ACT I.

SCENE I. London. A street.

Enter RICHARD, DUKE OF GLOUCESTER, solus.
Glou Now is the winter of our discontent
Made glorious summer by this sun of York;
And all the clouds that lour'd upon our house
In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.
Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths;
Our bruised arms hung up for monuments;
Our stern alarums changed to merry meetings,
Our dreadful marches to delightful measures.
Grim-visaged war hath smooth'd his wrinkled
front;

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And now, instead 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.
But I, that am not shaped for sportive tricks,
Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass;
I, that am rudely stamp'd, and want love's majesty
To strut before a wanton ambling nymph;
I, that am curtail'd of this fair proportion,
Cheated of feature by dissembling nature,
Deform'd, unfinish'd, sent before my time
Into this breathing world, scarce half made up,
And that so lamely and unfashionable

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SIR JAMES TYRREL.

SIR JAMES BLOUNT.

SIR WALTER HERBERT.

SIR ROBERT BRAKENBURY, Lieutenant of the Tower.

CHRISTOPHER URSWICK, a priest. Another Priest.

TRESSEL and BERKELEY, gentlemen attending on the Lady Anne. Lord Mayor of London.

Sheriff of Wiltshire.

ELIZABETH, queen to King Edward IV. MARGARET, widow of King Henry VI. DUCHESS OF YORK, mother to King Edward IV. LADY ANNE, widow of Edward Prince of Wales, son to King Henry VI.; afterwards married to Richard.

A young Daughter of Clarence (MARGARET PLANTAGENET).

Ghosts of those murdered by Richard III., Lords and other Attendants; a Pursuivant, Scrivener, Citizens, Murderers, Messengers, Soldiers, &c.

SCENE: England.

30

That dogs bark at me as I halt by them;
Why, I, in this weak piping time of peace,
Have no delight to pass away the time,
Unless to spy my shadow in the sun
And descant on mine own deformity:
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.
Plots have I laid, inductions dangerous,
By drunken prophecies, libels and dreams,
To set my brother Clarence and the king
In deadly hate the one against the other:
And if King Edward be as true and just
As I am subtle, false and treacherous,
This day should Clarence closely be mew'd up,
About a prophecy, which says that G
Of Edward's heirs the murderer shall be.
Dive, thoughts, down to my soul: here Clarence

comes.

40

Enter CLARENCE, guarded, and BRAKENBURY.
Brother, good day: what means this armed guard
That waits upon your grace?
Clar
His majesty,
Tendering my person's safety, hath appointed
This conduct to convey me to the Tower.

yours;

He should, for that, commit your godfathers:
O, belike his majesty hath some intent

That you shall be new-christen'd in the Tower. 50
But what's the matter, Clarence? may I know?
Clar Yea, Richard, when I know; for I
protest

As yet I do not: but, as I can learn,
He hearkens after prophecies and dreams:
And from the cross-row plucks the letter G,
And says a wizard told him that by G
His issue disinherited should be;
And, for my name of George begins with G,
It follows in his thought that I am he.
These, as I learn, and such like toys as these
Have moved his highness to commit me now.
Glou. Why, this it is, when men are ruled by

women:

But the queen's kindred and night-walking heralds
That trudge betwixt the king and Mistress Shore.
Heard ye not what an humble suppliant
Lord Hastings was to her for his delivery?

Glou. Humbly complaining to her deity
Got my lord chamberlain his liberty.
I'll tell you what; I think it is our way,
If we will keep in favour with the king,
To be her men and wear her livery:
The jealous o'erworn widow and herself,
Since that our brother dubb'd them gentlewomen,
Are mighty gossips in this monarchy.

Brak. I beseech your graces both to pardon

me;

His majesty hath straitly given in charge
That no man shall have private conference,
Of what degree soever, with his brother.

Glou. Even so; an't please your worship,
Brakenbury,

Brak. I beseech your grace to pardon me, and withal

Forbear your conference with the noble duke. Clar. We know thy charge, Brakenbury, and will obey.

Glou. We are the queen's abjects, and must obey.

Brother, farewell: I will unto the king;
And whatsoever you will employ me in,
Were it to call King Edward's widow sister,
I will perform it to enfranchise you.
Meantime, this deep disgrace in brotherhood
Touches me deeper than you can imagine.
Clar. I know it pleaseth neither of us well.
Glou. Well, your imprisonment shall not be
long;

I will deliver you, or else lie for you:
Meantime, have patience.
Clar
I must perforce. Farewell.
[Exeunt Clarence, Brakenbury, and Guard.
Glou. 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. 120
But who comes here? the new-deliver'd Hastings?

You may partake of any thing we say:
We speak no treason, man: we say the king
Is wise and virtuous, and his noble queen
Well struck 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:

How say you, sir? can you deny all this? Brak. With this, my lord, myself have nought to do.

