Richard III. Уильям Шекспир

      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-glasse:

      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, scarse 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 passe 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.

      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 Godfathers.

      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 Shore.

      Heard you not what an humble Suppliant

      Lord Hastings was, for her deliuery?

        Rich. Humbly complaining to her Deitie,

      Got my Lord Chamberlaine his libertie.

      Ile tell you what, I thinke it is our way,

      If we will keepe in fauour with the King,

      To be her men, and weare her Liuery.

      The iealous ore-worne Widdow, and her selfe,

      Since that our Brother dub'd them Gentlewomen,

      Are mighty Gossips in our Monarchy

         Bra. I beseech your Graces both to pardon me,

      His Maiesty hath straightly giuen in charge,

      That no man shall haue priuate Conference

      (Of what degree soeuer) with your Brother

         Rich. Euen so, and please your Worship Brakenbury,

      You may partake of any thing we say:

      We speake no Treason man; We say the King

      Is wise and vertuous, and his Noble Queene

      Well strooke in yeares, faire, and not iealious.

      We say, that Shores Wife hath a pretty Foot,

      A cherry Lip, a bonny Eye, a passing pleasing tongue:

      And that the Queenes Kindred are made gentle Folkes.

      How say you sir? can you deny all this?

        Bra. With this (my Lord) my selfe haue nought to

      doo

         Rich. Naught to do with Mistris Shore?

      I tell thee Fellow, he that doth naught with her

      (Excepting one) were best to do it secretly alone

         Bra. What one, my Lord?

        Rich. Her Husband Knaue, would'st thou betray me?

        Bra. I do beseech your Grace

      To pardon me, and withall forbeare

      Your Conference with the Noble Duke

      Cla. We know thy charge Brakenbury, and wil obey

         Rich. We are the Queenes abiects, and must obey.

      Brother farewell, I will vnto the King,

      And whatsoe're you will imploy me in,

      Were