Shakespeare - First Folio facsimile (1910)/The Tragedy of Richard the Third/Act 1 Scene 3

4031822Shakespeare - First Folio facsimile (1910) — The Tragedy of Richard the Third: Act I, Scene IIIWilliam Shakespeare

Scena Tertia.


Enter the Queene Mother, Lord Riuers,
and Lord Gray.

Riu.
Haue patience Madam, ther's no doubt his Maiesty
Will soone recouer his accustom'd health.

Gray.
In that you brooke it ill, it makes him worse,
Therefore for Gods sake entertaine good comfort,
And cheere his Grace with quicke and merry eyes

Qu.
If he were dead, what would betide on me?

Gray.
No other harme, but losse of such a Lord.

Qu.
The losse of such a Lord, includes all harmes.

Gray.
The Heauens haue blest you with a goodly Son,
To be your Comforter, when he is gone.

Qu.
Ah! he is yong; and his minority
Is put vnto the trust of Richard Glouster,
A man that loues not me, nor none of you.

Riu.
Is it concluded he shall be Protector?

Qu.
It is determin'd, not concluded yet;
But so it must be, if the King miscarry.

Enter Buckingham and Derby.

Gray.
Here comes the Lord of Buckingham & Derby.

Buc.
Good time of day vnto your Royall Grace.

Der.
God make your Maiesty ioyful, as you haue bin

Qu.
The Countesse Richmond, good my L. of Derby.
To your good prayer, will scarsely say, Amen.
Yet Derby, notwithstanding shee's your wife,
And loues not me, be you good Lord assur'd,
I hate not you for her proud arrogance.

Der.
I do beseech you, either not beleeue
The enuious slanders of her false Accusers:
Or if she be accus'd on true report,
Beare with her weaknesse, which I thinke proceeds
From wayward sicknesse, and no grounded malice.

Qu.
Saw you the King today my Lord of Derby.

Der.
But now the Duke of Buckingham and I,
Are come from visiting his Maiesty.

Que.
What likelyhood of his amendment Lords.

Buc.
Madam good hope, his Grace speaks chearfully.

Qu.
God grant him health, did you confer with him?

Buc.
I Madam, he desires to make attonement
Betweene the Duke of Glouster, and your Brothers,
And betweene them, and my Lord Chamberlaine,
And sent to warne them to his Royall presence.

Qu.
Would all were well, but that will neuer be,
I feare our happinesse is at the height.

Enter Richard.

Rich.
They do me wrong, and I will not indure it,
Who is it that complaines vnto the King,
Thar I (forsooth) am sterne, and loue them not?
By holy Paul, they loue his Grace but lightly,
That fill his eares with such dissentious Rumors.
Because I cannot flatter, and looke faire,
Smile in mens faces, smooth, deceiue, and cogge,
Ducke with French nods, and Apish curtesie,
I must be held a rancorous Enemy.
Cannot a plaine man liue, and thinke no harme,
But thus his simple truth must be abus'd,
With silken, slye, insinuating Iackes?

Grey.
To who in all this presence speaks your Grace?

Rich.
To thee, that hast nor Honesty, nor Grace:
When haue I iniur'd thee? When done thee wrong?
Or thee? or thee? or any of your Faction?
A plague vpon you all. His Royall Grace
(Whom God preserue better then you would wish)
Cannot be quiet scarse a breathing while,
But you must trouble him with lewd complaints.

Qu.
Brother of Glouster, you mistake the matter:
The King on his owne Royall disposition,
(And not prouok'd by any Sutor else)
Ayming (belike) at your interiour hatred.
That in your outward action shewes it selfe
Against my Children, Brothers, and my Selfe,
Makes him to send, that he may learne the ground.

Rich.
I cannot tell, the world is growne so bad,
That Wrens make prey, where Eagles dare not pearch.
Since euerie Iacke became a Gentleman,
There's many a gentle person made a Iacke.

Qu.
Come, come, we know your meaning Brother Gloster
You enuy my aduancement, and my friends:
God grant we neuer may haue neede of you.

Rich.
Meane time, God grants that I haue need of you.
Our Brother is imprison'd by your meanes,
My selfe disgrac'd, and the Nobilitie
Held in contempt, while great Promotions
Are daily giuen to ennoble those
That scarse some two dayes since were worth a Noble.