Glou Naught to do with Mistress Shore! I tell thee, fellow,

He that doth naught with her, excepting one,
Were best he do it secretly, alone.

100

140

Glou. Go you before, and I will follow you. [Exit Hastings.

He cannot live, I hope; and must not die Till George be pack'd with post-horse up to heaven.

150

Brak.

What one, my lord?

Glou.

betray me?

Is to become her husband and her father:

Enter the corpse of KING HENRY the Sixth, Gentlemen with halberds to guard it; LADY ANNE being the mourner.

Anne. Set down, set down your honourable load,

If honour may be shrouded in a hearse,
Whilst I awhile obsequiously lament
The untimely fall of virtuous Lancaster.
Poor key-cold figure of a holy king!
Pale ashes of the house of Lancaster!
Thou bloodless remnant of that royal blood!
Be it lawful that I invocate thy ghost,
To hear the lamentations of poor Anne,
Wife to thy Edward, to thy slaughter'd son,
Stabb'd by the selfsame hand that made these
wounds!

Lo, in these windows that let forth thy life,
I pour the helpless balm of my poor eyes.
Cursed be the hand that made these fatal holes!
Cursed be the heart that had the heart to do it!
Cursed the blood that let this blood from hence!
More direful hap betide that hated wretch,
That makes us wretched by the death of thee,
Than I can wish to adders, spiders, toads,
Or any creeping venom'd thing that lives!
If ever he have child, abortive be it,
Prodigious, and untimely brought to light,
Whose ugly and unnatural aspect

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May fright the hopeful mother at the view;
And that be heir to his unhappiness!
If ever he have wife, let her be made
As miserable by the death of him
As I am made by my poor lord and thee!
Come, now towards Chertsey with your holy load,
Taken from Paul's to be interred there;
And still, as you are weary of the weight,
Rest you, whiles I lament King Henry's corse.

Enter GLOUCESTER.

30

O God, which this blood madest, revenge his death!

O earth, which this blood drink'st, revenge his death!

Either heaven with lightning strike the murderer 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!

Glou. Lady, you know no rules of charity, Which renders good for bad, blessings for curses. Anne. Villain, thou know'st no law of God

Some patient leisure to excuse myself. Anne. Fouler than heart can think thee, thou canst make

No excuse current, but to hang thyself.

Glou. By such despair, I should accuse myself. Anne. And, by despairing, shouldst thou stand excused;

For doing worthy vengeance on thyself,
Which didst unworthy slaughter upon others.
Glou. Say that I slew them not?
Anne.

91

Why, then they are not dead: But dead they are, and, devilish slave, by thee. Glou. I did not kill your husband. Anne. Why, then he is alive. Glou. Nay, he is dead; and slain by Edward's hand.

Anne. In thy foul throat thou liest: Queen Margaret saw

Thy murderous falchion smoking in his blood; The which thou once didst bend against her breast, But that thy brothers beat aside the point.

Glou. I was provoked by her slanderous tongue, Which laid their guilt upon my guiltless shoulders. Anne. Thou wast provoked by thy bloody mind.

Glou. Let him thank me, that holp to send him thither;

For he was fitter for that place than earth.

Anne. And thou unfit for any place but hell. Glou. Yes, one place else, if you will hear me name it.

110

Anne. Some dungeon.
Glou.
Your bed-chamber.
Anne. Ill rest betide the chamber where thou
liest !

Glou. So will it, madam, till I lie with you.
Anne. I hope so.

Glou. I know so. But, gentle Lady Anne,
To leave this keen encounter of our wits,
And fall somewhat into a slower method,
Is not the causer of the timeless deaths
Of these Plantagenets, Henry and Edward,
As blameful as the executioner?

Anne. Thou art the cause, and most accursed

effect.

120

Glou. These eyes could never endure sweet beauty's wreck;

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.

130

Anne. Black night o'ershade thy day, and death thy life!

Glou. Curse not thyself, fair creature; thou art both.

Anne. I would I were, to be revenged on thee. Glou. It is a quarrel most unnatural, To be revenged on him that loveth you.

Anne. It is a quarrel just and reasonable, To be revenged on him that slew my husband. Glou. He that bereft thee, lady, of thy husband, Did it to help thee to a better husband.

Anne. His better doth not breathe upon the earth.

140

Glou. He lives that loves thee better than he could.

Anne. Never hung poison on a fouler toad. Out of my sight! thou dost infect my eyes. Glou. Thine eyes, sweet lady, have infected mine.

150

Anne. Would they were basilisks, to strike thee dead!

Glou. I would they were, that I might die at

once;

For now they kill me with a living death.
Those eyes of thine from mine have drawn salt
tears,

Shamed their aspect with store of childish drops:
These eyes, which never shed remorseful tear,
No, when my father York and Edward wept,
To hear the piteous moan that Rutland made
When black-faced Clifford shook his sword at him;
Nor when thy warlike father, like a child, 160
Told the sad story of my father's death,
And twenty times made pause to sob and weep,
That all the standers-by had wet their checks,
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 weep-
ing.

