Shakespeare's First Folio · William Shakespeare
Dic. What say you of Kent
King. Away with her, go beare her hence perforce Qu. Nay, neuer beare me hence, dispatch me heere: Here sheath thy Sword, Ile pardon thee my death: What? wilt thou not? Then Clarence do it thou Cla. By heauen, I will not do thee so much ease Qu. Good Clarence do: sweet Clarence do thou do it Cla. Did'st thou not heare me sweare I would not do it? Qu. I, but thou vsest to forsweare thy selfe. 'Twas Sin before, but now 'tis Charity What wilt y not? Where is that diuels butcher Richard? Hard fauor'd Richard? Richard, where art thou? Thou art not heere; Murther is thy Almes-deed: Petitioners for Blood, thou ne're put'st backe Ed. Away I say, I charge ye beare her hence, Qu. So come to you, and yours, as to this Prince. Exit Queene. Ed. Where's Richard gone Cla. To London all in post, and as I guesse, To make a bloody Supper in the Tower Ed. He's sodaine if a thing comes in his head. Now march we hence, discharge the common sort With Pay and Thankes, and let's away to London, And see our gentle Queene how well she fares, By this (I hope) she hath a Sonne for me. Enter. Enter Henry the sixt, and Richard, with the Lieutenant on the Walles.
Rich. Thy Son I kill'd for his presumption Hen. Hadst thou bin kill'd, when first y didst presume, Thou had'st not liu'd to kill a Sonne of mine: And thus I prophesie, that many a thousand, Which now mistrust no parcell of my feare, And many an old mans sighe, and many a Widdowes, And many an Orphans water-standing-eye, Men for their Sonnes, Wiues for their Husbands, Orphans, for their Parents timeles death, Shall rue the houre that euer thou was't borne. The Owle shriek'd at thy birth, an euill signe, The Night-Crow cry'de, aboding lucklesse time, Dogs howl'd, and hiddeous Tempest shook down Trees: The Rauen rook'd her on the Chimnies top, And chatt'ring Pies in dismall Discords sung: Thy Mother felt more then a Mothers paine, And yet brought forth lesse then a Mothers hope, To wit, an indigested and deformed lumpe, Not like the fruit of such a goodly Tree. Teeth had'st thou in thy head, when thou was't borne, To signifie, thou cam'st to bite the world: And if the rest be true, which I haue heard, Thou cam'st- Rich. Ile heare no more: Dye Prophet in thy speech, Stabbes him. For this (among'st the rest) was I ordain'd Hen. I, and for much more slaughter after this, O God forgiue my sinnes, and pardon thee.
Dyes. Rich. What? will the aspiring blood of Lancaster Sinke in the ground? I thought it would haue mounted. See how my sword weepes for the poore Kings death. O may such purple teares be alway shed From those that wish the downfall of our house. If any sparke of Life be yet remaining, Downe, downe to hell, and say I sent thee thither. Stabs him againe. I that haue neyther pitty, loue, nor feare, Indeed 'tis true that Henrie told me of: For I haue often heard my Mother say, I came into the world with my Legges forward. Had I not reason (thinke ye) to make hast, And seeke their Ruine, that vsurp'd our Right? The Midwife wonder'd, and the Women cri'de O Iesus blesse vs, he is borne with teeth, And so I was, which plainly signified, That I should snarle, and bite, and play the dogge: Then since the Heauens haue shap'd my Body so, Let Hell make crook'd my Minde to answer it. I haue no Brother, I am like no Brother: And this word (Loue) which Gray-beards call Diuine, Be resident in men like one another, And not in me: I am my selfe alone. Clarence beware, thou keept'st me from the Light, But I will sort a pitchy day for thee: For I will buzze abroad such Prophesies, That Edward shall be fearefull of his life, And then to purge his feare, Ile be thy death. King Henry, and the Prince his Son are gone, Clarence thy turne is next, and then the rest, Counting my selfe but bad, till I be best. Ile throw thy body in another roome, And Triumph Henry, in thy day of Doome. Enter.
