Richard III

A bloody tyrant and a homicide; One rais’d in blood, and one in blood established; One that made means to come by what he hath, And slaughtered those that were the means to help him; A base foul stone, made precious by the foil Of England’s chair, where he is falsely set;

A plague upon you all! His royal Grace (Whom God preserve better than you would wish!) Cannot be quiet scarce a breathing while But you must trouble him with lewd complaints.

Ah! That deceit should steal such gentle shape, And with a virtuous visor hide deep vice! He is my son—ay, and therein my shame, Yet from my dugs he drew not this deceit.

Ah, cut my lace asunder, That my pent heart may have some scope to beat, Or else I swoon with this dead-killing news! ANNE

Ah, so much interest have I in thy sorrow As I had title in thy noble husband! I have bewept a worthy husband’s death, And liv’d with looking on his images;

Amen!— Aside. And make me die a good old man! That is the butt-end of a mother’s blessing.

and all that have miscarried By underhand corrupted foul injustice, If that your moody discontented souls Do through the clouds behold this present hour, Even for revenge mock my destruction!

And by true computation of the time, Found that the issue was not his begot; Which well appeared in his lineaments, Being nothing like the noble Duke my father.

And for his dreams, I wonder he’s so simple To trust the mock’ry of unquiet slumbers. To fly the boar before the boar pursues Were to incense the boar to follow us, And make pursuit where he did mean no chase.

And let their heirs (God, if thy will be so) Enrich the time to come with smooth-fac’d peace, With smiling plenty, and fair prosperous days!

And look to have it yielded with all kindness. Come, let us sup betimes, that afterwards We may digest our complots in some form.

And now, in stead of mounting barbed steeds To fright the souls of fearful adversaries, He capers nimbly in a lady’s chamber To the lascivious pleasing of a lute.

And therefore, since I cannot prove a lover To entertain these fair well-spoken days, I am determined to prove a villain And hate the idle pleasures of these days.

But death hath snatch’d my husband from mine arms, And pluck’d two crutches from my feeble hands, Clarence and Edward. O, what cause have I (Thine being but a moi’ty of my moan) To overgo thy woes and drown thy cries!

But first I’ll turn yon fellow in his grave, And then return lamenting to my love. Shine out, fair sun, till I have bought a glass, That I may see my shadow as I pass.

But he, poor man, by your first order died, And that a winged Mercury did bear; Some tardy cripple bare the countermand, That came too lag to see him buried.

but if she be obdurate To mild entreaties, God in heaven forbid We should infringe the holy privilege Of blessed sanctuary! Not for all this land Would I be guilty of so deep a sin.

But that still use of grief makes wild grief tame, My tongue should to thy ears not name my boys Till that my nails were anchor’d in thine eyes;

But then I sigh, and, with a piece of scripture, Tell them that God bids us do good for evil: And thus I clothe my naked villainy With odd old ends stol’n forth of holy writ, And seem a saint, when most I play the devil.

But when your carters or your waiting vassals Have done a drunken slaughter, and defac’d The precious image of our dear Redeemer, You straight are on your knees for pardon, pardon, And I (unjustly too) must grant it you.

By heaven, my soul is purg’d from grudging hate, And with my hand I seal my true heart’s love.

By the apostle Paul, shadows tonight Have strook more terror to the soul of Richard Than can the substance of ten thousand soldiers Armed in proof and led by shallow Richmond.

Cannot a plain man live and think no harm, But thus his simple truth must be abus’d With silken, sly, insinuating Jacks?

Cousin of Buckingham, and sage grave men, Since you will buckle Fortune on my back, To bear her burden whe’er I will or no, I must have patience to endure the load;

Either heav’n with lightning strike the murd’rer dead; Or earth gape open wide and eat him quick, As thou dost swallow up this good king’s blood, Which his hell-govern’d arm hath butchered!

Fairer than tongue can name thee, let me have Some patient leisure to excuse myself.

Famous Plantagenet, most gracious prince, Lend favorable ear to our requests, And pardon us the interruption Of thy devotion and right Christian zeal.

Farewell! The leisure and the fearful time Cuts off the ceremonious vows of love And ample interchange of sweet discourse Which so long sund’red friends should dwell upon.

Fight, gentlemen of England! Fight, bold yeomen! Draw, archers, draw your arrows to the head! Spur your proud horses hard, and ride in blood; Amaze the welkin with your broken staves!

