Richard III. Уильям Шекспир
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
An. O wonderfull, when diuels tell the truth!
Rich. More wonderfull, when Angels are so angry:
Vouchsafe (diuine perfection of a Woman)
Of these supposed Crimes, to giue me leaue
By circumstance, but to acquit my selfe
An. Vouchsafe (defus'd infection of man)
Of these knowne euils, but to giue me leaue
By circumstance, to curse thy cursed Selfe
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
Rich. By such dispaire, I should accuse my 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