Now is the winter of our discontent,
made glorious summer
by this son of York.
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,
instead of mounting barbed steeds to fright the souls of adversaries,
he capers nimbly in a lady's chamber to the lascivious pleasing of a guitar.
But I,
that am not shaped for sportive tricks,
nor made to court an amorous looking-glass;
I,
that am rudely stamped,
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,
unfinished,
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;
In this piping time of peace, I 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:
And if King Edward be as true and just
as I am subtle, false, and treacherous,
this day should Clarence closely be mewed up.
Clarence, what does this mean?
His majesty, tendering my safety, sends me to the Tower.
- What's the matter? - When I know!
But, he hearkens after prophecies and dreams.
This it is, when men are ruled by women:
It's not the king that sends you to the Tower:
Elizabeth, his wife tempers him to this extremity.
She and her brother Rivers,
made him send Lord Hastings to the Tower.
We are not safe, Clarence!
No man is secure but the queen's kindred.
She has become a mighty gossip since our brother dubbed her gentlewoman.
His majesty forbids to have conference with your brother.
We know thy charge and will obey.
Clarence, farewell. I will unto the king.
Whatever you employ me in, I will perform it to enfranchise you,
were it to call King Edward's widow “sister.”
- Meantime, have patience. - I must perforce.
Go!
Tread the path that thou shalt never return.
Simple, plain Clarence!
I do love thee so, that I will send thy soul to heaven,
if heaven will take the present at our hands.
But who’s here?
The new-delivered Hastings!
- My gracious lord! - Welcome to the open air.
How have you brook'd imprisonment?
With patience.
But I shall live to give them thanks that were the cause of it.
No doubt, and so shall Clarence too;
Your enemies are his and have prevailed as much on him as you.
What news abroad?
The king is sickly, weak, and melancholy.
- His physicians fear him mightily. - This news is bad indeed.
He hath kept an evil diet and consumed his royal person:
'Tis grievous to be thought upon.
- Is he in his bed? - He is.
Go you before, I will follow you.
The King cannot live, I hope.
And must not die till Clarence be pack'd up to heaven.
I'll in, to urge his hatred to Clarence,
with lies well steeled with weighty arguments.
If I fail 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!
I'll marry Warwick's daughter, Lady Anne.
I killed her husband
and her father.
So what?
To make the wench amends I’ll be her husband and her father.
Not all so much for love
as for a secret close intent, which I must reach unto.
But yet I run before my horse to market:
Clarence still breathes, Edward lives and reigns:
When they are gone, then must I count my gains.
Poor key-cold figure of a holy king!
Pale ashes of the house of Lancaster!
Thou bloodless remnant of that royal blood!
I invocate thy ghost,
to hear the lamentations of poor Anne, wife to thy Edward,
to thy slaughtered son,
stabbed by the selfsame hand that made these wounds!
Cursed be the hand that made these fatal holes!
Cursed the heart that had the heart to do it!
Cursed the blood that let this blood from hence!
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!
If ever he hath a wife, let her be more miserable by the death of him
as I am made by my poor lord and thee!
What black magician conjures up this fiend,
to stop my devoted deeds?
Avaunt, thou dreadful minister of hell!
Thou hadst but power over his mortal body, his soul thou canst not have.
Sweet saint, be not so curst.
Foul devil, trouble me not.
For thou hast made the happy earth thy hell,
filled it with cries and exclaims.
If thou delight to view thy deeds,
behold this pattern of thy butcheries.
You know no rules of charity, which renders good for bad.
Thou know'st no law of God nor man:
No beast so fierce but knows some touch of pity.
I know none, therefore am no beast.
Wonderful, when devils tell the truth!
More wonderful, when angels are so angry.
Vouchsafe, divine perfection of a woman,
of these supposed-evils, to acquit myself.
Vouchsafe, defused infection of a man,
for these known evils to curse thy cursed self.
Fairer than tongue can name thee, let me have some leisure to excuse myself.
Fouler than heart can think thee.
Thou canst make no excuse, but to hang thyself.
- By such despair, I should accuse myself. - By despairing thou stand excused,
for doing worthy vengeance on thyself, which didst unworthy slaughter upon others.
- And if I slew them not? - Then they are not dead.
But dead they are, and by thee.
- I did not kill your husband. - Then he is alive.
Nay, he is dead, slain by Edward's hand.
Thou liest: Queen Margaret saw thy falchion,
which thou once didst bend against her breast.
I was provoked by her slanderous tongue.
Thy bloody mind never dreamt but butcheries:
Didst thou not kill King Henry?
I grant ye.
Then, God grant me too thou mayst be damned for that!
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 helped to send him thither.
- He was fitter for that place. - And thou unfit for any place but hell.
- One else ... - Some dungeon?
Your bed-chamber.
Ill rest betide the chamber where thou liest!
So will it, till I lie with you.
But, is not the causer of the deaths as blameful as the executioner?
- Thou art the cause, and effect. - Your beauty was the cause.
It haunted me to undertake the death of all the world,
so I might live one hour in your sweet bosom.
If I thought that,
these nails should rend that beauty from my cheeks.
These eyes could never endure sweet beauty's wreck.
As the world is cheered by the sun, your beauty is my day, my life.
Black night overshade thy day, and death thy life!
- Curse not thyself, thou art both. - I would I were, to be revenged on thee.
It is unnatural, to be revenged on him that loveth you.
It is just, to be revenged on him that slew my husband.
He did it to help thee to a better one.
His better doth not breathe upon the earth.
He lives that loves thee better than he could.
- Plantagenet. - 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!
- 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, have infected mine. - Would they strike thee dead!
I would they did. For now they kill me with a living death.
Those eyes from mine have drawn salt tears,
shamed their aspect with store of childish drops:
These eyes that never shed remorseful tear,
what sorrows could not thence exhale, thy beauty hath.
I never sued to friend nor enemy,
my tongue could never learn sweet smoothing words.
But now thy beauty is my fee, and my proud heart sues.
Teach not thy lips such scorn,
they were made for kissing, not for such contempt.