Cla. The duty that I owe vnto your Maiesty, I Seale vpon the lips of this sweet Babe Cla. Thanke Noble Clarence, worthy brother thanks Rich. And that I loue the tree fro[m] whence y sprang'st: Witnesse the louing kisse I giue the Fruite, To say the truth, so Iudas kist his master, And cried all haile, when as he meant all harme King. Now am I seated as my soule delights, Hauing my Countries peace, and Brothers loues Cla. What will your Grace haue done with Margaret, Reynard her Father, to the King of France Hath pawn'd the Sicils and Ierusalem, And hither haue they sent it for her ransome King. Away with her, and waft her hence to France: And now what rests, but that we spend the time With stately Triumphes, mirthfull Comicke shewes, Such as befits the pleasure of the Court. Sound Drums and Trumpets, farwell sowre annoy, For heere I hope begins our lasting ioy. Exeunt. omnes FINIS. The third Part of Henry the Sixt, with the death of the Duke of YORKE. The Tragedie of Richard the Third with the Landing of Earle Richmond, and the Battell at Bosworth Field Actus Primus. Scoena Prima. Enter Richard Duke of Gloster, solus.
Now is the Winter of our Discontent, Made glorious Summer by this Son of Yorke: And all the clouds that lowr'd vpon our house In the deepe bosome of the Ocean buried. Now are our browes bound with Victorious Wreathes, Our bruised armes hung vp for Monuments; Our sterne Alarums chang'd to merry Meetings; Our dreadfull Marches, to delightfull Measures. Grim-visag'd Warre, hath smooth'd his wrinkled Front: And now, in stead of mounting Barbed Steeds, To fright the Soules of fearfull Aduersaries, He capers nimbly in a Ladies Chamber, To the lasciuious pleasing of a Lute. But I, that am not shap'd for sportiue trickes, Nor made to court an amorous Looking-glasse: I, that am Rudely stampt, and want loues Maiesty, To strut before a wonton ambling Nymph: I, that am curtail'd of this faire Proportion, Cheated of Feature by dissembling Nature, Deform'd, vn-finish'd, sent before my time Into this breathing World, scarse halfe made vp, And that so lamely and vnfashionable, That dogges barke at me, as I halt by them. Why I (in this weake piping time of Peace) Haue no delight to passe away the time, Vnlesse to see my Shadow in the Sunne, And descant on mine owne Deformity. And therefore, since I cannot proue a Louer, To entertaine these faire well spoken dayes, I am determined to proue a Villaine, And hate the idle pleasures of these dayes. Plots haue I laide, Inductions dangerous, By drunken Prophesies, Libels, and Dreames, To set my Brother Clarence and the King In deadly hate, the one against the other: And if King Edward be as true and iust, As I am Subtle, False, and Treacherous, This day should Clarence closely be mew'd vp: About a Prophesie, which sayes that G, Of Edwards heyres the murtherer shall be. Diue thoughts downe to my soule, here Clarence comes. Enter Clarence, and Brakenbury, guarded.
Rich. No doubt, no doubt, and so shall Clarence too, For they that were your Enemies, are his, And haue preuail'd as much on him, as you, Hast. More pitty, that the Eagles should be mew'd, Whiles Kites and Buzards play at liberty Rich. What newes abroad? Hast. No newes so bad abroad, as this at home: The King is sickly, weake, and melancholly, And his Physitians feare him mightily Rich. Now by S[aint]. Iohn, that Newes is bad indeed. O he hath kept an euill Diet long, And ouer-much consum'd his Royall Person: 'Tis very greeuous to be thought vpon. Where is he, in his bed? Hast. He is Rich. Go you before, and I will follow you. Exit Hastings. He cannot liue I hope, and must not dye, Till George be pack'd with post-horse vp to Heauen. Ile in to vrge his hatred more to Clarence, With Lyes well steel'd with weighty Arguments, And if I faile not in my deepe intent, Clarence hath not another day to liue: Which done, God take King Edward to his mercy, And leaue the world for me to bussle in. For then, Ile marry Warwickes yongest daughter. What though I kill'd her Husband, and her Father, 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 loue, As for another secret close intent, By marrying her, which I must reach vnto. But yet I run before my horse to Market: Clarence still breathes, Edward still liues and raignes, When they are gone, then must I count my gaines.
