Richard III. Уильям Шекспир

         An. Neuer hung poyson on a fowler Toade.

      Out of my sight, thou dost infect mine eyes

      Rich. Thine eyes (sweet Lady) haue infected mine

      An. Would they were Basiliskes, to strike thee dead

         Rich. I would they were, that I might dye at once:

      For now they kill me with a liuing death.

      Those eyes of thine, from mine haue drawne salt Teares;

      Sham'd their Aspects with store of childish drops:

      These eyes, which neuer shed remorsefull teare,

      No, when my Father Yorke, and Edward wept,

      To heare the pittious moane that Rutland made

      When black-fac'd Clifford shooke his sword at him.

      Nor when thy warlike Father like a Childe,

      Told the sad storie of my Fathers death,

      And twenty times, made pause to sob and weepe:

      That all the standers by had wet their cheekes

      Like Trees bedash'd with raine. In that sad time,

      My manly eyes did scorne an humble teare:

      And what these sorrowes could not thence exhale,

      Thy Beauty hath, and made them blinde with weeping.

      I neuer sued to Friend, nor Enemy:

      My Tongue could neuer learne sweet smoothing word.

      But now thy Beauty is propos'd my Fee,

      My proud heart sues, and prompts my tongue to speake.

      She lookes scornfully at him.

      Teach not thy lip such Scorne; for it was made

      For kissing Lady, not for such contempt.

      If thy reuengefull heart cannot forgiue,

      Loe heere I lend thee this sharpe-pointed Sword,

      Which if thou please to hide in this true brest,

      And let the Soule forth that adoreth thee,

      I lay it naked to the deadly stroke,

      And humbly begge the death vpon my knee,

      He layes his brest open, she offers at with his sword.

      Nay do not pause: For I did kill King Henrie,

      But 'twas thy Beauty that prouoked me.

      Nay now dispatch: 'Twas I that stabb'd yong Edward,

      But 'twas thy Heauenly face that set me on.

      She fals the Sword.

      Take vp the Sword againe, or take vp me

         An. Arise Dissembler, though I wish thy death,

      I will not be thy Executioner

      Rich. Then bid me kill my selfe, and I will do it

      An. I haue already

         Rich. That was in thy rage:

      Speake it againe, and euen with the word,

      This hand, which for thy loue, did kill thy Loue,

      Shall for thy loue, kill a farre truer Loue,

      To both their deaths shalt thou be accessary

      An. I would I knew thy heart

      Rich. 'Tis figur'd in my tongue

      An. I feare me, both are false

      Rich. Then neuer Man was true

      An. Well, well, put vp your Sword

      Rich. Say then my Peace is made

      An. That shalt thou know heereafter

      Rich. But shall I liue in hope

         An. All men I hope liue so.

      Vouchsafe to weare this Ring

         Rich. Looke how my Ring incompasseth thy Finger,

      Euen so thy Brest incloseth my poore heart:

      Weare both of them, for both of them are thine.

      And if thy poore deuoted Seruant may

      But beg one fauour at thy gracious hand,

      Thou dost confirme his happinesse for euer

         An. What is it?

        Rich. That it may please you leaue these sad designes,

      To him that hath most cause to be a Mourner,

      And presently repayre to Crosbie House:

      Where (after I haue solemnly interr'd

      At Chertsey Monast'ry this Noble King,

      And wet his Graue with my Repentant Teares)

      I will with all expedient duty see you,

      For diuers vnknowne Reasons, I beseech you,

      Grant me this Boon

         An. With all my heart, and much it ioyes me too,

      To see you are become so penitent.

      Tressel and Barkley, go along with me

      Rich. Bid me farwell

         An. 'Tis more then you deserue:

      But since you teach me how to flatter you,

      Imagine I haue saide farewell already.