If thy heart cannot forgive, here I lend thee this 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.
I did kill King Henry.
But 'twas thy beauty that provoked me.
I stabbed young Edward
but 'twas thy heavenly face that set me on.
Take up the sword,
or take up me.
Arise, dissembler:
Though I wish thy death, I will not be the executioner.
- Then bid me kill myself. - I have already.
That was in thy rage:
Speak it again, and that hand, which did kill thy love,
shall, for thy love, kill a far truer love.
To both their deaths thou shalt be accessory.
- I would I knew thy heart. - 'Tis figured in my tongue.
- I fear me both are false. - Then never man was true.
- Put up your sword. - Say then my peace is made.
- That shall you know hereafter. - Shall I live in hope?
All men, I hope, live so.
Vouchsafe to wear this ring.
To take is not to give.
How this ring encompasseth thy finger,
even so thy breast encloseth my poor heart.
Wear both of them, for both of them are thine.
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 humor wooed?
Was ever woman in this humor won?
I'll have her.
But I will not keep her long.
I killed her husband,
and his father,
and I 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 against me,
nothing to back my suit but the devil and dissembling looks,
and yet to win her?
All the world to nothing?
Hath she forgot already that brave prince,
Edward, her lord,
whom I, three months since, stabbed in my angry mood?
A sweeter and a lovelier gentleman,
framed in the prodigality of nature, young, wise, and right royal,
the spacious world cannot again afford.
And will she yet debase her eyes on me,
that made her widow to a woeful bed?
On me,
whose all not equals Edward's moiety?
On me,
that halts and am misshapen thus?
I do mistake my person all this while:
She finds, although I cannot,
myself to be a marvelous proper man.
I'll be at charges for a looking-glass,
and entertain some score 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.
But first I'll turn yon fellow in his grave.
And then return lamenting to my love.
And till I have bought a glass, shine out, fair sun
that I may see my shadow as I pass.
Have patience, the king will soon recover his health.
In that you brook it ill, it makes him worse.
If he were dead, what would betide of me?
Your son will be your comforter.
He is young and under the trust of Richard,
who loves not me, nor none of you.
- Saw you the king today? - I come from visiting his majesty.
- What likelihood of his amendments? - Good hope. His grace speaks cheerfully.
- Did you confer with him? - He desires to make atonement
between Richard, your brothers and Lord Hastings.
He sent to warn them to his royal presence.
Would all were well!
But I fear our happiness is at the highest.
They do me wrong, and I will not endure it:
Who are they that complain unto the king that I am stern, and love them not?
Because I cannot flatter and look fair,
smile in men's faces, smooth, deceive, and cog,
duck with French nods and apish courtesy,
I must be held a rancorous enemy?
Cannot a man think no harm, but thus his simple truth
must be abused by silken, sly, insinuating Jacks?
- To whom speaks your grace? - To thee, that hast nor honesty nor grace.
When have I injured thee? Or any of your faction?
A plague upon you all!
His royal person cannot be quiet a breathing while,
but you must trouble him with complaints.
Richard, you mistake the matter. The king, of his own disposition
makes him to send aiming at your interior hatred
against my kindred, brothers, and myself
to gather the ground of your ill will, and so remove it.
The world is grown so bad.
Since every Jack became a gentleman many gentle person is made a Jack.
You envy our advancement.
My brother is imprisoned by your means,
myself disgraced, and the nobility held in contempt.
I never did incense his majesty against the Duke of Clarence,
but have been an advocate to plead for him.
You may deny to be the cause of Lord Hastings' imprisonment.
- She may, my lord … - She may do more than denying that:
She may help you to many fair preferments,
and then deny her aiding hand, and lay those honors on your high deserts.
- What may she not? - Marry, may she?
Marry with a king, a bachelor, a handsome stripling too.
I know your grandam had a worser match.
I have too long borne your upbraidings and your scoffs:
I will acquaint his majesty with those gross taunts.
I had rather be a servant-maid than a queen,
to be thus taunted and baited at:
Small joy have I in being England's queen.
And lessened be that small! Thy honor, state and seat is due to me.
Threat you me with telling of the king? Tell him!
What I have said I will avouch in presence of the king.
May I be sent to the Tower. 'Tis time to speak: my pains are quite forgot.
Thou slewest my husband in the Tower, and my son at Tewkesbury.
Ere you were queen, or your husband king, I was a packhorse in his great affairs.
A weeder-out of his proud adversaries, a liberal rewarder of his friends:
- To royalize his blood I spilt mine own. - And much better blood than his or thine.
You and your husband were factious for the house of Lancaster;
Was not he slain in Margaret's battle at Saint Albans?
Remember what you have been and what you are now.
And what I have been, and what I am.
A murderous villain, and so still thou art.
Poor Clarence forswore himself.
- Which Jesus pardon … - Which God revenge!
To fight on Edward's party for the crown; And for his meed he is mew'd up?
I would to God my heart were flint, like Edward's;
Or Edward's soft and pitiful, like mine.
I am too childish-foolish for this world.
Hie thee to hell for shame, there thy kingdom is.
In those busy days which here you urge to prove us enemies,
we followed then our lawful king:
So should we you, if you should be our king.
If I should be king!
I had rather be a peddler!
Far be it from my heart, the thought of it!
Hear me, you wrangling pirates
that fall out in sharing that which you have pill'd from me!
Which of you trembles not that looks on me?
If not that I being queen, you bow like subjects,
yet that, by you deposed, you quake like rebels?
Gentle villain, do not turn away!
Foul wrinkled witch, what makest thou in my sight?
- I repeat what thou hast marred. - Wert thou not banished on pain of death?
I do find more pain in banishment than in death.
Richard, you owe to me a husband and a son.
And thou, Elizabeth, a kingdom;
and all of you allegiance:
The sorrow that I have, by right is yours,
and all the pleasures you usurp are mine.
The curse my noble father laid on thee,
when thou didst crown his warlike brows with paper
and with thy scorns drew'st rivers from his eyes,
and then, to dry them, gavest the duke a clout
steeped in the blood of my sweet brother Rutland.
