
But here must end the story of my life;
And happy were I in my timely death,
Could all my travels warrant me they live.
My youngest boy, the one I care for the most,
At eighteen years old started to wonder
About his brother: and begged me
To let his attendant—who also
Lost his brother, but at least knew his name--
Go with him in search of their twins,
And since I also wanted to see my lost son,
I risked losing the one I loved to find the other.
I spent five years in the furthest parts of Greece,
Roaming throughout all of Asia,
And, making my way home, came to Ephesus; with no hope of finding, yet unwilling to stop,
I will search any place where men live.
But here must end the story of my life;
And I would be happy that my time has come,
If all my travels could prove to me that they live.
DUKE SOLINUS
Hapless Aegeon, whom the fates have mark'd
To bear the extremity of dire mishap!
Now, trust me, were it not against our laws,
Against my crown, my oath, my dignity,
Which princes, would they, may not disannul,
My soul would sue as advocate for thee.
But, though thou art adjudged to the death
And passed sentence may not be recall'd
But to our honour's great disparagement,
Yet I will favour thee in what I can.
Therefore, merchant, I'll limit thee this day
To seek thy life by beneficial help:
Try all the friends thou hast in Ephesus;
Beg thou, or borrow, to make up the sum,
And live; if no, then thou art doom'd to die.
Gaoler, take him to thy custody.
Poor Aegeon, the fates have marked you
To suffer the extremities of terrible misfortune!
Now, trust me, if it wasn’t against our laws,
Against my crown, my oath, my dignity,
Which even princes, if they wanted, could not disobey
My own soul would support your case.
But, though you have been sentenced to death,
And passed sentence cannot be taken back
Without greatly discrediting my honor,
I will help you in any way I can.
Therefore, merchant, I will give you one day
To seek help to save your life:
Try all the friends you have in Ephesus;
Beg, borrow, do what you can to make ransom,
And live; if you can’t, you are doomed to die.
Jailor, take him to your custody.
Jailor
I will, my lord.
I will, my lord.
AEGEON
Hopeless and helpless doth AEgeon wend,
But to procrastinate his lifeless end.
I will go, hopeless and helpless,
Only putting off my death.
Enter DUKE SOLINUS, AEGEON, Gaoler, Officers, and other Attendants
AEGEON
Proceed, Solinus, to procure my fall
And by the doom of death end woes and all.
Go ahead, Solinus, secure my downfall
Doom me to die and end all of my misery.
DUKE SOLINUS
Merchant of Syracuse, plead no more;
I am not partial to infringe our laws:
The enmity and discord which of late
Sprung from the rancorous outrage of your duke
To merchants, our well-dealing countrymen,
Who wanting guilders to redeem their lives
Have seal'd his rigorous statutes with their bloods,
Excludes all pity from our threatening looks.
For, since the mortal and intestine jars
'Twixt thy seditious countrymen and us,
It hath in solemn synods been decreed
Both by the Syracusians and ourselves,
To admit no traffic to our adverse towns Nay, more,
If any born at Ephesus be seen
At any Syracusian marts and fairs;
Again: if any Syracusian born
Come to the bay of Ephesus, he dies,
His goods confiscate to the duke's dispose,
Unless a thousand marks be levied,
To quit the penalty and to ransom him.
Thy substance, valued at the highest rate,
Cannot amount unto a hundred marks;
Therefore by law thou art condemned to die.
Merchant of Syracuse, stop pleading with me;
I am not the type to bend our laws:
The hatred and disagreement which recently
Came from the bitter outrage of your duke
To merchants, our well-dealing countrymen,
Who wanting money to redeem their lives
Have paid their blood for this harsh laws,
Leaves no room for pity in our threatening looks.
Since the violent and deadly conflicts started
Between your rebellious countrymen and us,
In solemn councils of church it has been decreed
Both by the Syracusians and ourselves,
That no one from either town will be allowed in the other. No, more than that,
If anyone born in Ephesus is seen
At any Syracusian marts and fairs;
Likewise: if anyone who is Syracusian born
Comes to the bay of Ephesus, he dies,
His goods confiscated for the duke’s disposal,
Unless someone can pay a thousand marks,
To stop the penalty and ransom him.
Your goods, valued at the highest rate,
Cannot amount to even a hundred marks;
Therefore by law you are condemned to die.
AEGEON
Yet this my comfort: when your words are done,
My woes end likewise with the evening sun.
At least I have this: when your words are done,
My misery will end with the evening sun.
DUKE SOLINUS
Well, Syracusian, say in brief the cause
Why thou departed'st from thy native home
And for what cause thou camest to Ephesus.
Well, Syracusian, briefly explain the cause of
Why you left your native home
And why you came to Ephesus.
