Ric.
Now is the winter of our ^note discontent
Made glorious summer by this sun of York;
And all the clouds, that lour'd ^note upon our house,
In the deep bosom of ^note the ocean bury'd:
Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths;
Our bruised arms hung up for monuments;
Our stern alarums chang'd to merry meetings,
Our dreadful marches to delightful measures ^note: ^note
Grim-visag'd war hath smooth'd his wrinkl'd front;
And now,—instead of mounting barbed steeds,
To fright the souls of fearful adversaries,—
He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber,
To the lascivious pleasing of a lute ^note.
But I,—that am not shap'd ^note for sportive tricks,
Nor ^note made to court an amorous looking-glass;
I, that am rudely stamp'd, and want love's majesty,

To strut before a wanton ambling nymph;
I, that am curtail'd of this fair proportion,
Cheated of feature by dissembling nature,14Q0864
Deform'd, unfinish'd, sent before my time
Into this breathing world, scarce ^note half made up,
And that so lamely and unfashionably ^note,
That dogs bark at me, as I halt by them;—
Why I, in this weak piping time of peace,
Have no delight to pass away the time;
Unless to spy my ^note shadow in the sun,
And descant on mine own deformity:
And therefore,—since I cannot prove a lover,
To entertain these fair well-spoken days,—
I am determined to prove a villain,
And hate the idle pleasures of these days.
Plots have I lay'd, inductions dangerous,
By drunken prophesies, libels, and dreams,
To set my brother Clarence, and the king,
In deadly hate the one against the other:
And, if king Edward be as true and just,
As I am subtle, false, and treacherous,
This day should Clarence closely be mew'd up;
About a prophesy, which says—that G
Of Edward's heirs the murtherer ^note shall be.
Dive, thoughts, down to my soul; here Clarence comes. Enter Clarence; Brakenbury, and a Guard, with him.
Brother, good day ^note: What means this armed guard,
That waits upon your grace?

Cla.
His majesty,
Tend'ring my person's safety, hath appointed
This conduct to convey me to the tower.

Ric.
Upon what cause?

Cla.
Because my name is—George.

Ric.
Alack, my lord, that fault is none of yours;
He should, for that, commit your godfathers ^note:—
Belike ^note, his majesty hath some intent,
That you shall be ^note new-christen'd in the tower.
But what's the matter, Clarence? may I know?

Cla.
Yea, Richard, when I ^note know; for, I protest,
As yet I do not: But, as I can learn,
He hearkens after prophesies, and dreams;
And from the cross-row plucks the letter G,
And says—a wizard told him, that by G
His issue dis-inherited should be;
And, for my name of George begins with G,
It follows ^note in his thought, that I am he:
These, as I learn, and such like toys as these,
Have ^note mov'd his highness to commit me now.

Ric.
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 she,
That tempts him to this harsh ^note extremity.
Was it not she, and that good man of worship,
Antony Woodeville, her brother there,
That made him send lord Hastings to the tower;
From whence this present day he is deliver'd?
We are not safe, Clarence, we are not safe.

Cla.
By heaven, I think, there's no man is secure ^note,
But the queen's kindred, and night-walking heralds
That trudge betwixt the king and mistress Shore.
Heard you not, what an humble suppliant
Lord Hastings was to her ^note for his delivery?

Ric.
Humbly complaining to her deity

Got my lord chamberlain his liberty.
I'll tell you what,—I think, it is our ^note way,
If we will keep in favour with the king,
To be her men, and wear her livery:
The jealous o'er-worn widow, and herself,
Since that our brother dub'd them gentlewomen,
Are mighty gossips in this monarchy ^note.

Bra.
I beseech your graces both to pardon me;
His majesty hath straitly given in charge,
That no man shall have private conference,
Of what degree soever, with his brother ^note.

Ric.
Even so? an please your worship, Brakenbury,
You may partake of any thing we say:
We speak no treason, man;—We say, the king 14Q0865
Is wise, and virtuous; and his noble ^note queen
Well strook in years, yet fair still, and not jealous:
We say, that Shore's wife hath a pretty foot,
A cherry lip, ^note a passing pleasing tongue;
That ^note the queen's kindred are made gentle-folks:
How say you, sir? can you deny all this?

Bra.
With this, my lord, myself have nought to do.

Ric.
Naught to do with mistress Shore? I tell thee, fellow,
He that doth naught with her, excepting one,
'Twere best he do ^note it secretly. ^note

Bra.
What one, my lord?

Ric.
Her husband, knave: Would'st thou betray me? ha?

Bra.
I beseech ^note your grace to pardon me; and, withal,
Forbear your conference with the noble duke.

Cla.
We know thy charge, Brakenbury, and will obey.

Ric.
We are the queen's abjects, and must obey.
Brother, farewel: I will unto the king;

And whatsoever you'll employ me in,—
Were it, to call king Edward's widow—sister,—
I will perform it, to enfranchise you.
Mean time, this deep disgrace in brotherhood ^note
Touches me deeper than you can imagine.

Cla.
I know, it pleaseth neither of us well.

Ric.
Well, your imprisonment shall not be long;
I will deliver you, or else ^note lye for you:
Mean time, have patience.

Cla.
I must perforce; farewel. [Exeunt Cla. Bra. and Guard.

Ric.
Go, tread the path that thou shalt ne'er return,
Simple, plain Clarence!—I do love thee so,
That I will shortly send thy soul to heaven,
If heaven will take the present at our hands.
But who comes here? the new-deliver'd Hastings? Enter Hastings.

Has.
Good time of day unto my gracious lord!

Ric.
As much unto my good lord chamberlain!
Well are you ^note welcome to this open ^note air.
How hath your lordship brook'd imprisonment?

Has.
With patience, noble lord, as prisoners must:
But I shall live, my lord, to give them thanks,
That were the cause of my imprisonment.

Ric.
No doubt, no doubt; and so shall Clarence too;
For they, that were your enemies, are his,
And have prevail'd as much on him, as you.

Has.
More pity, that the eagle ^note should be mew'd,
While kites and buzzards prey at ^note liberty.

Ric.
What news abroad?

Has.
No news so bad abroad, as this at home;—
The king is sickly, weak, and melancholy,

And his physicians fear him mightily.

Ric.
Now, by saint Paul, ^note this news is bad indeed.
O, he hath kept an evil ^note diet long,
And over-much consum'd his royal person;
'Tis very grievous to be thought upon.
What, is ^note he in his bed?

Has.
He is.

Ric.
Go you before, and I will follow you. [Exit Hastings.
He cannot live, I hope; and must not die,
'Till George be pack'd with post-horse up to heaven.
I'll in, to urge his hatred more to Clarence,
With lies well steel'd with weighty arguments;
And if I fail not in my deep intent,
Clarence hath not another day to live:
Which done, God take king Edward to his mercy,
And leave the world for me to bustle in.
For then I'll marry Warwick's youngest daughter:
What though I kill'd her husband, and her father?
The readiest way to make the wench amends,
Is—to become her husband, and her father:
The which will I; not all so much for love,
As for another secret close intent,
By marrying her, which I ^note must reach unto.
But yet I run before my horse to market:
Clarence still breathes; Edward still lives, and ^note reigns;
When they are gone, then must I count my gains. [Exit Richard.

Next section