His curses are all fall'n upon thee.
- God, not we, hath plagued thy bloody deed. - So just is God, to right the innocent.
'Twas the foulest deed to slay that babe.
- Tyrants themselves wept. - No man but prophesied revenge for it.
Northumberland, then present, wept to see it.
You were ready to catch each other by the throat,
and turn you all your hatred now on me?
Did your father's dread curse prevail so much?
That Henry's death, my lovely Edward's death,
their kingdom's loss, my banishment, could all but answer for that peevish brat?
Can curses pierce the clouds and enter heaven?
Why then give way, dull clouds, to my quick curses!
If not by war, by surfeit die your king, as ours by murder, to make him a king!
Edward thy son, Prince of Wales, die in his youth
by like untimely violence as my son Edward!
Outlive thy glory, like my wretched self!
Long mayst thou live to wail thy children's loss,
and see another decked in thy rights, as I see thee now stalled in mine!
Long die thy happy days before thy death!
After many hours of grief, die! Neither mother, wife, nor England's queen!
Rivers, you were a stander by, and so wast thou, Lord Hastings,
when my son was stabbed.
I pray to God, that none of you may live your natural age.
Have done thy hocus-pocus, thou hateful withered hag!
- And leave out thee? - Go to hell!
Stay, dog, for thou shalt hear me. If heaven have any grievous plague in store,
let them keep it till thy sins be ripe, then hurl down their indignation on thee!
The worm of conscience still begnaw thy soul!
Thy friends suspect for traitors and take deep traitors for thy dearest friends!
No sleep close up that deadly eye of thine,
unless it be whilst dreams affrights thee with a hell of devils!
Thou abortive, rooting hog!
Thou slander of thy mother's heavy womb! Thou loathed issue of thy father's loins!
- Let me make the period to my curse! - 'Tis done by me, and ends in "Margaret."
Thus have you breathed your curse against yourself.
Poor painted queen! Vain flourish of my fortune!
Strew'st thou sugar on that spider, whose deadly web ensnareth thee about?
Fool! Thou whetest a knife to kill thyself.
Thou shalt wish for me to help thee curse that toad.
End thy frantic curse, thou move our patience.
Foul shame upon you! You have all moved mine.
- Dispute not with her; she is lunatic. - Peace, master Marquess, you are malapert:
Your fire-new stamp of honor is scarce current. That thou could judge what 'twere to lose it!
They that stand high have many blasts to shake them.
And if they fall, they dash themselves to pieces.
- Good counsel: learn it. - It touches you as much as me.
But I was born so high, our aery buildeth in the cedar's top,
dallies with the wind and scorns the sun.
- And turns the sun to shade! - Enough!
I'll kiss thy hand, in sign of league: Now fair befall thee and thy noble house!
Thy garments are not spotted with our blood, nor thou within the compass of my curse.
Nor no one here.
Buckingham, take heed of yonder dog! When he fawns, he bites.
And his venom tooth will rankle to the death: Have not to do with him.
Sin, death, and hell have set their marks on him.
- What doth she say, Buckingham? - Nothing that I respect.
Dost thou scorn me for my counsel and soothe the devil?
Remember this, when he shall split thy heart,
and say poor Margaret was a prophetess!
Live each of you the subjects to his hate,
and he to yours
and all of you the subjects to God’s hate.
Am I happy that she's gone!
Me too.
I muse why she's at liberty.
I cannot blame her. By God's holy mother,
she hath had too much wrong.
I repent my part thereof that I have done to her.
- I never did her any. - But you have all the vantage of her wrong.
What's this noise? You know that I'm ill.
Come here please, I have to speak to you.
I do the wrong, and first begin to brawl.
Clarence, who I indeed have cast in darkness,
and tell them 'tis the queen and her allies,
thus I clothe my naked villainy with old odd ends stolen out of holy writ,
and seem a saint when most I play the devil.
But, soft! Here come my executioners.
We come to have the warrant that we may be admitted.
Well thought upon, I have it here.
Be sudden in the execution, do not hear him plead,
for Clarence is well-spoken, he may move your hearts to pity.
We will not stand to prate. Talkers are no good doers:
We come to use our hands and not our tongues.
I like you.
About your business straight.
Of course my lord.
Shall we stab him as he sleeps?
He'll say 'twas done cowardly, when he wakes.
Fool, he shall never wake till the judgment day.
But then he will say we stabbed him sleeping.
The word "judgment" hath bred a kind of remorse in me.
Back to Richard, tell him so?
My holy humor will change.
It was wont to hold me but while one would tell twenty.
How dost thou feel thyself now?
Some certain dregs of conscience are yet within me.
Remember our reward.
I had forgot the reward.
Take him over the costard, and then chop him in the wine-butt.
Give me a cup of wine.
You shall have wine enough.
Who art thou?
Wherefore do you come?
To …
To murder me?
- Wherein have I offended you? - Us not, but the king.
- I shall be reconciled to him again. - Never, therefore prepare to die.
What is my offense? Where is the evidence?
Who pronounced the sentence?
Before I be convict to threaten me with death is unlawful.
What we will do, we do upon command.
And he that hath commanded is the king.
If you are hired for meed, go back again.
Richard will reward you better for my life than Edward for my death.
- Your brother Richard hates you. - No, he loves me!
- Go you to him from me. - So we will.
He sent us to slaughter thee.
It cannot be, he swore that he would labor my delivery.
He delivers thee from this world to the joys of heaven.
Make peace with God, for you must die.
I spy some pity in thy looks.
If thine eye be not a flatterer, come thou on my side,
and entreat for me, as you would beg for you.
A begging prince what beggar pities not?
A bloody deed.
And desperately dispatched.
How fain, like Pilate, would I wash my hands of this murder.
Now have I done a good day's work.
You peers, continue this united league:
I every day expect an embassage from my Redeemer to redeem me hence.
And now in peace my soul shall part to heaven,
since I have set my friends at peace on earth.
Rivers and Hastings, take each other's hand.
Dissemble not your hatred, swear your love.
My heart is purged from grudging hate.
And with my hand I seal my true heart's love.