Exit Scena Secunda. Enter the Coarse of Henrie the sixt with Halberds to guard it, Lady Anne being the Mourner. Anne. Set downe, set downe your honourable load, If Honor may be shrowded in a Herse; Whil'st I a-while obsequiously lament Th' vntimely fall of Vertuous Lancaster. Poore key-cold Figure of a holy King, Pale Ashes of the House of Lancaster; Thou bloodlesse Remnant of that Royall Blood, Be it lawfull that I inuocate thy Ghost, To heare the Lamentations of poore Anne, Wife to thy Edward, to thy slaughtred Sonne, Stab'd by the selfesame hand that made these wounds. Loe, in these windowes that let forth thy life, I powre the helplesse Balme of my poore 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: More direfull hap betide that hated Wretch That makes vs wretched by the death of thee, Then I can wish to Wolues, to Spiders, Toades, Or any creeping venom'd thing that liues. If euer he haue Childe, Abortiue be it, Prodigeous, and vntimely brought to light, Whose vgly and vnnaturall Aspect May fright the hopefull Mother at the view, And that be Heyre to his vnhappinesse. If euer he haue Wife, let her be made More miserable by the death of him, Then I am made by my young Lord, and thee. Come now towards Chertsey with your holy Lode, Taken from Paules, to be interred there. And still as you are weary of this waight, Rest you, whiles I lament King Henries Coarse. Enter Richard Duke of Gloster.
Was euer woman in this humour woo'd? Was euer woman in this humour wonne? Ile haue her, but I will not keepe her long. What? I that kill'd her Husband, and his Father, To take her in her hearts extreamest hate, With curses in her mouth, Teares in her eyes, The bleeding witnesse of my hatred by, Hauing God, her Conscience, and these bars against me, And I, no Friends to backe my suite withall, But the plaine Diuell, and dissembling lookes? And yet to winne her? All the world to nothing. Hah! Hath she forgot alreadie that braue Prince, Edward, her Lord, whom I (some three monthes since) Stab'd in my angry mood, at Tewkesbury? A sweeter, and a louelier Gentleman, Fram'd in the prodigallity of Nature: Yong, Valiant, Wise, and (no doubt) right Royal, The spacious World cannot againe affoord: And will she yet abase her eyes on me, That cropt the Golden prime of this sweet Prince, And made her Widdow to a wofull Bed? On me, whose All not equals Edwards Moytie? On me, that halts, and am mishapen thus? My Dukedome, to a Beggerly denier! I do mistake my person all this while: Vpon my life she findes (although I cannot) My selfe to be a maru'llous proper man. Ile be at Charges for a Looking-glasse, And entertaine a score or two of Taylors, To study fashions to adorne my body: Since I am crept in fauour with my selfe, I will maintaine it with some little cost. But first Ile turne yon Fellow in his Graue, And then returne lamenting to my Loue. Shine out faire Sunne, till I haue bought a glasse, That I may see my Shadow as I passe. Enter.
Rich. What doth she say, my Lord of Buckingham Buc. Nothing that I respect my gracious Lord Mar. What dost thou scorne me For my gentle counsell? And sooth the diuell that I warne thee from. O but remember this another day: When he shall split thy very heart with sorrow: And say (poore Margaret) was a Prophetesse: Liue each of you the subiects to his hate, And he to yours, and all of you to Gods. Enter. Buc. My haire doth stand an end to heare her curses Riu. And so doth mine, I muse why she's at libertie Rich. I cannot blame her, by Gods holy mother, She hath had too much wrong, and I repent My part thereof, that I haue done to her Mar. I neuer did her any to my knowledge Rich. Yet you haue all the vantage of her wrong: I was too hot, to do somebody good, That is too cold in thinking of it now: Marry as for Clarence, he is well repayed: He is frank'd vp to fatting for his paines, God pardon them, that are the cause thereof Riu. A vertuous, and a Christian-like conclusion To pray for them that haue done scath to vs Rich. So do I euer, being well aduis'd. Speakes to himselfe. For had I curst now, I had curst my selfe. Enter Catesby.
