Complete Plays, The (295 page)
Read Complete Plays, The Online
Authors: William Shakespeare
S
CENE
I. S
ALISBURY
. A
N
OPEN
PLACE
.
S
CENE
IV. A
NOTHER
PART
OF
THE
FIELD
.
S
CENE
V. A
NOTHER
PART
OF
THE
FIELD
.
C
HARACTERS
OF
THE
P
LAY
Edward The Fourth.
Edward, Prince Of Wales afterwards King Edward V, and
Richard, Duke Of York, sons to the King.
George, Duke Of Clarence, and
Richard, Duke Of Gloucester, afterwards King Richard III, brothers to the King.
A Young Son Of Clarence (Edward, Earl of Warwick).
Henry, Earl Of Richmond, afterwards King Henry VII.
Cardinal Bourchier, Archbishop Of Canterbury.
Thomas Rotherham, Archbishop Of York.
John Morton, Bishop Of Ely.
Duke Of Buckingham.
Duke Of Norfolk.
Earl Of Surrey, his son.
Earl Rivers, brother to King Edward's Queen.
Marquis Of Dorset and Lord Grey, her sons.
Earl Of Oxford.
Lord Hastings.
Lord Lovel.
Lord Stanley, called also Earl Of Derby.
Sir Thomas Vaughan.
Sir Richard Ratcliff.
Sir William Catesby.
Sir James Tyrrel.
Sir James Blount.
Sir Walter Herbert.
Sir William Brandon.
Sir Robert Brakenbury, Lieutenant of the Tower.
Christopher Urswick, a priest.
Lord Mayor Of London.
Sheriff Of Wiltshire.
Hastings, a pursuivant.
Tressel and Berkeley, gentlemen attending on Lady Anne.
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 the Duke of Gloucester.
A Young Daughter Of Clarence (Margaret Plantagenet, Countess of Salisbury).
Ghosts, of Richard's victims.
Lords, Gentlemen, and Attendants; Priest, Scrivener, Page, Bishops, Aldermen, Citizens, Soldiers, Messengers, Murderers, Keeper.
Scene: England.
A
CT
I
S
CENE
I. L
ONDON
. A
STREET
.
Enter Gloucester, solus
Gloucester
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;
And now, instead of mounting barded 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,
Deformed, unfinish’d, sent before my time
Into this breathing world, scarce half made up,
And that so lamely and unfashionable
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.
Enter Clarence, guarded, and Brakenbury
Brother, good day; what means this armed guard
That waits upon your grace?
Clarence
His majesty
Tendering my person’s safety, hath appointed
This conduct to convey me to the Tower.
Gloucester
Upon what cause?
Clarence
Because my name is George.
Gloucester
Alack, my lord, that fault is none of 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.
But what’s the matter, Clarence? may I know?
Clarence
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.
Gloucester
Why, this it is, when men are ruled by women:
’Tis not the king that sends you to the Tower:
My Lady Grey his wife, Clarence, ’tis she
That tempers him to this extremity.
Was it not she and that good man of worship,
Anthony Woodville, her brother there,
That made him send Lord Hastings to the Tower,
From whence this present day he is deliver’d?
We are not safe, Clarence; we are not safe.
Clarence
By heaven, I think there’s no man is secure
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?
Gloucester
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.
Brakenbury
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.
Gloucester
Even so; an’t please your worship, Brakenbury,
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 gentle-folks:
How say you sir? Can you deny all this?
Brakenbury
With this, my lord, myself have nought to do.
Gloucester
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.
Brakenbury
What one, my lord?
Gloucester
Her husband, knave: wouldst thou betray me?
Brakenbury
I beseech your grace to pardon me, and withal
Forbear your conference with the noble duke.
Clarence
We know thy charge, Brakenbury, and will obey.
Gloucester
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.
Clarence
I know it pleaseth neither of us well.
Gloucester
Well, your imprisonment shall not be long;
Meantime, have patience.
Clarence
I must perforce. Farewell.
Exeunt Clarence, Brakenbury, and Guard
Gloucester
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.
But who comes here? the new-deliver’d Hastings?
Enter Hastings
Hastings
Good time of day unto my gracious lord!
Gloucester
As much unto my good lord chamberlain!
Well are you welcome to the open air.
How hath your lordship brook’d imprisonment?
Hastings
With patience, noble lord, as prisoners must:
But I shall live, my lord, to give them thanks
That were the cause of my imprisonment.
Gloucester
No doubt, no doubt; and so shall Clarence too;
For they that were your enemies are his,
And have prevail’d as much on him as you.
Hastings
More pity that the eagle should be mew’d,
While kites and buzzards prey at liberty.
Gloucester
What news abroad?
Hastings
No news so bad abroad as this at home;
The King is sickly, weak and melancholy,
And his physicians fear him mightily.
Gloucester
Now, by Saint Paul, this news is bad indeed.
O, he hath kept an evil diet long,
And overmuch consumed his royal person:
’Tis very grievous to be thought upon.
What, is he in his bed?
Hastings
He is.
Gloucester
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.
I’ll in, to urge his hatred more to Clarence,
With lies well steel’d with weighty arguments;
And, if I fall not in my deep intent,
Clarence hath not another day to live:
Which done, God take King Edward to his mercy,
And leave the world for me to bustle in!
For then I’ll marry Warwick’s youngest 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 love
As for another secret close intent,
By marrying her which I must reach unto.
But yet I run before my horse to market:
Clarence still breathes; Edward still lives and reigns:
When they are gone, then must I count my gains.
Exit
S
CENE
II. T
HE
SAME
. A
NOTHER
STREET
.
Enter the corpse of King Henry the Sixth, Gentlemen with halberds to guard it; Lady Anne being the mourner
Lady 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
May fright the hopeful mother at the view;
And that be heir to his unhappiness!
If ever he have wife, let her he made
A 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.