So thrive I, as I truly swear the like!
Elizabeth, yourself are not exempt in this,
nor you, Buckingham.
You have been factious one against the other.
Wife, love Lord Hastings, let him kiss your hand
and what you do, do it unfeignedly.
I will never more remember our former hatred, so thrive I and mine!
And so swear I.
Dorset, embrace him.
Hastings, love Lord Marquess.
This interchange of love upon my part shall be unviolable.
Embrace!
Princely Buckingham, seal thou this league and embrace my wife.
And make me happy in your unity.
Whenever Buckingham doth turn his hate on you or yours,
God punish me with hate in those where I expect most love.
When I need to employ a friend, assured that he is a friend,
deep, hollow, treacherous be he unto me!
This do I beg of God, when I am cold in zeal to yours.
A pleasing cordial is this thy vow unto my sickly heart.
Embrace!
There wanteth now our brother Richard here,
to make the blessed period of this peace.
Good morrow to my sovereign king and queen:
Princely peers, a happy time of day!
Happy, indeed, as we have spent the day.
We have done deeds of charity, made peace enmity,
fair love of hate, between these swelling peers.
A blessed labor, my most sovereign liege.
If any here, by false intelligence, or wrong surmise, hold me a foe
if I unwittingly, or in my rage have aught committed,
I desire to reconcile me to his friendly peace.
'Tis death to me to be at enmity.
I hate it, and desire all good men's love.
Elisabeth, I entreat true peace of you,
which I will purchase with my duteous service.
Of you, Buckingham
if ever any grudge were lodged between us;
Of you, Dorset,
and Lord Rivers, of you, that without desert have frowned on me.
Indeed, I entreat all of you.
I do not know that Englishman alive
with whom my soul is any jot at odds more than the infant born tonight.
I thank my God for my humility.
A holy day shall this be kept hereafter.
I do beseech to take our brother Clarence to your grace.
Have I offered love for this to be so flouted?
Who knows not that Clarence is dead?
- You do him injury to scorn his corpse. - And who knows he is dead?
Is Clarence dead? The order was reversed.
But he by your first order died.
God grant that some less loyal, nearer in bloody thoughts, but not in blood,
deserve not worse than Clarence did, and yet go current from suspicion!
A boon, for my service done!
I pray thee, peace: my soul is full of sorrow.
The forfeit of my servant's life, who slew a righteous gentleman.
My brother slew no man; his fault was thought,
and yet his punishment was cruel death.
Who sued to me for him?
Who, in my rage, kneeled at my feet, and bade me be advised?
Who spoke of brotherhood?
Who spoke of love?
How he did forsake Warwick, and did fight for me?
Who told me, at Tewkesbury when Oxford had me down,
he rescued me, and said "Dear brother, live, and be a king"?
Who told me, when we lay in the field how he did lap me in his garments,
and gave himself, naked, to the cold night?
All this from my remembrance wrath sinfully plucked,
and not a man of you had so much grace to put it in my mind.
But when your carters have done a drunken slaughter,
and defaced the image of our Redeemer,
you straight are on your knees for pardon!
And I, unjustly too, must grant it you.
But for my brother not a man would speak,
nor I speak unto myself for him.
Poor soul.
Hastings, help me to my closet.
Poor Clarence!
This is the fruit of rashness!
He did urge it still unto the king! God will revenge it.
But let us in, to comfort Edward with our company.
Who shall hinder me to wail and weep,
to chide my fortune, and torment myself?
I'll join with black despair and to myself become an enemy.
What means this scene of rude impatience?
Edward, my lord, our king, is dead.
Why grow the branches now 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 perpetual rest.
I see, as in a map, the end of all.
Bethink you like a mother, of the prince, your son.
Send for him, let him be crowned; in him your comfort lives.
Drown desperate sorrow in dead Edward's grave,
and plant your joys in living Edward's throne.
Sister, have comfort:
All of us have cause to wail the dimming of our shining star.
But none can cure their harms by wailing them.
Now cheer each other.
Though we have spent our harvest of this king,
we are to reap the harvest of his son.
Me seemeth good, that with some little train,
from Ludlow the prince be fetched to London, to be crowned.
Why with some little train?
Lest, by a multitude, the wound of malice should break out.
The estate is green and yet ungoverned.
I hope the king made peace with all of us.
The compact is firm and true in me.
And so in me; And so, I think, in all.
Yet it should be put to no likelihood of breach,
which by much company might be urged.
Then be it so, go we to determine who shall post to Ludlow.
Whoever journeys to the prince, let not us two be behind.
For I'll sort occasion, to part the queen's kindred from the prince.
My dear cousin,
I, like a child, will go by thy direction.
Towards Ludlow then, for we'll not stay behind.
Welcome, sweet prince, to London, to your chamber.
Welcome, dear nephew, my thoughts' sovereign.
The weary way hath made you melancholy.
No, but our crosses on the wayhave made it wearisome.
I want more uncles here to welcome me.
Lord Rivers is sent prison.
For what offense?
The untainted virtue of your years hath not yet dived into the world's deceit.
This uncle was dangerous.
You attended to his sugared words, not on the poison of his heart.
God keep you from him, and from such false friends!
God keep me from false friends! But he was none.
I thought my mother and my brother, would have met us on the way.
God knows why the queen and your brother York, have taken sanctuary.
The prince would have come with me, but by his mother was withheld.
What a peevish course is this!
Catesby, persuade the queen to send York unto his brother.
If she deny, from her arms pluck him perforce.
God forbid we should infringe the holy privilege of sanctuary!
You are too obstinate, too ceremonious and traditional.
Sanctuary is granted to those whose dealings have deserved,
and have the wit to claim the place:
This prince hath neither claimed it nor deserved it, and therefore cannot have it.
Make all the haste you may.
Where shall we sojourn till our coronation?
Where it seems best unto your royal self.
If I may counsel you,
some day or two repose you at the Tower:
Then where you please, and it most fits for your recreation.
I do not like the Tower, of any place.
Here comes the Duke of York.
Richard of York! How fares our loving brother?
