richard

richard the iii, 1.2

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! Cursed be the hand that made these fatal holes! 

Cursed be the heart that had the heart to do it! 

If ever he have child, abortive be it, 

If ever he have wife, let her he made 

More miserable by the death of him 

As I am made by my poor lord and thee! 

Avaunt, thou dreadful minister of hell! 

Thou hadst but power over his mortal body, 

His soul thou canst not have; therefore be gone.

Sweet saint, for charity, be not so curst. 

Foul devil, for God's sake, hence, and trouble us not; For thou hast made the happy earth thy hell, 

Fill'd it with cursing cries and deep exclaims. 

If thou delight to view thy heinous deeds, 

Behold this pattern of thy butcheries. 

O, gentlemen, see, see! dead Henry's wounds

Open their congeal'd mouths and bleed afresh! 

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

Lady, you know no rules of charity, 

Which renders good for bad, blessings for curses.

Villain, thou know'st no law of God nor man: No beast so fierce but knows some touch of pity.

But I know none, and therefore am no beast.

O wonderful, when devils tell the truth!

More wonderful, when angels are so angry. Vouchsafe, divine perfection of a woman, Of these supposed-evils, to give me leave, By circumstance, but to acquit myself. 

Vouchsafe, defused infection of a man, 

For these known evils, but to give me leave, By circumstance, to curse thy cursed self.

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

Fouler than heart can think thee, thou canst make No excuse current, but to hang thyself. 

By such despair, I should accuse myself.

And, by despairing, shouldst thou stand excused; For doing worthy vengeance on thyself, Which didst unworthy slaughter upon others.

Say that I slew them not? 

Why, then they are not dead: 

But dead they are, and devilish slave, by thee.

I did not kill your husband. 

Why, then he is alive. 

Nay, he is dead; and slain by Edward's hand.

In thy foul throat thou liest: Queen Margaret saw Thy murderous falchion smoking in his blood; Didst thou not kill this king? 

I grant you.

Dost grant me, hedgehog? then, God grant me too Thou mayst be damned for that wicked deed! O, he was gentle, mild, and virtuous! 

The fitter for the King of heaven, that hath him.

He is in heaven, where thou shalt never come.

Let him thank me, that holp to send him thither; For he was fitter for that place than earth.

And thou unfit for any place but hell. 

Yes, one place else, if you will hear me name it.

Some dungeon. 

Your bed-chamber. 

Ill rest betide the chamber where thou liest!

So will it, madam till I lie with you. 

I hope so. 

I know so. But, gentle Lady Anne, 

To leave this keen encounter of our wits

And fall something into a slower method—

Is not the causer of the timeless deaths 

As blameful as the executioner? 

Thou art the cause, and most accursed effect.

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

If I thought that, I tell thee, homicide, 

These nails should rend that beauty from my cheeks.

It is a quarrel most unnatural, 

To be revenged on him that loveth you.

It is a quarrel just and reasonable,

To be revenged on him that slew my husband.

He that bereft thee, lady, of thy husband, Did it to help thee to a better husband. 

His better doth not breathe upon the earth.

He lives that loves thee better than he could. 

Name him.

Plantagenet.

Why, that was he.

The selfsame name, but one of better nature.

Where is he? 

Here. Why dost thou spit at me? 

Would it were mortal poison, for thy sake!

Never came poison from so sweet a place.

Never hung poison on a fouler toad. 

Out of my sight! thou dost infect my eyes.

Thine eyes, sweet lady, have infected mine.

Would they were basilisks, to strike thee dead!

I would they were, that I might die at once,

For now they kill me with a living death.

My tongue could never learn sweet smoothing word; But now thy beauty is proposed my fee, 

My proud heart sues, and prompts my tongue to speak.

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.

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. 

Take up the sword again, or take up me. 

Arise, dissembler: though I wish thy death, I will not be the executioner. 

Then bid me kill myself, and I will do it. 

I have already. 

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.

I would I knew thy heart. 

'Tis figured in my tongue. 

I fear me both are false. 

Then never man was true. 

Well, well, put up your sword. 

Say, then, my peace is made. 

That shall you know hereafter. 

But shall I live in hope? 

All men, I hope, live so. 

Vouchsafe to wear this ring. 

To take is not to give. 

Look, how this ring encompasseth thy finger. Even so thy breast encloseth my poor heart; Wear both of them, for both of them are thine. And if thy poor devoted suppliant may But beg one favour at thy gracious hand, Thou dost confirm his happiness for ever. 

What is it? 

That it would please thee leave these sad designs

To him that hath more cause to be a mourner,

And presently repair to Crosby Place;

Where, after I have solemnly interr'd

At Chertsey monastery this noble king,

And wet his grave with my repentant tears,

I will with all expedient duty see you:

For divers unknown reasons. I beseech you,

Grant me this boon.

With all my heart; and much it joys me too, To see you are become so penitent. 

Bid me farewell. 

'Tis more than you deserve; 

But since you teach me how to flatter you, Imagine I have said farewell already.

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.

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!

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.