I never sued to friend nor enemy;

My tongue could never learn sweet smoothing words;

170

But, now thy beauty is proposed my fee,
My proud heart sues and prompts my tongue to
speak. [She looks scornfully at him.
Teach not thy lips such scorn, for they were made
For kissing, lady, not for such contempt.
If thy revengeful heart cannot forgive,
Lo, here I lend thee this sharp-pointed sword;
Which if thou please to hide in this true bosom,
And let the soul forth that adoreth thee,
I lay it naked to the deadly stroke,
And humbly beg the death upon my knee.

[He lays his breast open: she offers at it with his sword. 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,

181

But 'twas thy heavenly face that set me on. [Here she lets fall the sword.

Take up the sword again, or take up me. Anne. Arise, dissembler: though I wish thy death,

I will not be the executioner.

Glou. Then bid me kill myself, and I will do it. Anne. I have already.

Glou

191

Tush, that was in thy rage: Speak it again, and, even with the word, That hand, which, for thy love, did kill thy love, Shall, for thy love, kill a far truer love; To both their deaths thou shalt be accessary. Anne. I would I knew thy heart. Glou. 'Tis figured in my tongue. Anne. I fear me both are false. Glou. Then never man was true. Anne. Well, well, put up your sword. Glou. Say, then, my peace is made. Anne. That shall you know hereafter. 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.

200

To see you are become so penitent.

Tressel and Berkeley, go along with me. Bid me farewell.

220

Glou. Anne. 'Tis more than you deserve; But since you teach me how to flatter you, Imagine I have said farewell already.

[Exeunt Lady Anne, Tressel, and Berkeley.
Glou. Sirs, take up the corse.
Gent.
Towards Chertsey, noble lord?
Glou. No, to White-Friars; there attend my
coming.
[Exeunt all but Gloucester.
Was ever woman in this humour woo'd?
Was ever woman in this humour won?
I'll have her; but I will not keep her long. 230
What! I, that kill'd her husband and his father,
To take her in her heart's extremest hate,
With curses in her mouth, tears in her eyes;
The bleeding witness of her hatred by;
Having God, her conscience, and these bars
against me,

And I nothing to back my suit at all,
But the plain devil and dissembling looks,
And yet to win her, all the world to nothing!
Ha!

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251

Hath she forgot already that brave prince,
Edward, her lord, whom I, some three months since,
Stabb'd in my angry mood at Tewksbury?
A sweeter and a lovelier gentleman,
Framed in the prodigality of nature,
Young, valiant, wise, and, no doubt, right royal,
The spacious world cannot again afford:
And will she yet debase her eyes on me,
That cropp'd the golden prime of this sweet prince,
And made her widow to a woful bed?
On me, whose all not equals Edward's moiety?
On me, that halt and am unshapen thus?
My dukedom to a beggarly denier,
I do mistake my person all this while:
Upon my life, she finds, although I cannot,
Myself to be a marvellous proper man.
I'll be at charges for a looking-glass,
And entertain some score or two of tailors,
To study fashions to adorn my body:
Since I am crept in favour with myself,
I will maintain it with some little cost.
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.

260

[Exit.

Therefore, for God's sake, entertain good comfort, And cheer his grace with quick and merry words. Q. Eliz. If he were dead, what would betide of me?

Riv. No other harm but loss of such a lord. Q. Eliz. The loss of such a lord includes all harm.

Grey. The heavens have bless'd you with a goodly son,

To be your comforter when he is gone.

Q. Eliz. Oh, he is young, and his minority Is put unto the trust of Richard Gloucester, A man that loves not me, nor none of you. Riv. Is it concluded he shall be protector? Q. Eliz. It is determined, not concluded yet: But so it must be, if the king miscarry.

Enter BUCKINGHAM and DERBY. Grey. Here come the lords of Buckingham and Derby.

Buck. Good time of day unto your royal grace! Der. God make your majesty joyful as you have been!

Q. Eliz. The Countess Richmond, good my

Lord of Derby,

Το your good prayers will scarcely say amen. Yet, Derby, notwithstanding she's your wife, And loves not me, be you, good lord, assured I hate not you for her proud arrogance.

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Der. I do beseech you, either not believe The envious slanders of her false accusers; Or, if she be accused in true report, Bear with her weakness, which, I think, proceeds From wayward sickness, and no grounded malice. Riv. Saw you the king to-day, my Lord of Derby?

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Der. But now the Duke of Buckingham and I Are come from visiting his majesty.

Q. Eliz. What likelihood of his amendment, lords?

Buck. Madam, good hope; his grace speaks cheerfully.

Q. Eliz. God grant him health! Did you confer with him?

Buck. Madam, we did: he desires to make