Well, my dread lord; so must I call you now.
Brother, to our grief, as it is yours:
Too late he died that might have kept that title.
How fares our nephew, noble lord of York?
I thank you, gentle uncle.
You said that idle weeds are fast in growth.
- My brother hath outgrown me far. - He hath.
- And therefore is he idle? - I must not say so.
Then is he more beholding to you than I.
He may command me as my sovereign; but you have power in me as in a kinsman.
- I pray you give me this dagger. - With all my heart.
- A beggar, brother? - Of my kind uncle, that I know will give.
- And being but a toy, which is no grief to give. - A greater gift than that I'll give my cousin.
- O, that's the sword to it. - Ay, were it light enough.
You will part but with light gifts; in weightier things you'll say nay.
- It is too heavy for you to wear. - I weigh it lightly, were it heavier.
Would you have my weapon, little lord?
Rather a big weapon than a little wagon,
and a little nephew than a big monkey.
My brother will still be cross in talk: you know how to bear with him.
You mean, to bear me, not to bear with me:
Because that I am little, like an ape,
he thinks that you should bear me on your crippled shoulders.
Will't please you pass along?
Myself and Buckingham will tell your mother to meet you at the Tower.
- Will you go unto the Tower? - My lord protector needs will have it so.
I shall not sleep in quiet at the Tower.
- What should you fear? - Uncle Clarence's ghost.
My grandam told me he was murdered there.
- I fear no uncles dead. - Nor none that live, I hope.
And if you live, I hope I need not fear.
But come, unto the Tower.
Think you, this little prating York
was not incensed by his mother to scorn you thus opprobriously?
'Tis a parlous boy. Bold, quick, capable:
He is all the mother's.
Let them rest. Come hither, Catesby.
Sound thou Lord Hastings, how doth he stand
for the instalment of this duke in the seat royal of this isle.
Summon him tomorrow to the Tower, to sit about the coronation.
Tomorrow we hold divided councils, you will highly be employed.
And tell him, his adversaries Rivers and Dorset
tomorrow are let blood at Pomfret Castle.
Good lords, with all the heed I may.
What, if Hastings will not yield to our complots?
Chop off his head!
Something we will determine.
Buckingham, when I am king,
claim thou of me the earldom of Hereford,
and all the moveables whereof the king my brother was possessed.
I'll claim that promise.
And look to have it yielded with all willingness.
Snail!
Let us sup, that we may digest our complots in some form.
Many good morrows, Hastings!
Good morrow, Catesby, you are early stirring.
What news, in this our tottering state?
It is a reeling world, indeed, and will never stand upright till Richard wear the garland.
- Dost thou mean the crown? - Ay, my lord.
I'll have this crown cut from my shoulders ere I will see it so misplaced.
But doth he aim at it?
And hopes to find you forward upon his party.
He sends you this good news:
The brothers of the queen, Rivers and Dorset, must die.
Indeed, I am no mourner for that news.
But, to give my voice on Richard, I will not do it, to the death.
God keep you in that gracious mind!
I shall laugh that I outlive he who brought me in my master's hate.
When I met thee last, I was going to the Tower,
by the suggestion of Rivers.
Now they are put to death, and I in better state than ever.
'Tis a vile thing to die, when men are unprepared.
Monstrous!
And so falls it out with Rivers:
and with some men else, who think themselves as safe.
But we are dear to Richard and to Buckingham.
The princes both make high account of you.
I’ll be back in a minute.
As high,
for they account your head upon the London Bridge.
Buckingham!
Today you’ll see subjects die for truth, duty, and for loyalty.
God keep the prince from all the pack of you! Knot of damned blood-suckers!
Dispatch; the limit of your lives is out.
Now Margaret's curse is fallen upon our heads.
She exclaimed on Hastings and I,
for standing by when Richard stabbed her son.
Then cursed she Richard, then Hastings, and you, Buckingham.
Remember, God, to hear her prayers for them.
Make haste!
My friends,
we met to determine of the coronation.
In God's name, speak: when is the royal day?
Who knows the lord protector's mind herein?
- Who is most inward with the duke? - You should soonest know his mind.
We know each other's faces:
for our hearts, he knows no more of mine, than I of yours;
or I of his, than you of mine.
Lord Hastings, you and he are near in love.
I know he loves me well.
But for the coronation he delivered not his pleasure therein:
But you may name the time.
And in Richard's behalf I'll give my voice, which he'll take in gentle part.
My noble lords and cousins all, good morrow.
I have been long a sleeper; but, I hope, my absence doth neglect no great designs,
which by my presence might have been concluded.
Had not you come upon your cue, Hastings had pronounced your voice.
No man might be bolder; he knows, and loves me well.
Buckingham, a word with you.
Catesby hath sounded Hastings in our business, and finds him so hot,
as he will lose his head ere give consent his master's son, as he terms it,
shall lose the royalty of England's throne.
Withdraw you hence, I'll follow you.
His grace looks cheerfully and smooth today.
Some conceit likes him well to bid good morrow with such a spirit.
There's never a man that can less hide his love or hate than he.
What perceive you in his face he showed today?
That with no man here he is offended.
Tell me, what they deserve that do conspire my death
with devilish plots of damned witchcraft?
And that have prevailed upon my body with their charms?
My tender love makes me most forward to doom the offenders.
Whatsoever they be: They have deserved death.
Then be your eyes the witness of this ill:
See how I am bewitched.
Mine arm is like a blasted sapling, withered up:
And this is Elizabeth, that thus have marked me.
- If they have done this deed … - If?
Talk’st thou me of 'ifs’ thou protector of this strumpet?
Traitor! Off with his head!
I will not dine until I see his head. Stanley, look that it be done:
The rest, that love me, rise and follow me.
Three times my horse startled, when he looked upon the Tower.
As loath to bear me to the slaughter-house.
But I disdained it, and did scorn to fly.
Margaret!
Thy heavy curse is lighted on poor Hastings's head!
Dispatch, it’s my first time too.
Dirty pig!
Miserable England!
They smile at me that shortly shall be dead.
What say the citizens?
The citizens are mum.
