Shakespeare Modernization by Hyatt Hammad
Shakespeare Modernized: Act 1 Scene 4
Original: Lear (1.4.253-267)
It may be so, my lord.
Hear, nature, hear; dear goddess, hear!
Suspend thy purpose, if thou didst intend
To make this creature fruitful!
Into her womb convey sterility!
Dry up in her the organs of increase;
And from her derogate body never spring
A babe to honour her! If she must teem,
Create her child of spleen; that it may live,
And be a thwart disnatured torment to her!
Let it stamp wrinkles in her brow of youth;
With cadent tears fret channels in her cheeks;
Turn all her mother's pains and benefits
To laughter and contempt; that she may feel
How sharper than a serpent's tooth it is
To have a thankless child! Away, away!
Translation:
This may be true, my lord.
Listen, O spirits, gods, and goddesses, listen to me!
If you intended for this no-good dog to be fertile and to procreate,
I beg you to reconsider! Spay her like the wretched bitch she truly is!
Shrivel and dry up her womb, like a rotten tomato on a scalding-hot summer’s day.
Make it so she can never have children to call her own!
If pups must drop from her skinny legs, have the devil himself be the father, and let the child bring her Hell on earth!
Let it age her prematurely and make her look like the conniving monster that hides behind that deceptive flesh.
Have it make her cry to the point where her cheeks sink in, making her look like a walking skeleton, neither dead nor alive.
Make the child laugh at its mother’s pain; let her know what it feels like to raise a treacherous snake for a child—a monstrous demon in disguise! Let’s go!!
Shakespeare Modernized: Act 1 Scene 4
Original: Lear (1.4.253-267)
It may be so, my lord.
Hear, nature, hear; dear goddess, hear!
Suspend thy purpose, if thou didst intend
To make this creature fruitful!
Into her womb convey sterility!
Dry up in her the organs of increase;
And from her derogate body never spring
A babe to honour her! If she must teem,
Create her child of spleen; that it may live,
And be a thwart disnatured torment to her!
Let it stamp wrinkles in her brow of youth;
With cadent tears fret channels in her cheeks;
Turn all her mother's pains and benefits
To laughter and contempt; that she may feel
How sharper than a serpent's tooth it is
To have a thankless child! Away, away!
Translation:
This may be true, my lord.
Listen, O spirits, gods, and goddesses, listen to me!
If you intended for this no-good dog to be fertile and to procreate,
I beg you to reconsider! Spay her like the wretched bitch she truly is!
Shrivel and dry up her womb, like a rotten tomato on a scalding-hot summer’s day.
Make it so she can never have children to call her own!
If pups must drop from her skinny legs, have the devil himself be the father, and let the child bring her Hell on earth!
Let it age her prematurely and make her look like the conniving monster that hides behind that deceptive flesh.
Have it make her cry to the point where her cheeks sink in, making her look like a walking skeleton, neither dead nor alive.
Make the child laugh at its mother’s pain; let her know what it feels like to raise a treacherous snake for a child—a monstrous demon in disguise! Let’s go!!