For never yet one hour in his bed Did I enjoy the golden dew of sleep, But with his timorous dreams was still awak’d.

For they that were your enemies are his, And have prevail’d as much on him as you. HAST. More pity that the eagles should be mew’d, Whiles kites and buzzards prey at liberty.

For this, consorted with the citizens, Your very worshipful and loving friends, And by their vehement instigation, In this just cause come I to move your Grace.

Forbear to sleep the nights, and fast the days; Compare dead happiness with living woe; Think that thy babes were sweeter than they were, And he that slew them fouler than he is.

From forth the kennel of thy womb hath crept A hell-hound that doth hunt us all to death: That dog, that had his teeth before his eyes To worry lambs and lap their gentle blood, That foul defacer of God’s handiwork, That excellent grand tyrant of the earth That reigns in galled eyes of weeping souls, Thy womb let loose to chase us to our graves.

Full of wise care is this your counsel, madam; Take all the swift advantage of the hours.

GLOU. But shall I live in hope? ANNE. All men, I hope, live so. GLOU. Vouchsafe to wear this ring. ANNE. To take is not to give.

Go thou to sanctuary, and good thoughts possess thee! I to my grave, where peace and rest lie with me! Eighty odd years of sorrow have I seen, And each hour’s joy wrack’d with a week of teen.

Go tread the path that thou shalt ne’er return: Simple plain Clarence, I do love thee so That I will shortly send thy soul to heaven, If heaven will take the present at our hands.

God give us leisure for these rites of love!

He is not lulling on a lewd love-bed, But on his knees at meditation; Not dallying with a brace of courtezans, But meditating with two deep divines; Not sleeping, to engross his idle body, But praying, to enrich his watchful soul

He is within, with two right reverend fathers, Divinely bent to meditation, And in no worldly suits would he be mov’d, To draw him from his holy exercise.

Here’s a good world the while! Who is so gross That cannot see this palpable device? Yet who’s so bold but says he sees it not? Bad is the world, and all will come to nought, When such ill dealing must be seen in thought.

How chance the prophet could not at that time Have told me, I being by, that I should kill him?

I cannot tell, the world is grown so bad That wrens make prey where eagles dare not perch. Since every Jack became a gentleman, There’s many a gentle person made a Jack.

I died for hope ere I could lend thee aid, But cheer thy heart, and be thou not dismay’d. God and good angels fight on Richmond’s side, And Richard falls in height of all his pride!

I know a discontented gentleman Whose humble means match not his haughty spirit. Gold were as good as twenty orators, And will, no doubt, tempt him to any thing.

I thank his Grace, I know he loves me well; But for his purpose in the coronation, I have not sounded him, nor he deliver’d His gracious pleasure any way therein.

I think there’s never a man in Christendom Can lesser hide his love or hate than he, For by his face straight shall you know his heart.

I will not think but they ascend the sky, And there awake God’s gentle-sleeping peace. O Buckingham, take heed of yonder dog! Look when he fawns he bites; and when he bites, His venom tooth will rankle to the death.

If not to answer, you might haply think Tongue-tied ambition, not replying, yielded To bear the golden yoke of sovereignty, Which fondly you would here impose on me.

If to have done the thing you gave in charge Beget your happiness, be happy then, For it is done.

In God’s name cheerly on, courageous friends, To reap the harvest of perpetual peace By this one bloody trial of sharp war.

In brief—for so the season bids us be— Prepare thy battle early in the morning, And put thy fortune to the arbitrement Of bloody strokes and mortal-staring war.

In common worldly things ’tis call’d ungrateful With dull unwillingness to repay a debt, Which with a bounteous hand was kindly lent; Much more to be thus opposite with heaven, For it requires the royal debt it lent you.

In him there is a hope of government, Which in his nonage, council under him, And in his full and ripened years, himself, No doubt shall then, and till then, govern well.

Indeed, left nothing fitting for your purpose Untouch’d or slightly handled in discourse.

It is determin’d, not concluded yet; But so it must be, if the King miscarry.

I’ll be at charges for a looking-glass, And entertain a score or two of tailors To study fashions to adorn my body: Since I am crept in favor with myself, I will maintain it with some little cost.

K. RICH. Tut, tut, thou art all ice, thy kindness freezes. Say, have I thy consent that they shall die? BUCK. Give me some little breath, some pause, dear lord, Before I positively speak in this.

