KING RICHARD III. William Shakespeare
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Made peace of enmity, fair love of hate,
Between these swelling wrong-incensèd peers.
GLOSTER
A blessed labour, my most sovereign lord,—
Among this princely heap, if any here,
By false intelligence or wrong surmise,
Hold me a foe;
If I unwittingly, or in my rage,
Have aught committed that is hardly borne
To any in this presence, I desire
To reconcile me to his friendly peace:
‘Tis death to me to be at enmity;
I hate it, and desire all good men’s love.—
First, madam, I entreat true peace of you,
Which I will purchase with my duteous service;—
Of you, my noble cousin Buckingham,
If ever any grudge were lodg’d between us;—
Of you, and you, Lord Rivers, and of Dorset,
That all without desert have frown’d on me;
Of you, Lord Woodville, and, Lord Scales, of you;—
Dukes, earls, lords, gentlemen;—indeed, of all.
I do not know that Englishman alive
With whom my soul is any jot at odds
More than the infant that is born tonight:
I thank my God for my humility.
QUEEN ELIZABETH
A holy day shall this be kept hereafter:—
I would to God all strifes were well compounded.—
My sovereign lord, I do beseech your highness
To take our brother Clarence to your grace.
GLOSTER
Why, madam, have I off’red love for this,
To be so flouted in this royal presence?
Who knows not that the gentle duke is dead?
[They all start.]
You do him injury to scorn his corse.
KING EDWARD
Who knows not he is dead! Who knows he is?
QUEEN ELIZABETH
All-seeing heaven, what a world is this!
BUCKINGHAM
Look I so pale, Lord Dorset, as the rest?
DORSET
Ay, my good lord; and no man in the presence
But his red colour hath forsook his cheeks.
KING EDWARD
Is Clarence dead? the order was revers’d.
GLOSTER
But he, poor man, by your first order died,
And that a wingèd Mercury did bear;
Some tardy cripple bore the countermand
That came too lag to see him burièd.
God grant that some, less noble and less loyal,
Nearer in bloody thoughts, an not in blood,
Deserve not worse than wretched Clarence did,
And yet go current from suspicion!
[Enter Stanley.]
STANLEY
A boon, my sovereign, for my service done!
KING EDWARD
I pr’ythee, peace: my soul is full of sorrow.
STANLEY
I Will not rise unless your highness hear me.
KING EDWARD
Then say at once what is it thou request’st.
STANLEY
The forfeit, sovereign, of my servant’s life;
Who slew to-day a riotous gentleman
Lately attendant on the Duke of Norfolk.
KING EDWARD
Have I a tongue to doom my brother’s death,
And shall that tongue give pardon to a slave?
My brother kill’d no man,—his fault was thought,
And yet his punishment was bitter death.
Who su’d to me for him? who, in my wrath,
Kneel’d at my feet, and bid me be advis’d?
Who spoke of brotherhood? who spoke of love?
Who told me how the poor soul did forsake
The mighty Warwick, and did fight for me?
Who told me, in the field at Tewksbury,
When Oxford had me down, he rescu’d me,
And said “Dear brother, live, and be a king”?
Who told me, when we both lay in the field
Frozen almost to death, how he did lap me
Even in his garments, and did give himself,
All thin and naked, to the numb-cold night?
All this from my remembrance brutish wrath
Sinfully pluck’d, and not a man of you
Had so much grace to put it in my mind.
But when your carters or your waiting-vassals
Have done a drunken slaughter, and defac’d
The precious image of our dear Redeemer,
You straight are on your knees for pardon, pardon;
And I, unjustly too, must grant it you:—
But for my brother not a man would speak,—
Nor I, ungracious, speak unto myself
For him, poor soul. The proudest of you all
Have been beholding to him in his life;
Yet none of you would once beg for his life.—
O God, I fear Thy justice will take hold
On me, and you, and mine, and yours, for this!
Come, Hastings, help me to my closet.
Ah, poor Clarence!
[Exeunt KING, QUEEN, HASTINGS, RIVERS, DORSET, and GREY.]
GLOSTER
This is the fruit of rashness! Mark’d you not
How that the guilty kindred of the queen
Look’d pale when they did hear of Clarence’ death?
O, they did urge it still unto the king!
God will revenge it.—Come, lords, will you go
To comfort Edward with our company?
BUCKINGHAM
We wait upon your grace.
[Exeunt.]
SCENE II. Another Room in the palace
[Enter the DUCHESS OF YORK, with A SON and DAUGHTER of CLARENCE.]
SON
Good grandam, tell us, is our father dead?
DUCHESS
No, boy.
DAUGHTER
Why do you weep so oft, and beat your breast,
And cry