Richard III (play)

"Now is the winter of our discontent Made glorious summer by this sun of York; And all the clouds, that lour'd upon our house, In the deep bosom of the ocean buried. 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. Grim-visag'd war hath smooth'd his wrinkled 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. But I, — that am not shap'd for sportive tricks, Nor 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, Deform'd, unfinish'd, sent before my time Into this breathing world, scarce half made up, And that so lamely and unfashionable, 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 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."

"Lady Anne: Villain, thou know'st no law of God nor man; No beast so fierce but knows some touch of pity. Richard: But I know none, and therefore am no beast."

"To leave this keen encounter of our wits."

"Look, how this ring encompasseth thy finger, Even so thy breast encloseth my poor heart; Wear both of them, for both of them are thine."

"Was ever woman in this humour woo'd? Was ever woman in this humour won? I'll have her; — but I will not keep her long."

"A sweeter and a lovelier gentleman, — Fram'd in the prodigality of nature, Young, valiant, wise, and, no doubt, right royal, — The spacious world cannot again afford."

"I cannot tell: the world is grown so bad, That wrens make prey where eagles dare not perch: Since every Jack became a gentleman, There's many a gentle person made a Jack."

"Thy friends suspect for traitors while thou liv'st, And take deep traitors for thy dearest friends! No sleep close up that deadly eye of thine, Unless it be while some tormenting dream Affrights thee with a hell of ugly devils! Thou elvish-mark'd, abortive, rooting hog! Thou that wast seal'd in thy nativity The slave of nature and the son of hell! Thou slander of thy heavy mother's womb! Thou loathed issue of thy father's loins! Thou rag of honour! thou detested—"

"But then I sigh, and, with a piece of scripture, Tell them that God bids us do good for evil: And thus I clothe my naked villainy With odd old ends, stol'n out of holy writ; And seem a saint, when most I play the devil."

"Talkers are no good doers: be assur'd, We go to use our hands, and not our tongues."

"O, I have pass'd a miserable night, So full of ugly sights, of ghastly dreams, That, as I am a christian-faithful man, I would not spend another such a night, Though 'twere to buy a world of happy days. — So full of dismal terror was the time!"

"Methoughts that I had broken from the Tower, And was embark'd to cross to Burgundy; And, in my company, my brother Gloster; Who from my cabin tempted me to walk Upon the hatches: thence we look'd toward England, And cited up a thousand heavy times, During the wars of York and Lancaster, That had befall'n us. As we pac'd along Upon the giddy footing of the hatches, Methought that Gloster stumbled; and, in falling, Struck me, that thought to stay him, overboard Into the tumbling billows of the main. O Lord, methought what pain it was to drown! What dreadful noise of waters in my ears! What sights of ugly death within my eyes! Methoughts I saw a thousand fearful wrecks; A thousand men that fishes gnaw'd upon; Wedges of gold, great anchors, heaps of pearl, Inestimable stones, unvalued jewels, All scatt'red in the bottom of the sea: Some lay in dead men's skulls; and in the holes Where eyes did once inhabit there were crept,— As 'twere in scorn of eyes,—reflecting gems,"

"I pass'd, methought, the melancholy flood, With that grim ferryman which poets write of, Unto the kingdom of perpetual night."

"Clarence is come; false, fleeting, perjured Clarence, That stabbed me in the field by Tewksbury; Seize on him, Furies, take him to your torments!"

"Sorrow breaks seasons and reposing hours, Makes the night morning, and the noon-tide night. Princes have but their titles for their glories, An outward honour for an inward toil; And, for unfelt imagination, They often feel a world of restless cares: So that, between their titles and low name, There's nothing differs but the outward fame."

