Shakespeare's First Folio Part 408

But wherefore dost thou come? Is't for my Life?

Rich. Think'st thou I am an Executioner?

Hen. A Persecutor I am sure thou art, If murthering Innocents be Executing, Why then thou art an Executioner

Rich. Thy Son I kill'd for his presumption

Hen. Hadst thou bin kill'd, when first y didst presume, Thou had'st not liu'd to kill a Sonne of mine: And thus I prophesie, that many a thousand, Which now mistrust no parcell of my feare, And many an old mans sighe, and many a Widdowes, And many an Orphans water-standing-eye, Men for their Sonnes, Wiues for their Husbands, Orphans, for their Parents timeles death, Shall rue the houre that euer thou was't borne.

The Owle shriek'd at thy birth, an euill signe, The Night-Crow cry'de, aboding lucklesse time, Dogs howl'd, and hiddeous Tempest shook down Trees: The Rauen rook'd her on the Chimnies top, And chatt'ring Pies in dismall Discords sung: Thy Mother felt more then a Mothers paine, And yet brought forth lesse then a Mothers hope, To wit, an indigested and deformed lumpe, Not like the fruit of such a goodly Tree.

Teeth had'st thou in thy head, when thou was't borne, To signifie, thou cam'st to bite the world: And if the rest be true, which I haue heard, Thou cam'st- Rich. Ile heare no more: Dye Prophet in thy speech,

Stabbes him.

For this (among'st the rest) was I ordain'd

Hen. I, and for much more slaughter after this, O G.o.d forgiue my sinnes, and pardon thee.

Dyes.

Rich. What? will the aspiring blood of Lancaster Sinke in the ground? I thought it would haue mounted.

See how my sword weepes for the poore Kings death.

O may such purple teares be alway shed From those that wish the downfall of our house.

If any sparke of Life be yet remaining, Downe, downe to h.e.l.l, and say I sent thee thither.

Stabs him againe.

I that haue neyther pitty, loue, nor feare, Indeed 'tis true that Henrie told me of: For I haue often heard my Mother say, I came into the world with my Legges forward.

Had I not reason (thinke ye) to make hast, And seeke their Ruine, that vsurp'd our Right?

The Midwife wonder'd, and the Women cri'de O Iesus blesse vs, he is borne with teeth, And so I was, which plainly signified, That I should snarle, and bite, and play the dogge: Then since the Heauens haue shap'd my Body so, Let h.e.l.l make crook'd my Minde to answer it.

I haue no Brother, I am like no Brother: And this word (Loue) which Gray-beards call Diuine, Be resident in men like one another, And not in me: I am my selfe alone.

Clarence beware, thou keept'st me from the Light, But I will sort a pitchy day for thee: For I will buzze abroad such Prophesies, That Edward shall be fearefull of his life, And then to purge his feare, Ile be thy death.

King Henry, and the Prince his Son are gone, Clarence thy turne is next, and then the rest, Counting my selfe but bad, till I be best.

Ile throw thy body in another roome, And Triumph Henry, in thy day of Doome.

Enter.

Flourish. Enter King, Queene, Clarence, Richard, Hastings, Nurse, and Attendants.

King. Once more we sit in Englands Royall Throne, Re-purchac'd with the Blood of Enemies: What valiant Foe-men, like to Autumnes Corne, Haue we mow'd downe in tops of all their pride?

Three Dukes of Somerset, threefold Renowne, For hardy and vndoubted Champions: Two Cliffords, as the Father and the Sonne, And two Northumberlands: two brauer men, Ne're spurr'd their Coursers at the Trumpets sound.

With them, the two braue Beares, Warwick & Montague, That in their Chaines fetter'd the Kingly Lyon, And made the Forrest tremble when they roar'd.

Thus haue we swept Suspition from our Seate, And made our Footstoole of Security.

Come hither Besse, and let me kisse my Boy: Yong Ned, for thee, thine Vnckles, and my selfe, Haue in our Armors watcht the Winters night, Went all afoote in Summers scalding heate, That thou might'st repossesse the Crowne in peace, And of our Labours thou shalt reape the gaine

Rich. Ile blast his Haruest, if your head were laid, For yet I am not look'd on in the world.