Touched you the bastardy of Edward's children?
I did
the greediness of his desires, his enforcement of the city wives;
his own bastardy, as being got, your father then in France,
his resemblance, being not like the duke.
I did infer your lineaments, being the right idea of your father,
both in your form and nobleness of mind.
Laid open your discipline in war, wisdom in peace, fair humility:
Left nothing fitting for the purpose untouched.
And at the end I bid them that did love their country cry:
- "God save Richard, England's royal king!" - And did they so?
No.
They spake not a word,
but, like dumb statues stared each on other.
Which I reprehended them,
and asked the mayor what meant this silence:
"People are not used to be spoke to but by the recorder."
Then he was urged to tell my tale again:
“Thus saith Richard ..." "Thus hath Richard inferred ...”
But nothing spoke in warrant from himself.
When he had done, some ten followers of mine own,
hurled up their caps and cried “God save King Richard!”
I took the vantage: “Thanks, gentle citizens,” quoth I,
“This cheerful shout argues your love to Richard”,
and even here brake off.
What tongueless blocks were they! Would they not speak?
Will not the mayor then and his brethren come?
The mayor is here at hand.
Intend some fear.
Be not you spoke with but by mighty suit:
Get a prayer-book in your hand,
stand between two churchmen,
for on that ground I'll make a holy descant: be not easily won to our request:
Play the maid's part, still answer nay, and take it.
This is your last chance.
Welcome.
I dance attendance here.
I think the duke will not be spoke withal.
Catesby, what says he?
He doth entreat your grace, to visit him tomorrow:
He is, with two reverend fathers, bent to meditation,
no worldly suit would draw him from his holy exercise.
Tell him, myself, the mayor and Lord Stanley
are come to have some conference with his grace,
in deep designs no less importing than our general good.
I'll tell him what you say.
This prince is not an Edward!
He is not lulling on a lewd day-bed, but on his knees at meditation;
Happy were England, would he take the sovereignty:
But I fear, we shall never win him to it.
God forbid his grace should say us nay!
What says your lord?
He wonders to what end the Lord Mayor came here.
He fears you mean no good to him.
We come in perfect love to him, return and tell his grace.
When holy and religious men are at their beads ...
... 'tis hard to draw them thence.
See, where he stands between two clergymen!
A book of prayer in his hand,
true ornaments to know a holy man.
Famous Plantagenet.
Most gracious prince.
Lend favorable ear to our request.
Pardon us the interruption of thy Christian zeal.
There needs no such apology:
I do beseech you pardon me, who, in the service of my God,
deferred the visitation of my friends.
What is your grace's pleasure?
Even that which pleaseth God,
and all good men of this ungoverned isle.
Have I done some offense that seems disgracious,
and that you come to reprehend my ignorance.
You have: Would it might please you to amend that fault!
Else wherefore breathe I in a Christian land?
It is your fault that you resign the supreme seat, the throne majestical,
the sceptered office of your ancestors, your state of fortune and your due of birth,
the lineal glory of your royal house, to the corruption of a blemished stock:
Whilst this noble isle doth want her proper limbs,
her face defaced with scars of infamy,
her royal stock graft with ignoble plants,
and almost shouldered in the gulf of forgetfulness.
We solicit your grace to take the kingly government of your land.
Not as protector, steward, substitute,
but as successively from blood to blood, your empery, your own.
For this your loving friends, and by their instigation,
in this just suit come I to move your grace.
I cannot tell, if the best fitteth my degree or your condition
whether to depart in silence, or bitterly to speak in your reproof.
If not to answer, you might think tongue-tied ambition yielded
to bear the yoke of sovereignty, which fondly you would here impose on me;
And if I reprove you for this suit of yours,
then, on the other side, I checked my friends.
To speak, and to avoid the first, and, 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.
If all obstacles were cut away, and the path even to the crown,
as my due by birth
yet so much is my poverty of spirit, so many my defects
as I had 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 smothered.
But, God be thanked, there's no need of me, the royal tree hath left us royal fruit.
Mellowed by the stealing hours of time, he will become the seat of majesty.
On him I lay what you would lay on me, the right and fortune of his happy stars,
which God defend that I should wring from him!
Of course, Richard...
This argues conscience in your grace,
but the respects thereof are nice and trivial.
You say that Edward is your brother's son:
So say we too,
but not by Edward’s wife.
First he was contract to the sister to the king of France.
This put off, a poor petitioner, made prize and purchase of his eye.
By her, in his unlawful bed, he got this Edward,
whom our manners term the prince.
More bitterly could I expostulate,
for reverence to some alive, I give a limit to my tongue.
Take to your royal self this proffered benefit of dignity,
if not to bless us and the land withal
yet to draw forth your ancestry from the corruption of abusing times.
Do, we entreat you.
Make them joyful, grant their lawful suit!
Why would you heap these cares on me?
I am unfit for state and majesty; Take it not amiss,
I cannot, nor I will not yield to you.
If you refuse it,
as, in love and zeal, loath to depose the child ...
... we know your tenderness of heart and gentle, kind, effeminate
remorse to your kin, and equally indeed to all estates.
Whether you accept our suit or no:
Your brother’s son shall never reign our king.
We will plant some other in the throne to the disgrace and downfall of your house:
And in this resolution here we leave you.
Come, we will entreat no more.
Call them again, my lord!
If you deny them, all the land do rue it.
Would you enforce me to a world of care?
Call them again!
I am not made of stone, but penetrable to your entreaties,
albeit against my conscience and my soul.
Come back!
Cousin of Buckingham, and you sage, grave men.
Since you will buckle fortune on my back,
I must have patience to endure the load:
But if scandal or reproach attend the sequel of your imposition,
your enforcement shall acquittance me from all the blots.
For God he knows, and you may partly see,
how far I am from the desire thereof.
We see it, and will say it.
In saying so, you shall but say the truth.
Tomorrow will it please you to be crowned?
Since you will have it so.
Tomorrow, then, we will attend your grace.
Let us to our holy task again.
God give you a happy and a joyful time of day!
- As much to you! Whither away? - No farther than the Tower.