Keep. No maruell Lord, though it affrighted you, I am affraid (me thinkes) to heare you tell it Cla. Ah Keeper, Keeper, I haue done these things (That now giue euidence against my Soule) For Edwards sake, and see how he requits mee. O God! if my deepe prayres cannot appease thee, But thou wilt be aueng'd on my misdeeds, Yet execute thy wrath in me alone: O spare my guiltlesse Wife, and my poore children. Keeper, I prythee sit by me a-while, My Soule is heauy, and I faine would sleepe Keep. I will my Lord, God giue your Grace good rest. Enter Brakenbury the Lieutenant. Bra. Sorrow breakes Seasons, and reposing houres, Makes the Night Morning, and the Noon-tide night: Princes haue but their Titles for their Glories, An outward Honor, for an inward Toyle, And for vnfelt Imaginations They often feele a world of restlesse Cares: So that betweene their Titles, and low Name, There's nothing differs, but the outward fame. Enter two Murtherers. 1.Mur. Ho, who's heere? Bra. What would'st thou Fellow? And how camm'st thou hither 2.Mur. I would speak with Clarence, and I came hither on my Legges Bra. What so breefe? 1. 'Tis better (Sir) then to be tedious: Let him see our Commission, and talke no more. Reads Bra. I am in this, commanded to deliuer The Noble Duke of Clarence to your hands. I will not reason what is meant heereby, Because I will be guiltlesse from the meaning. There lies the Duke asleepe, and there the Keyes. Ile to the King, and signifie to him, That thus I haue resign'd to you my charge. Enter.
1 Why so he doth, when he deliuers you From this earths thraldome, to the ioyes of heauen 2 Make peace with God, for you must die my Lord Cla. Haue you that holy feeling in your soules, To counsaile me to make my peace with God, And are you yet to your owne soules so blinde, That you will warre with God, by murd'ring me. O sirs consider, they that set you on To do this deede will hate you for the deede 2 What shall we do? Clar. Relent, and saue your soules: Which of you, if you were a Princes Sonne, Being pent from Liberty, as I am now, If two such murtherers as your selues came to you, Would not intreat for life, as you would begge Were you in my distresse 1 Relent? no: 'Tis cowardly and womanish Cla. Not to relent, is beastly, sauage, diuellish: My Friend, I spy some pitty in thy lookes: O, if thine eye be not a Flatterer, Come thou on my side, and intreate for mee, A begging Prince, what begger pitties not 2 Looke behinde you, my Lord 1 Take that, and that, if all this will not do, Stabs him. Ile drowne you in the MalmeseyBut within. Enter. 2 A bloody deed, and desperately dispatcht: How faine (like Pilate) would I wash my hands Of this most greeuous murther.
King. Then say at once, what is it thou requests Der. The forfeit (Soueraigne) of my seruants life, Who slew to day a Riotous Gentleman, Lately attendant on the Duke of Norfolke King. Haue I a tongue to doome my Brothers death? And shall that tongue giue pardon to a slaue? My Brother kill'd no man, his fault was Thought, And yet his punishment was bitter death. Who sued to me for him? Who (in my wrath) Kneel'd and my feet, and bid me be aduis'd? Who spoke of Brother-hood? who spoke of loue? Who told me how the poore soule did forsake The mighty Warwicke, and did fight for me? Who told me in the field at Tewkesbury, When Oxford had me downe, he rescued me: And said deare Brother liue, and be a King? Who told me, when we both lay in the Field, Frozen (almost) to death, how he did lap me Euen in his Garments, and did giue himselfe (All thin and naked) to the numbe cold night? All this from my Remembrance, brutish wrath Sinfully pluckt, and not a man of you Had so much grace to put it in my minde. But when your Carters, or your wayting Vassalls Haue done a drunken Slaughter, and defac'd The precious Image of our deere Redeemer, You straight are on your knees for Pardon, pardon, And I (vniustly too) must grant it you. But for my Brother, not a man would speake, Nor I (vngracious) speake vnto my selfe For him poore Soule. The proudest of you all, Haue bin beholding to him in his life: Yet none of you, would once begge for his life. O God! I feare thy iustice will take hold On me, and you; and mine, and yours for this. Come Hastings helpe me to my Closset. Ah poore Clarence.