This shoulder was ordain'd so thicke, to heaue, And heaue it shall some waight, or breake my backe, Worke thou the way, and that shalt execute

King. Clarence and Gloster, loue my louely Queene, And kis your Princely Nephew Brothers both

Cla. The duty that I owe vnto your Maiesty, I Seale vpon the lips of this sweet Babe

Cla. Thanke n.o.ble Clarence, worthy brother thanks

Rich. And that I loue the tree fro[m] whence y sprang'st: Witnesse the louing kisse I giue the Fruite, To say the truth, so Iudas kist his master, And cried all haile, when as he meant all harme

King. Now am I seated as my soule delights, Hauing my Countries peace, and Brothers loues

Cla. What will your Grace haue done with Margaret, Reynard her Father, to the King of France Hath p.a.w.n'd the Sicils and Ierusalem, And hither haue they sent it for her ransome

King. Away with her, and waft her hence to France: And now what rests, but that we spend the time With stately Triumphes, mirthfull Comicke shewes, Such as befits the pleasure of the Court.

Sound Drums and Trumpets, farwell sowre annoy, For heere I hope begins our lasting ioy.

Exeunt. omnes

FINIS. The third Part of Henry the Sixt, with the death of the Duke of YORKE.

The Tragedie of Richard the Third

with the Landing of Earle Richmond, and the Battell at Bosworth Field

Actus Primus. Scoena Prima.

Enter Richard Duke of Gloster, solus.

Now is the Winter of our Discontent, Made glorious Summer by this Son of Yorke: And all the clouds that lowr'd vpon our house In the deepe bosome of the Ocean buried.

Now are our browes bound with Victorious Wreathes, Our bruised armes hung vp for Monuments; Our sterne Alarums chang'd to merry Meetings; Our dreadfull Marches, to delightfull Measures.

Grim-visag'd Warre, hath smooth'd his wrinkled Front: And now, in stead of mounting Barbed Steeds, To fright the Soules of fearfull Aduersaries, He capers nimbly in a Ladies Chamber, To the lasciuious pleasing of a Lute.

But I, that am not shap'd for sportiue trickes, Nor made to court an amorous Looking-gla.s.se: I, that am Rudely stampt, and want loues Maiesty, To strut before a wonton ambling Nymph: I, that am curtail'd of this faire Proportion, Cheated of Feature by dissembling Nature, Deform'd, vn-finish'd, sent before my time Into this breathing World, sca.r.s.e halfe made vp, And that so lamely and vnfashionable, That dogges barke at me, as I halt by them.

Why I (in this weake piping time of Peace) Haue no delight to pa.s.se away the time, Vnlesse to see my Shadow in the Sunne, And descant on mine owne Deformity.

And therefore, since I cannot proue a Louer, To entertaine these faire well spoken dayes, I am determined to proue a Villaine, And hate the idle pleasures of these dayes.

Plots haue I laide, Inductions dangerous, By drunken Prophesies, Libels, and Dreames, To set my Brother Clarence and the King In deadly hate, the one against the other: And if King Edward be as true and iust, As I am Subtle, False, and Treacherous, This day should Clarence closely be mew'd vp: About a Prophesie, which sayes that G, Of Edwards heyres the murtherer shall be.

Diue thoughts downe to my soule, here Clarence comes.

Enter Clarence, and Brakenbury, guarded.

Brother, good day: What meanes this armed guard That waites vpon your Grace?

Cla. His Maiesty tendring my persons safety, Hath appointed this Conduct, to conuey me to th' Tower Rich. Vpon what cause?

Cla. Because my name is George

Rich. Alacke my Lord, that fault is none of yours: He should for that commit your G.o.dfathers.

O belike, his Maiesty hath some intent, That you should be new Christned in the Tower, But what's the matter Clarence, may I know?

Cla. Yea Richard, when I know: but I protest As yet I do not: But as I can learne, He hearkens after Prophesies and Dreames, And from the Crosse-row pluckes the letter G: And sayes, a Wizard told him, that by G, His issue disinherited should be.

And for my name of George begins with G, It followes in his thought, that I am he.

These (as I learne) and such like toyes as these, Hath moou'd his Highnesse to commit me now

Rich. Why this it is, when men are rul'd by Women: 'Tis not the King that sends you to the Tower, My Lady Grey his Wife, Clarence 'tis shee, That tempts him to this harsh Extremity.

Was it not shee, and that good man of Worship, Anthony Woodeuile her Brother there, That made him send Lord Hastings to the Tower?

From whence this present day he is deliuered?

We are not safe Clarence, we are not safe

Cla. By heauen, I thinke there is no man secure But the Queenes Kindred, and night-walking Heralds, That trudge betwixt the King, and Mistris Sh.o.r.e.

Heard you not what an humble Suppliant Lord Hastings was, for her deliuery?