AEGEON
A heavier task could not have been imposed
Than I to speak my griefs unspeakable:
Yet, that the world may witness that my end
Was wrought by nature, not by vile offence,
I'll utter what my sorrows give me leave.
In Syracusa was I born, and wed
Unto a woman, happy but for me,
And by me, had not our hap been bad.
With her I lived in joy; our wealth increased By prosperous voyages I often made
To Epidamnum; till my factor's death
And the great care of goods at random left
Drew me from kind embracements of my spouse:
From whom my absence was not six months old
Before herself, almost at fainting under
The pleasing punishment that women bear,
Had made provision for her following me
And soon and safe arrived where I was.
There had she not been long, but she became
A joyful mother of two goodly sons;
And, which was strange, the one so like the other,
As could not be distinguish'd but by names.
That very hour, and in the self-same inn,
A meaner woman was delivered
Of such a burden, male twins, both alike:
Those,--for their parents were exceeding poor,--
I bought and brought up to attend my sons.
My wife, not meanly proud of two such boys,
Made daily motions for our home return:
Unwilling I agreed. Alas! too soon,
We came aboard.
A league from Epidamnum had we sail'd,
Before the always wind-obeying deep
Gave any tragic instance of our harm:
But longer did we not retain much hope;
For what obscured light the heavens did grant
Did but convey unto our fearful minds
A doubtful warrant of immediate death;
Which though myself would gladly have embraced,
Yet the incessant weepings of my wife,
Weeping before for what she saw must come,
And piteous plainings of the pretty babes,
That mourn'd for fashion, ignorant what to fear,
Forced me to seek delays for them and me.
And this it was, for other means was none:
The sailors sought for safety by our boat,
And left the ship, then sinking-ripe, to us:
My wife, more careful for the latter-born,
Had fasten'd him unto a small spare mast,
Such as seafaring men provide for storms;
To him one of the other twins was bound,
Whilst I had been like heedful of the other:
The children thus disposed, my wife and I,
Fixing our eyes on whom our care was fix'd,
Fasten'd ourselves at either end the mast;
And floating straight, obedient to the stream,
Was carried towards Corinth, as we thought.
At length the sun, gazing upon the earth,
Dispersed those vapours that offended us;
And by the benefit of his wished light,
The seas wax'd calm, and we discovered Two ships from far making amain to us,
Of Corinth that, of Epidaurus this:
But ere they came,--O, let me say no more!
Gather the sequel by that went before.
You couldn’t have imposed a heavier task
Than to make me speak my unspeakable griefs:
Yet, so the world can witness that my death
Was brought about without meaning to offend,
I'll utter what I can about my sorrows.
In Syracusa was I born, and married
To a woman, who was happy until she met me,
I could’ve made her happy, had luck been better.
With her I lived in joy; our wealth increased By prosperous voyages I often made
To Epidamnum; till my agent’s death
And the burden of caring for the rest of my goods
Took me away from my wife’s embrace:
I was not gone six months
Before she, about to faint under
The pain of pregnancy,
Had made arrangements to follow me
And soon and safe arrived where I was.
Not long afterwards she became
A joyful mother of two twin sons;
It was strange, each one so like the other,
That the only thing telling them apart was their names.
That very hour, and in the self-same inn,
A lower-class woman delivered
Similarly, male twins, both alike:
Those,--for their parents were exceedingly poor,-
I bought and raised to serve my sons.
My wife, extremely proud of two such boys,
Begged me daily for our home return:
Unwilling, I agreed. Unfortunately, we came aboard too soon.
We had sailed a league from Epidamnum,
Before the sea that always obeys the wind
Gave any signs of danger:
Before too long we had no hope left;
The mass covering the light from the heavens
Made us, in our fear-stricken state
Believe that we were facing immediate death;
Which I myself would have gladly embraced,
But my wife’s ceaseless sobbing,
Weeping for what she saw about to happen,
And pitiful cries of our beautiful babies,
Crying without even understanding what to fear,
Forced me to seek a way for us to survive.
This is what I did, since I had no other choice:
The sailors had all abandoned ship,
Taking the safety boats and leaving us to sink:
My wife, more concerned for the younger son,
Had tied him onto a small spare mast,
Such as seafaring men provide for storms;
She then tied one of the other twins to him,
While I did the same to the remaining two:
With the children taken care of, my wife and I,
Locking eyes,
Fastened ourselves to either end of the mast;
And floating straight, obedient to the current,
Were carried towards Corinth, or so we thought.
After a while the sun, gazing upon the earth
Dispersed those terrible clouds;
And because of his much wished-for light,
The seas became calm, and we discovered Two far-off ships coming towards us,
One from Corinth the other from Epidaurus:
But before they came,-- O, I can’t say any more!
You can guess what happened by what I’ve said.
DUKE SOLINUS
Nay, forward, old man; do not break off so;
For we may pity, though not pardon thee.