Upon the like devotion as yourselves, to gratulate the princes.
We'll enter all together.
I may not suffer you to visit them. The king hath strictly charged the contrary.
- The king! Who's that? - I mean the lord protector.
The Lord protect him from that kingly title!
Hath he set bounds between their love and me?
I am their mother!
Their aunt I am in law, in love their mother: Bring me to their sights.
I'll bear thy blame and take thy office from thee.
No, I am bound by oath.
You must straight to Westminster, to be crowned Richard's queen.
Cut my lace in sunder, that my heart may have some scope to beat,
or else I swoon with this dead-killing news!
- Come, I in haste was sent. - I in all unwillingness will go.
When I looked on Richard's face, this was my wish:
Be thy wife as miserable by the life of thee
as thou hast made me by my dear lord's death!
Ere I can repeat this curse again,
my woman’s heart grossly grew captive to his honey words.
Your hand!
Thus high, by thy advice, and thy assistance
is King Richard seated.
But shall we wear these honors for a day?
Or shall they last, and we rejoice in them?
Still live they and forever may they last!
Now do I play the touch, to try if thou be current gold.
Young Edward lives.
Think now what I would say.
Say on, my loving lord.
Why?
I say, I would be king.
So you are, my thrice renowned lord.
Am I king?
But the crown prince lives.
True, noble prince.
Bitter consequence, that he still should live!
Thou wast not wont to be so dull.
I wish the bastards dead; and suddenly.
What say’st thou? Be brief.
Your grace may do your pleasure.
Thou art all ice, thy kindness freezes:
Have I thy consent that they shall die?
Give me some breath, before I positively herein:
I will resolve your grace immediately.
High-reaching Buckingham grows circumspect.
The witty lord no more shall be the neighbor to my counsel:
Hath he so long held out with me, and stops he now for breath?
Be it so.
Catesby, rumor it abroad that Anne, my wife, is sick.
I will take order for her keeping close. And call for Ratcliff.
Thou dream'st?
Give out that Anne is sick and like to die.
I want to stop all hopes whose growth may damage me.
I must be married to my brother's daughter,
little Elizabeth,
or else my kingdom stands on brittle glass.
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.
- Is thy name Ratcliff? - Your most obedient subject.
- Art thou, indeed? - Prove me.
Darest thou resolve to kill a friend of mine?
Ay, my lord. But I had rather kill two enemies.
There thou hast it: Two deep enemies,
my sleep's disturbers are they that I would have thee deal upon:
I mean those bastards in the Tower.
Let me have open means to come to them, and soon I'll rid you from the fear of them.
Thou sing'st sweet music.
Come hither and lend thine ear:
Say it is done,
and I will love thee, and prefer thee too.
I'll get on with it.
Lord Stanley, what’s the matter?
Lord Grey is fled to Richmond.
- I have considered in my mind. - Let that rest ...
- Grey is fled to Richmond. - I hear the news.
Richmond is your wife's son, look to it.
I claim my due by promise, for which your honor is pawned:
The earldom of Hereford and the moveables.
If your wife convey letters to Richmond, you shall answer it.
What say you to my just demand?
Henry VI did prophesy that Richmond should be king,
when Richmond was a little boy!
How chance the prophet could not have told me,
that I should kill him?
When last I was at Exeter, the mayor showed me the castle,
and called it Rougemont.
A bard of Ireland told me once I should not live long after I saw Richmond.
What's o'clock?
I am thus bold to put you in mind of what you promised me ...
- But what's o'clock? - Upon the stroke of ten.
- Let it strike. - Why …?
Thou keep'st the stroke between thy begging and my meditation!
I am not in the giving vein today.
You look like shit!
Have you eaten pussy yet today?
That's it?
Repays he my service with such contempt?
Made I him king for this?
Let me think on Hastings and be gone to Richmond,
while my fearful head is on.
Am I happy in thy news?
If this beget your happiness, be happy then,
for it is done.
Come after supper, I will tell you where to bury them.
Think how I may do thee good, and be inheritor of thy desire.
The sons of Edward sleep
in Abraham's bosom.
And Anne my wife hath bid the world good night.
For I know Richmond aims at young Elizabeth,
and, by that knot, looks proudly o'er the crown,
to her go I,
a jolly thriving wooer.
Good news or bad, that thou com’st in so bluntly?
Bad news: Morton is fled to Richmond.
Buckingham, back'd with the Welshmen, is in the field, and still his power increaseth.
Ely with Richmond troubles me more than Buckingham and his rash-levied army.
Go, muster men! My counsel is my shield.
We must be brief when traitors brave the field.
Hid’st thou that forehead with a black crown,
where should be graven, the slaughter of the prince,
and the dire death of my two sons and brothers?
I must speak a word with you.
I have no more sons of the royal blood for thee to murder.
My daughters shall be praying nuns, not weeping queens.
- Level not to hit their lives. - You have a daughter, Elizabeth.
- Virtuous and fair, royal and gracious. - And must she die for this?
Let her live, and I'll corrupt her manners, stain her beauty.
Slander myself as false to Edward's bed;
I will confess she was not Edward's daughter.
Wrong not her birth, she is of royal blood.
- To save her life, I'll say she is not so. - Her life is only safest in her birth.
In that safety died her brothers.
All unavoided is the doom of destiny.
My babes were destined to a fairer death,
if grace had blessed thee with a fairer life.
You speak as if that I had slain my nephews.
Whose hand soever lanced their tender hearts,
thy head, all indirectly, gave direction:
The murderous knife was dull and blunt
till it was whetted on thy stone-hard heart, to revel in the entrails of my lambs.
I intend more good, than ever you were by me wrong'd!
What good can do me good?
The advancement of your children.
Up to some scaffold, there to lose their heads?
Be not so hasty to confound my meaning:
I love thy daughter, and mean to make her queen of England.
- Who dost thou mean shall be her king? - Even he that makes her queen.
- Thou? - Yes. Your thoughts on the matter?
- How canst thou woo her? - That would I learn of you ...
- And wilt thou learn of me? - With all my heart.