Let me but meet you, ladies, an hour hence, And I’ll salute your Grace of York as mother And reverend looker-on of two fair queens.

Let us survey the vantage of the ground. Call for some men of sound direction: Let’s lack no discipline, make no delay, For, lords, tomorrow is a busy day. Exeunt

Lo, in these windows that let forth thy life I pour the helpless balm of my poor eyes. O, cursed be the hand that made these holes! Cursed the heart that had the heart to do it! Cursed the blood that let this blood from hence

Look what is done cannot be now amended: Men shall deal unadvisedly sometimes, Which after-hours gives leisure to repent.

More bitterly could I expostulate, Save that for reverence to some alive, I give a sparing limit to my tongue.

Murder her brothers and then marry her— Uncertain way of gain! But I am in So far in blood that sin will pluck on sin. Tear-falling pity dwells not in this eye.

Nay, do not pause: for I did kill King Henry— But ’twas thy beauty that provoked me. Nay, now dispatch: ’twas I that stabb’d young Edward But ’twas thy heavenly face that set me on.

No news so bad abroad as this at home: The King is sickly, weak, and melancholy, And his physicians fear him mightily.

Now fair befall you! He deserv’d his death, And your good Graces both have well proceeded, To warn false traitors from the like attempts.

Now for I know the Britain Richmond aims At young Elizabeth, my brother’s daughter, And by that knot looks proudly on the crown, To her go I, a jolly thriving wooer.

O, I have pass’d a miserable night, So full of fearful dreams, of ugly sights, That, as I am a Christian faithful man, I would not spend another such a night Though ’twere to buy a world of happy days— So full of dismal terror was the time.

Richard yet lives, hell’s black intelligencer, Only reserv’d their factor to buy souls And send them thither; but at hand, at hand, Ensues his piteous and unpitied end. Earth gapes, hell burns, fiends roar, saints pray, To have him suddenly convey’d from hence.

She may do more, sir, than denying that: She may help you to many fair preferments, And then deny her aiding hand therein And lay those honors on your high desert. What may she not, she may, ay, marry, may she

Short summers lightly have a forward spring.

So much for that. The silent hours steal on, And flaky darkness breaks within the east.

So now prosperity begins to mellow And drop into the rotten mouth of death. Here in these confines slily have I lurk’d, To watch the waning of mine enemies.

So, I am satisfied. Give me a bowl of wine. I have not that alacrity of spirit Nor cheer of mind that I was wont to have.

Sorrow breaks seasons and reposing hours, Makes the night morning and the noontide night:

That Julius Caesar was a famous man; With what his valor did enrich his wit, His wit set down to make his valure live. Death makes no conquest of this conqueror, For now he lives in fame though not in life.

That all the standers-by had wet their cheeks Like trees bedash’d with rain—in that sad time My manly eyes did scorn an humble tear; And what these sorrows could not thence exhale, Thy beauty hath, and made them blind with weeping.

The Mayor is here at hand. Intend some fear, Be not you spoke with but by mighty suit; And look you get a prayer-book in your hand, And stand between two churchmen, good my lord— For on that ground I’ll make a holy descant— And be not easily won to our requests: Play the maid’s part, still answer nay, and take it.

The benefit thereof is always granted To those whose dealings have deserv’d the place And those who have the wit to claim the place.

The broken rancor of your high-swoll’n hates, But lately splinter’d, knit, and join’d together, Must gently be preserv’d, cherish’d, and kept.

The lights burn blue. It is now dead midnight. Cold fearful drops stand on my trembling flesh. What do I fear? Myself? There’s none else by. Richard loves Richard, that is, I am I.

The readiest way to make the wench amends Is to become her husband and her father: The which will I, not all so much for love As for another secret close intent By marrying her which I must reach unto.

The sweetest sleep and fairest-boding dreams That ever ent’red in a drowsy head Have I since your departure had, my lords.

The tyrannous and bloody act is done, The most arch deed of piteous massacre That ever yet this land was guilty of.

The weary sun hath made a golden set, And by the bright tract of his fiery car Gives token of a goodly day tomorrow.

Then be it so, and go we to determine Who they shall be that straight shall post to Ludlow.

Then he disdains to shine, for by the book He should have brav’d the east an hour ago. A black day will it be to somebody.