Qu.
By him that rais'd me to this carefull height,
From that contented hap which I inioy'd,
I neuer did incense his Maiestie
Against the Duke of Clarence, but haue bin
An earnest aduocate to plead for him.
My Lord you do me shamefull iniurie,
Falsely to draw me in these vile suspects.

Rich!
You may deny that you were not the meane
Of my Lord Hastings late imprisonment.

Riu.
She may my Lord, for ——

Rich.
She may Lord Riuers, why who knowes not so?
She may do more sir then denying that:
She may helpe you to many faire preferments,
And then deny her ayding hand therein,
And lay those Honors on your high desert.
What may she not, she may, I marry may she.

Riu.
What marry may she?

Ric.
What marrie may she? Marrie with a King,
A Batcheller, and a handsome stripling too,
I wis your Grandam had a worser match.

Qu.
My Lord of Glouster, I haue too long borne
Your blunt vpbraidings, and your bitter scoffes:
By heauen, I will acquaint his Maiestie
Of those grosse taunts that oft I haue endur'd.
I had rather be a Countrie seruant maide
Then a great Queene, with this condition,
To be so baited, scorn'd, and stormed at,
Small ioy haue I in being Englands Queene.

Enter old Queene Margaret.

Mar.
And lesned be that small, God I beseech him,
Thy honor, state, and seate, is due to me.

Rich.
What? threat you me with telling of the King?
I will auouch't in presence of the King:
I dare aduenture to be sent to th'Towre.
'Tis time to speake,
My paines are quite forgot.

Margaret.
Out Diuell,
I do remember them too well:
Thou killd'st my Husband Henrie in the Tower,
And Edward my poore Son, at Tewkesburie.

Rich.
Ere you were Queene,
I, or your Husband King:
I was a packe-horse in his great affaires:
A weeder out of his proud Aduersaries,
A liberall rewarder of his Friends,
To royalize his blood, I spent mine owne.

Margaret.
I and much better Blood
Then his, or thine.

Rich.
In all which time, you and your Husband Grey
Were factious, for the House of Lancaster;
And Riuers, so were you: Was not your Husband,
In Margarets Battaile, at Saint Albons, slaine?
Let me put in your mindes, if you forget
What you haue beene ere this, and what you are:
Withall, what I haue beene, and what I am.

Q. M.
A murth'rous Villaine, and so still thou art.

Rich.
Poore Clarence did forsake his Father Warwicke,
I, and forswore himselfe (which Iesu pardon.)

Q. M.
Which God reuenge.

Rich.
To fight on Edwards partie, for the Crowne,
And for his meede, poore Lord, he is mewed vp:
I would to God my heart were Flint, like Edwards,
Or Edwards soft and pittifull, like mine;
I am too childish foolish for this World.

Q. M.
High thee to Hell for shame, & leaue this World
Thou Cacodemon, there thy Kingdome is.

Riu.
My Lord of Gloster: in those busie dayes,
Which here you vrge, to proue vs Enemies,
We follow'd then our Lord, our Soueraigne King,
So should we you, if you should be our King.

Rich.
If I should be? I had rather be a Pedler:
Farre be it from my heart, the thought thereof.

Qu.
As little ioy (my Lord) as you suppose
You should enioy, were you this Countries King,
As little ioy you may suppose in me,
That I enioy, being the Queene thereof.

Q. M.
A little ioy enioyes the Queene thereof,
For I am shee, and altogether ioylesse:
I can no longer hold me patient.
Heare me, you wrangling Pyrates, that fall out,
In sharing that which you haue pill'd from me:
Which off you trembles not, that lookes on me?
If not, that I am Queene, you bow like Subiects;
Yet that by you depos'd, you quake like Rebells.
Ah gentle Villaine, doe not turne away.

Rich.
Foule wrinckled Witch, what mak'st thou in my sight?

Q. M.
But repetition of what thou hast marr'd,
That will I make, before I let thee goe.

Rich.
Wert thou not banished, on paine of death?