With all your heart...
Send to her, by the man that slew her brothers,
a pair of bleeding-hearts; thereon engrave the names Edward and York.
Then happily she will weep:
Present to her a handkerchief,
which did drain the purple sap from her sweet brother's body
and bid her dry her weeping eyes therewith.
If this force her not to love,
send her a story of thy noble acts:
Thou mad’st away her uncles Clarence, Rivers, and Dorset.
Madest quick conveyance with her good aunt Anne.
You mock me. This is not the way to win your daughter.
There is no other way
unless thou couldst not be Richard that hath done all this.
What is done cannot be now amended:
Men shall deal unadvisedly sometimes,
which after-hours give leisure to repent.
If I did take the kingdom from your sons,
to make amends, I’ll give it to your daughter.
We have many goodly days to see:
Your drops of tears shall come again, transformed to orient pearl,
advantaging their loan with interest of ten times double gain of happiness.
Go to thy daughter! Prepare her ears to hear a wooer's tale.
Acquaint her with the sweet silent hours of marriage joys
and when this arm hath chastised the petty rebel, dull-brained Buckingham,
bound with triumphant garlands will I come
and lead thy daughter to a conqueror's bed.
What were I best to say?
Her father's brother would be her lord?
Or shall I say, her uncle?
He that slew her brothers? Under what title shall I woo for thee?
Heaven and fortune bar me happy hours!
Myself confound!
Day, yield me not thy light; nor, night, thy rest!
Be opposite all planets to my proceedings,
if, with pure heart's love, I tender not thy princely daughter!
In her consists my happiness and thine.
Without her, follows to this land and me, to thee,
death, desolation, ruin, and decay:
It cannot be avoided but by this.
Therefore, good mother, 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.
- Shall I be tempted of the devil thus? - If he tempt thee to do good.
- Shall I forget to be myself? - If yourself's remembrance wrong yourself.
But thou didst kill my children.
But in your daughter's womb I bury them:
In that nest of spicery they shall breed selves of themselves,
to your recomforture.
I go.
Write to me and you shall understand from me her mind.
Bear her my true love's kiss.
Relenting fool!
Shallow, changing woman!
My gracious sovereign,
on the western coast rideth a puissant navy;
to the shore throng doubtful friends, unresolved to beat them back.
Richmond is their admiral, expecting the aid of Buckingham.
Some light-foot friend post to the duke of Norfolk:
Ratcliff, thyself, or Catesby. Where is he?
Fly to the duke.
Post thou to Salisbury, when thou com’st thither ...
Dull villain, why stand'st thou still?
First let me know, what I shall deliver to him.
True. Bid him levy straight the greatest strength and power
- and meet me presently at Salisbury. - What I shall do at Salisbury?
- What wouldst thou do there before I go? - You told me I should post before.
My mind is changed.
- What news with you? - None good to please you.
Nor none so bad, but it may well be told.
A riddle: Neither good nor bad!
Why run so many mile about? Tell thy tale a nearer way!
- Richmond is on the seas. - There let him sink, that the sea is on him!
- What doth he there? - I know not, but by guess.
- Well, as you guess? - He comes to claim the crown.
Is the chair empty? The king dead? The empire unpossessed?
What heir of York is there alive but we?
Who is England's king but great York's heir?
- What doth he upon the sea? - Unless for that, I cannot guess.
Unless for being your liege, you cannot guess wherefore he comes.
- Thou wilt revolt, and fly to him, I fear. - No, therefore mistrust me not.
Where is thy power to beat him back?
Are they upon the shore, safe-conducting the rebels?
- My friends are in the north. - Should they not serve in the west?
They have not been commanded. Please it your majesty,
I'll muster up my friends and meet your grace where you shall please.
Thou wouldst be gone to join with Richmond.
You have no cause to hold my friendship doubtful.
Go,
but leave behind your son, George Stanley.
Look your faith be firm or else his head's assurance is but frail.
Deal with him as I prove true to you.
- What is't o'clock? - It's supper-time.
I will not sup tonight.
Send out a pursuivant to Stanley's regiment;
bid him bring his power before sunrising,
lest his son George fall into the blind cave of eternal night.
Saddle white Surrey for the field tomorrow.
Look that my staves be sound, and not too heavy.
Prepare my bed and bring my sword.
About the mid of the night come and help to arm me.
Let me sit heavy on thy soul tomorrow!
I, Clarence, that was washed to death with fulsome wine,
tomorrow in the battle think on me, and fall thy edgeless sword:
Despair, and die!
Let me sit heavy on thy soul tomorrow!
Rivers, who died by your fault.
Think upon Rivers, let fall thy lance:
Despair, and die!
Bloody
and guilty
guiltily awake
and in a bloody battle end thy days!
Think on Lord Hastings:
Despair, and die!
Dream on thy nephews smothered in the Tower.
Let us be led within thy bosom,
and weigh thee down to ruin, shame, and death!
Thy nephews' souls bid thee: Despair and die!
Thy wife, that wretched Anne,
that never slept a quiet hour with thee,
now fills thy sleep with perturbations.
Tomorrow in the battle think on me, and fall thy edgeless sword!
Despair, and die!
A horse ...
My kingdom for a horse!
Bind up my wounds.
Have mercy, Jesus!
Soft!
I did but dream.
O coward conscience, how dost thou afflict me!
The lights burn blue.
It is now dead midnight.
Cold fearful drops stand on my trembling flesh.
Do I fear myself?
There's none else by.
Richard loves Richard.
That is, I am I.
Is there a murderer here?
No.
Yes.
I am.
Then flee!
From myself?
Great reason why: Lest I revenge. Myself upon myself?
I love myself.
For any good that I myself have done unto myself?
I rather hate myself for hateful deeds committed by myself!
I am a villain.
Yet I lie. I am not.
Fool, of thyself speak well.
Fool, do not flatter.
I shall despair.
No creature loves me.
And if I die,
no soul shall pity me.
Nay, wherefore should they,
since that I myself find in myself no pity to myself?
Richmond!
Stanley, traitor!
Buckingham, you bloody coward!