Qu. What stay had I but Edward, and hee's gone? Chil. What stay had we but Clarence? and he's gone Dut. What stayes had I, but they? and they are gone Qu. Was neuer widdow had so deere a losse Chil. Were neuer Orphans had so deere a losse Dut. Was neuer Mother had so deere a losse. Alas! I am the Mother of these Greefes, Their woes are parcell'd, mine is generall. She for an Edward weepes, and so do I: I for a Clarence weepes, so doth not shee: These Babes for Clarence weepe, so do not they. Alas! you three, on me threefold distrest: Power all your teares, I am your sorrowes Nurse, And I will pamper it with Lamentation Dor. Comfort deere Mother, God is much displeas'd, That you take with vnthankfulnesse his doing. In common worldly things, 'tis call'd vngratefull, With dull vnwillingnesse to repay a debt, Which with a bounteous hand was kindly lent: Much more to be thus opposite with heauen, For it requires the Royall debt it lent you Riuers. Madam, bethinke you like a carefull Mother Of the young Prince your sonne: send straight for him, Let him be Crown'd, in him your comfort liues. Drowne desperate sorrow in dead Edwards graue, And plant your ioyes in liuing Edwards Throne. Enter Richard, Buckingham, Derbie, Hastings, and Ratcliffe.
Ely. Mary and will, my Lord, with all my heart. Exit Bishop. Rich. Cousin of Buckingham, a word with you. Catesby hath sounded Hastings in our businesse, And findes the testie Gentleman so hot, That he will lose his Head, ere giue consent His Masters Child, as worshipfully he tearmes it, Shall lose the Royaltie of Englands Throne Buck. Withdraw your selfe a while, Ile goe with you. Exeunt. Darb. We haue not yet set downe this day of Triumph: To morrow, in my iudgement, is too sudden, For I my selfe am not so well prouided, As else I would be, were the day prolong'd. Enter the Bishop of Ely. Ely. Where is my Lord, the Duke of Gloster? I haue sent for these Strawberries Ha. His Grace looks chearfully & smooth this morning, There's some conceit or other likes him well, When that he bids good morrow with such spirit. I thinke there's neuer a man in Christendome Can lesser hide his loue, or hate, then hee, For by his Face straight shall you know his Heart Darb. What of his Heart perceiue you in his Face, By any liuelyhood he shew'd to day? Hast. Mary, that with no man here he is offended: For were he, he had shewne it in his Lookes. Enter Richard, and Buckingham.
Ra. Come, come, dispatch, the Duke would be at dinner: Make a short Shrift, he longs to see your Head Hast. O momentarie grace of mortall men, Which we more hunt for, then the grace of God! Who builds his hope in ayre of your good Lookes, Liues like a drunken Sayler on a Mast, Readie with euery Nod to tumble downe, Into the fatall Bowels of the Deepe Lou. Come, come, dispatch, 'tis bootlesse to exclaime Hast. O bloody Richard: miserable England, I prophecie the fearefull'st time to thee, That euer wretched Age hath look'd vpon. Come, lead me to the Block, beare him my Head, They smile at me, who shortly shall be dead. Exeunt. Enter Richard, and Buckingham, in rotten Armour, maruellous ill-fauoured. Richard. Come Cousin, Canst thou quake, and change thy colour, Murther thy breath in middle of a word, And then againe begin, and stop againe, As if thou were distraught, and mad with terror? Buck. Tut, I can counterfeit the deepe Tragedian, Speake, and looke backe, and prie on euery side, Tremble and start at wagging of a Straw: Intending deepe suspition, gastly Lookes Are at my seruice, like enforced Smiles; And both are readie in their Offices, At any time to grace my Stratagemes. But what, is Catesby gone? Rich. He is, and see he brings the Maior along. Enter the Maior, and Catesby.
Maior. Now faire befall you, he deseru'd his death, And your good Graces both haue well proceeded, To warne false Traytors from the like Attempts Buck. I neuer look'd for better at his hands, After he once fell in with Mistresse Shore: Yet had we not determin'd he should dye, Vntill your Lordship came to see his end, Which now the louing haste of these our friends, Something against our meanings, haue preuented; Because, my Lord, I would haue had you heard The Traytor speake, and timorously confesse The manner and the purpose of his Treasons: That you might well haue signify'd the same Vnto the Citizens, who haply may Misconster vs in him, and wayle his death Ma. But, my good Lord, your Graces words shal serue, As well as I had seene, and heard him speake: And doe not doubt, right Noble Princes both, But Ile acquaint our dutious Citizens With all your iust proceedings in this case Rich. And to that end we wish'd your Lordship here, T' auoid the Censures of the carping World Buck. Which since you come too late of our intent, Yet witnesse what you heare we did intend: And so, my good Lord Maior, we bid farwell. Exit Maior.
Text from Project Gutenberg, public domain in the United States.