Q. M.
I was: but I doe find more paine in banishment,
Then death can yeeld me here, by my abode.
A Husband and a Sonne thou ow'st to me,
And thou a Kingdome; all of you, allegeance:
This Sorrow that I haue, by right is yours,
And all the Pleasures you vsurpe, are mine.

Rich.
The Curse my Noble Father layd on thee,
When thou didst Crown his Warlike Brows with Paper,
And with thy scornes drew'st Riuers from his eyes,
And then to dry them, gau'st the Duke a Clowt,
Steep'd in the faultlesse blood of prettie Rutland:
His Curses then, from bitternesse of Soule,
Denounc'd against thee, are all falne vpon thee:
And God, not we, hath plagu'd thy bloody deed.

Qu.
So iust is God, to right the innocent.

Hast.
O, 'twas the foulest deed to slay that Babe,
And the most mercilesse, that ere was heard of.

Riu.
Tyrants themselues wept when it was reported.

Dors.
No man but prophecied reuenge for it.

Buck.
Northumberland, then present, wept to see it.

Q. M.
What? were you snarling all before I came,
Ready to catch each other by the throat,
And turne you all your hatred now on me?
Did Yorkes dread Curse preuaile so much with Heauen,
That Henries death, my louely Edwards death,
Their Kingdomes losse, my wofull Banishment,
Should all but answer for that peeuish Brat?
Can Curses pierce the Clouds, and enter Heauen?
Why then giue way dull Clouds to my quick Curses.
Though not by Warre, by Surfet dye your King,
As ours by Murther, to make him a King.
Edward thy Sonne, that now is Prince of Wales,
For Edward our Sonne, that was Prince of Wales,
Dye in his youth, by like vntimely violence.
Thy selfe a Queene, for me that was a Queene,
Out-liue thy glory, like my wretched selfe:
Long may'st thou liue, to wayle thy Childrens death,
And see another, as I see thee now,
Deck'd in thy Rights, as thou art stall'd in mine.
Long dye thy happie dayes, before thy death,
And after many length'ned howres of griefe,
Dye neyther Mother, Wife, nor Englands Queene.
Riuers and Dorset, you were standers by,
And so wast thou, Lord Hastings, when my Sonne
Was stab'd with bloody Daggers: God, I pray him,
That none of you may liue his naturall age,
But by some vnlook'd accident cut off.

Rich.
Haue done thy Charme, yu hateful wither'd Hagge.

Q. M.
And leaue out thee? stay Dog, for yu shalt heare me.
If Heauen haue any grieuous plague in store,
Exceeding those that I can wish vpon thee,
O let them keepe it, till thy sinnes be ripe,
And then hurle downe their indignation
On thee, the troubler of the poore Worlds peace.
The Worme of Conscience still begnaw thy Soule,
Thy Friends suspect for Traytors while thou liu'st,
And take deepe Traytors for thy dearest Friends:
No sleepe close vp that deadly Eye of thine,
Vnlesse it be while some tormenting Dreame
Affrights thee with a Hell of ougly Deuills.
Thou eluish mark'd, abortiue rooting Hogge,
Thou that wast seal'd in thy Natiuitie
The slaue of Nature, and the Sonne of Hell:
Thou slander of thy heauie Mothers Wombe,
Thou loathed Issue of thy Fathers Loynes,
Thou Ragge of Honor, thou detested—

Rich.
Margaret.

Q. M.
Richard.

Rich.
Ha.

Q. M.
I call thee not.

Rich.
I cry thee mercie then: for I did thinke,
That thou hadst call'd me all these bitter names.

Q. M.
Why so I did, but look'd for no reply.
Oh let me make the Period to my Curse.

Rich.
'Tis done by me, and ends in Margaret.

Qu.
Thus haue you breath'd your Curse against your self.

Q. M.
Poore painted Queen, vain flourish of my fortune,
Why strew'st thou Sugar on that Bottel'd Spider,
Whose deadly Web ensnareth thee about?
Foole, foole, thou whet'st a Knife to kill thy selfe:
The day will come, that thou shalt wish for me,
To helpe thee curse this poysonous Bunch-backt Toade.

Hast.
False boding Woman, end thy frantick Curse,
Least to thy harme, thou moue our patience.