No, keep going, old man; don’t leave it like that;
We may take pity, though we won’t pardon you.
AEGEON
O, had the gods done so, I had not now
Worthily term'd them merciless to us!
For, ere the ships could meet by twice five leagues,
We were encounterd by a mighty rock;
Which being violently borne upon,
Our helpful ship was splitted in the midst;
So that, in this unjust divorce of us,
Fortune had left to both of us alike
What to delight in, what to sorrow for.
Her part, poor soul! seeming as burdened
With lesser weight but not with lesser woe,
Was carried with more speed before the wind;
And in our sight they three were taken up
By fishermen of Corinth, as we thought.
At length, another ship had seized on us;
And, knowing whom it was their hap to save,
Gave healthful welcome to their shipwreck'd guests;
And would have reft the fishers of their prey,
Had not their bark been very slow of sail;
And therefore homeward did they bend their course.
Thus have you heard me sever'd from my bliss;
That by misfortunes was my life prolong'd,
To tell sad stories of my own mishaps.
O, if only the gods had taken pity, I would
Not now be rightfully calling them merciless!
Because before the ships reached within ten leagues of us,
We were met by a huge rock;
And since we were moving so fast,
It split our ship down the middle;
So that, as we were unjustly separated,
Fortune had left to each of us
Something to delight in as well as to sorrow for.
For her, poor soul! Since she was burdened
With less weight, but not with less misfortune,
Was carried away with more speed by the wind;
And I saw her and the babies taken up
By fishermen of Corinth, or so I thought.
At length, another ship had reached us;
And, knowing who they were lucky to be saving,
Were welcoming and took good care of us, their shipwrecked guests;
And would have gone to rescue my wife,
If their ship hadn’t been so slow to sail;
And so they changed course to sail towards home.
Now you see how I was severed from my bliss;
That because of bad luck my life was prolonged,
To tell sad stories of my own mishaps.
DUKE SOLINUS
And for the sake of them thou sorrowest for,
Do me the favour to dilate at full
What hath befall'n of them and thee till now.
And for the sake of those you lost,
Do me the favor to expand your tale, and tell me
What became of them and you up until now.
AEGEON
My youngest boy, and yet my eldest care,
At eighteen years became inquisitive
After his brother: and importuned me
That his attendant--so his case was like,
Reft of his brother, but retain'd his name--
Might bear him company in the quest of him,
Whom whilst I labour'd of a love to see,
I hazarded the loss of whom I loved.
Five summers have I spent in furthest Greece,
Roaming clean through the bounds of Asia,
And, coasting homeward, came to Ephesus; Hopeless to find, yet loath to leave unsought
Or that or any place that harbours men.
But here must end the story of my life;
And happy were I in my timely death,
Could all my travels warrant me they live.
My youngest boy, the one I care for the most,
At eighteen years old started to wonder
About his brother: and begged me
To let his attendant—who also
Lost his brother, but at least knew his name--
Go with him in search of their twins,
And since I also wanted to see my lost son,
I risked losing the one I loved to find the other.
I spent five years in the furthest parts of Greece,
Roaming throughout all of Asia,
And, making my way home, came to Ephesus; with no hope of finding, yet unwilling to stop,
I will search any place where men live.
But here must end the story of my life;
And I would be happy that my time has come,
If all my travels could prove to me that they live.
DUKE SOLINUS
Hapless Aegeon, whom the fates have mark'd
To bear the extremity of dire mishap!
Now, trust me, were it not against our laws,
Against my crown, my oath, my dignity,
Which princes, would they, may not disannul,
My soul would sue as advocate for thee.
But, though thou art adjudged to the death
And passed sentence may not be recall'd
But to our honour's great disparagement,
Yet I will favour thee in what I can.
Therefore, merchant, I'll limit thee this day
To seek thy life by beneficial help:
Try all the friends thou hast in Ephesus;
Beg thou, or borrow, to make up the sum,
And live; if no, then thou art doom'd to die.
Gaoler, take him to thy custody.
Poor Aegeon, the fates have marked you
To suffer the extremities of terrible misfortune!
Now, trust me, if it wasn’t against our laws,
Against my crown, my oath, my dignity,
Which even princes, if they wanted, could not disobey
My own soul would support your case.
But, though you have been sentenced to death,
And passed sentence cannot be taken back
Without greatly discrediting my honor,
I will help you in any way I can.
Therefore, merchant, I will give you one day
To seek help to save your life:
Try all the friends you have in Ephesus;
Beg, borrow, do what you can to make ransom,
And live; if you can’t, you are doomed to die.
Jailor, take him to your custody.
Jailor
I will, my lord.
I will, my lord.
AEGEON
Hopeless and helpless doth AEgeon wend,
But to procrastinate his lifeless end.
I will go, hopeless and helpless,
Only putting off my death.
Translation missing: en.general.search.loading