Then in the name of God and all these rights, Advance your standards, draw your willing swords. For me, the ransom of my bold attempt Shall be this cold corpse on the earth’s cold face; But if I thrive, the gain of my attempt The least of you shall share his part thereof.

Therefore he sends to know your lordship’s pleasure, If you will presently take horse with him, And with all speed post with him toward the north, To shun the danger that his soul divines.

Therefore, dear mother—I must call you so— Be the attorney of my love to her. Plead what I will be, not what I have been; Not my deserts, but what I will deserve. Urge the necessity and state of times, And be not peevish-fond in great designs.

Therefore—to speak, and to avoid the first, And then, in speaking, not to incur the last— Definitively thus I answer you: Your love deserves my thanks, but my desert Unmeritable shuns your high request.

These eyes could not endure that beauty’s wrack; You should not blemish it, if I stood by: As all the world is cheered by the sun, So I by that; it is my day, my life.

This is the day wherein I wish’d to fall By the false faith of him whom most I trusted; This, this All-Souls’ day to my fearful soul, Is the determin’d respite of my wrongs.

Thus, like the formal Vice, Iniquity, I moralize two meanings in one word.

Uncharitably with me have you dealt, And shamefully my hopes, by you, are butcher’d. My charity is outrage, life my shame, And in that shame still live my sorrow’s rage!

Was ever woman in this humor woo’d? Was ever woman in this humor won? I’ll have her, but I will not keep her long.

We smothered The most replenished sweet work of Nature That from the prime creation e’er she framed.

We speak no treason, man. We say the King Is wise and virtuous, and his noble queen Well strook in years, fair, and not jealous; We say that Shore’s wife hath a pretty foot, A cherry lip, a bonny eye, a passing pleasing tongue; And that the Queen’s kindred are made gentlefolks

Wedges of gold, great anchors, heaps of pearl, Inestimable stones, unvalued jewels, All scatt’red in the bottom of the sea: Some lay in dead men’s skulls, and in the holes Where eyes did once inhabit, there were crept (As ’twere in scorn of eyes) reflecting gems, That woo’d the slimy bottom of the deep, And mock’d the dead bones that lay scatt’red by.

Well, Catesby, ere a fortnight make me older, I’ll send some packing that yet think not on’t. CATE

What do you tremble? Are you all afraid? Alas, I blame you not, for you are mortal, And mortal eyes cannot endure the devil.—

What? We have many goodly days to see: The liquid drops of tears that you have shed Shall come again, transform’d to orient pearl, Advantaging their love with interest Of ten times double gain of happiness.

When clouds are seen, wise men put on their cloaks; When great leaves fall, then winter is at hand; When the sun sets, who doth not look for night? Untimely storms makes men expect a dearth. All may be well; but if God sort it so, ’Tis more than we deserve or I expect.

Which since you come too late of our intent, Yet witness what you hear we did intend. And so, my good Lord Mayor, we bid farewell.

Who builds his hope in air of your good looks Lives like a drunken sailor on a mast, Ready with every nod to tumble down Into the fatal bowels of the deep.

Why grow the branches when the root is gone? Why wither not the leaves that want their sap? If you will live, lament; if die, be brief, That our swift-winged souls may catch the King’s, Or like obedient subjects follow him To his new kingdom of ne’er-changing night.

Why, so: now have I done a good day’s work. You peers, continue this united league.

With what a sharp-provided wit he reasons! To mitigate the scorn he gives his uncle, He prettily and aptly taunts himself: So cunning and so young is wonderful.

Withal I did infer your lineaments, Being the right idea of your father, Both in your form and nobleness of mind; Laid open all your victories in Scotland, Your discipline in war, wisdom in peace, Your bounty, virtue, fair humility;

Yet so much is my poverty of spirit, So mighty and so many my defects, That I would rather hide me from my greatness— Being a bark to brook no mighty sea— Than in my greatness covet to be hid And in the vapor of my glory smother’d.

You have, my lord. Would it might please your Grace, On our entreaties, to amend your fault! GLOU. Else wherefore breathe I in a Christian land?

Your beauty was the cause of that effect— Your beauty, that did haunt me in my sleep To undertake the death of all the world, So I might live one hour in your sweet bosom.

Your children were vexation to your youth, But mine shall be a comfort to your age. The loss you have is but a son being king, And by that loss your daughter is made queen.