Read Ebook: Richard III by Shakespeare William

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Ebook has 970 lines and 34504 words, and 20 pages

An. Foule Diuell, For Gods sake hence, and trouble vs not, For thou hast made the happy earth thy Hell: Fill'd it with cursing cries, and deepe exclaimes: If thou delight to view thy heynous deeds, Behold this patterne of thy Butcheries. Oh Gentlemen, see, see dead Henries wounds, Open their congeal'd mouthes, and bleed afresh. Blush, blush, thou lumpe of fowle Deformitie: For 'tis thy presence that exhales this blood From cold and empty Veines where no blood dwels. Thy Deeds inhumane and vnnaturall, Prouokes this Deluge most vnnaturall. O God! which this Blood mad'st, reuenge his death: O Earth! which this Blood drink'st, reuenge his death. Either Heau'n with Lightning strike the murth'rer dead: Or Earth gape open wide, and eate him quicke, As thou dost swallow vp this good Kings blood, Which his Hell-gouern'd arme hath butchered

Rich. Lady, you know no Rules of Charity, Which renders good for bad, Blessings for Curses

An. Villaine, thou know'st nor law of God nor Man, No Beast so fierce, but knowes some touch of pitty

Rich. But I know none, and therefore am no Beast

Rich. Fairer then tongue can name thee, let me haue Some patient leysure to excuse my selfe

An. Fouler then heart can thinke thee, Thou can'st make no excuse currant, But to hang thy selfe

An. And by dispairing shalt thou stand excused, For doing worthy Vengeance on thy selfe, That did'st vnworthy slaughter vpon others

Rich. Say that I slew them not

An. Then say they were not slaine: But dead they are, and diuellish slaue by thee

Rich. I did not kill your Husband

An. Why then he is aliue

Rich. Nay, he is dead, and slaine by Edwards hands

An. In thy foule throat thou Ly'st, Queene Margaret saw Thy murd'rous Faulchion smoaking in his blood: The which, thou once didd'st bend against her brest, But that thy Brothers beate aside the point

Rich. I was prouoked by her sland'rous tongue, That laid their guilt, vpon my guiltlesse Shoulders

An. Thou was't prouoked by thy bloody minde, That neuer dream'st on ought but Butcheries: Did'st thou not kill this King? Rich. I graunt ye

An. Do'st grant me Hedge-hogge, Then God graunt me too Thou may'st be damned for that wicked deede, O he was gentle, milde, and vertuous

Rich. The better for the King of heauen that hath him

An. He is in heauen, where thou shalt neuer come

Rich. Let him thanke me, that holpe to send him thither: For he was fitter for that place then earth

An. And thou vnfit for any place, but hell

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

An. Some dungeon

Rich. Your Bed-chamber

An. Ill rest betide the chamber where thou lyest

Rich. So will it Madam, till I lye with you

An. I hope so

Rich. I know so. But gentle Lady Anne, To leaue this keene encounter of our wittes, And fall something into a slower method. Is not the causer of the timelesse deaths Of these Plantagenets, Henrie and Edward, As blamefull as the Executioner

An. Thou was't the cause, and most accurst effect

Rich. Your beauty was the cause of that effect: Your beauty, that did haunt me in my sleepe, To vndertake the death of all the world, So I might liue one houre in your sweet bosome

An. If I thought that, I tell thee Homicide, These Nailes should rent that beauty from my Cheekes

Rich. These eyes could not endure y beauties wrack, You should not blemish it, if I stood by; As all the world is cheared by the Sunne, So I by that: It is my day, my life

An. Blacke night ore-shade thy day, & death thy life

Rich. Curse not thy selfe faire Creature, Thou art both

An. I would I were, to be reueng'd on thee

Rich. It is a quarrell most vnnaturall, To be reueng'd on him that loueth thee

An. It is a quarrell iust and reasonable, To be reueng'd on him that kill'd my Husband

Rich. He that bereft the Lady of thy Husband, Did it to helpe thee to a better Husband

An. His better doth not breath vpon the earth

Rich. He liues, that loues thee better then he could

An. Name him

Rich. Plantagenet

An. Why that was he

Rich. The selfesame name, but one of better Nature

An. Where is he? Rich. Heere:

Spits at him.

Why dost thou spit at me

An. Would it were mortall poyson, for thy sake

Rich. Neuer came poyson from so sweet a place

An. Neuer hung poyson on a fowler Toade. Out of my sight, thou dost infect mine eyes

Rich. Thine eyes haue infected mine

An. Would they were Basiliskes, to strike thee dead

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