Q. M.
Foule shame vpon you, you haue all mou'd mine.

Ri.
Were you wel seru'd, you would be taught your duty.

Q. M.
To serue me well, you all should do me duty,
Teach me to be your Queene, and you my Subiects:
O serue me well, and teach your selues that duty.

Dors.
Dispute not with her, shee is lunaticke.

Q. M.
Peace Master Marquesse, you are malapert,
Your fire-new stampe of Honor is scarce currant.
O that your yong Nobility could iudge
What 'twere to lose it, and be miserable.
They that stand high, haue many blasts to shake them,
And if they fall, they dash themselues to peeces.

Rich.
Good counsaile marry, learne it, learne it Marquesse.

Dor.
It touches you my Lord, as much as me.

Rich.
I, and much more: but I was borne so high:
Our ayerie buildeth in the Cedars top,
And dallies with the winde, and scornes the Sunne.

Mar.
And turnes the Sun to shade: alas, alas,
Witnesse my Sonne, now in the shade of death,
Whose bright out-shining beames, thy cloudy wrath
Hath in eternall darknesse folded vp.
Your ayery buildeth in our ayeries Nest:
O God that seest it, do not suffer it,
As it is wonne with blood, lost be it so.

Buc.
Peace, peace for shame: If not, for Charity.

Mar.
Vrge neither charity, nor shame to me:
Vncharitably with me haue you dealt,
And shamefully my hopes (by you) are butcher'd.
My Charity is outrage, Life my shame,
And in that shame, still liue my sorrowes rage.

Buc.
Haue done, haue done.

Mar.
O Princely Buckingham, Ile kisse thy hand,
In signe of League and amity with thee:
Now faire befall thee, and thy Noble house:
Thy Garments are not spotted with our blood:
Nor thou within the compasse of my curse.

Buc.
Nor no one heere: for Curses neuer passe
The lips of those that breath them in the ayre.

Mar.
I will not thinke but they ascend the sky,
And there awake Gods gentle sleeping peace.
O Buckingham, take heede of yonder dogge:
Looke when he fawnes, he bites; and when he bites,
His venom tooth will rankle to the death.
Haue not to do with him, beware of him,
Sinne, death, and hell haue set their markes on him,
And all their Ministers attend on him.

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,
Exit.And he to yours, and all of you to Gods.

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.
Speakes to himselfe.So do I euer, being well aduis'd.
For had I curst now, I had curst my selfe.

Enter Catesby.

Cates.
Madam, his Maiesty doth call for you,
And for your Grace, and yours my gracious Lord.

Qu.
Catesby I come, Lords will you go with mee.

Riu.
Exeunt all but Gloster.We wait vpon your Grace.

Rich.
I do the wrong, and first begin to brawle.
The secret Mischeefes that I set abroach,
I lay vnto the greeuous charge of others.
Clarence, who I indeede haue cast in darknesse,
I do beweepe to many simple Gulles,
Namely to Derby, Hastings, Buckingham,
And tell them 'tis the Queene, and her Allies,
That stirre the King against the Duke my Brother,
Now they beleeue it, and withall whet me
To be reueng'd on Riuers, Dorset, Grey.
But then I sigh, and with a peece of Scripture,
Tell them that God bids vs do good for euill:
And thus I cloath my naked Villanie
With odde old ends, stolne forth of holy Writ,
And seeme a Saint, when most I play the deuill.
Enter two murtherers.
But soft, heere come my Executioners,
How now my hardy stout resolued Mates,
Are you now going to dispatch this thing?

Vil.
We are my Lord, and come to haue the Warrant,
That we may be admitted where he is.

Ric.
Well thought vpon, I haue it heare about me:
When you haue done, repayte to Crosby place;
But sirs be sodaine in the execution,
Withall obdurate, do not heare him pleade;
For Clarence is well spoken, and perhappes
May moue your hearts to pitty, if you marke him.

Vil.
Tut, tut, my Lord, we will not stand to prate,
Talkers are no good dooers, be assur'd:
We go to vse our hands, and not our tongues.

Rich.
Your eyes drop Mill-stones, when Fooles eyes
fall Teares:
I like you Lads, about your businesse straight.
Go, go, dispatch.

Vil.
We will my Noble Lord.