"First Murderer: How dost thou feel thyself now? Second Murderer: Faith, some certain dregs of conscience are yet within me. First Murderer: Remember our reward, when the deed's done. Second Murderer: Zounds, he dies; I had forgot the reward. First Murderer: Where is thy conscience now? Second Murderer: In the Duke of Gloucester's purse. First Murderer: So, when he opens his purse to give us our reward, thy conscience flies out. Second Murderer: Let it go; there's few or none will entertain it. First Murderer: How if it come to thee again? Second Murderer: I'll not meddle with it, it is a dangerous thing, it makes a man a coward; a man cannot steal, but it accuseth him; a man cannot swear, but it checks him; a man cannot lie with his neighbour's wife, but it detects him: 'tis a blushing shame-faced spirit, that mutinies in a man's bosom; it fills one full of obstacles: it made me once restore a purse of gold, that I found; it beggars any man that keeps it: it is turned out of all towns and cities for a dangerous thing; and every man that means to live well, endeavors to trust to himself, and live without it. First Murderer: Zounds, it is even now at my elbow, persuading me not to kill the duke."

"Edward, my lord, your son, our king, is dead. — Why grow the branches when the root is gone? Why wither not the leaves that want their sap? — If you will live, lament; if die, be brief, That our swift-winged souls may catch the king's; Or, like obedient subjects, follow him To his new kingdom of perpetual rest."

"A parlous boy: — go to, you are too shrewd."

"So wise, so young, they say, do never live long."

"That Julius Caesar was a famous man; With what his valour did enrich his wit, His wit set down to make his valour live: Death makes no conquest of this conqueror; For now he lives in fame, though not in life."

"An if I live until I be a man, I'll win our ancient right in France again, Or die a soldier, as I liv'd a king."

"Off with his head!"

"Woe, woe for England! Not a whit for me!"

"O momentary grace of mortal men, Which we more hunt for than the grace of God! Who builds his hope in air of your fair looks, Lives like a drunken sailor on a mast, Ready, with every nod, to tumble down Into the fatal bowels of the deep."

"O bloody Richard! —miserable England! I prophesy the fearfull'st time to thee That ever wretched age hath look'd upon. — Come, lead me to the block; bear him my head: They smile at me who shortly shall be dead."

"A beauty-waning and distressed widow, Even in the afternoon of her best days."

"Alas, why would you heap this care on me?"

"But shall we wear these glories for a day? Or shall they last, and we rejoice in them?"

"O bitter consequence, That Edward still should live, true noble prince. Cousin, thou wast not wont to be so dull. Shall I be plain? I wish the bastards dead, And I would have it suddenly performed!"

"Say, have I thy consent that they shall die?"

"I must be married to my brother's daughter, Or else my kingdom stands on brittle glass: — Murder her brothers, and then marry her! Uncertain way of gain! But I am in So far in blood, that sin will pluck on sin. Tear-falling pity dwells not in this eye."

"King Richard: I am not in the giving vein to-day. Buckingham: Why, then resolve me whe'r you will or no. King Richard: Tut, tut, thou troublest me; I am not in the vein."

"Their lips like four red roses on a stalk."

"The sons of Edward sleep in Abraham’s bosom, And Anne my wife hath bid the world good night."

"So; now prosperity begins to mellow, And drop into the rotten mouth of death. Here in these confines slily have I lurk’d, To watch the waning of mine enemies. A dire induction am I witness to, And will to France; hoping the consequence Will prove as bitter, black, and tragical."

"Forbear to sleep the night, and fast the day; Compare dead happiness with living woe; Think that thy babes were sweeter than they were, And he that slew them fouler than he is; Bettering thy loss makes the bad-causer worse; Revolving this will teach thee how to curse."

"Let not the heavens hear these tell-tale women Rail on the Lord’s anointed."

"Bloody you are. Bloody will be thy end. Shame sets your life, And will your death attend."

"Look, what is done cannot be now amended: Men shall deal unadvisedly sometimes, Which after-hours give leisure to repent. If I did take the kingdom from your sons, To make amends, I'll give it to your daughter. If I have kill'd the issue of your womb, To quicken your increase, I will beget Mine issue of your blood upon your daughter."

"An honest tale speeds best, being plainly told."

"Is the chair empty? is the sword unsway'd? Is the king dead? the empire unpossess'd?"

"Fellows in arms, and my most loving friends, Bruis'd underneath the yoke of tyranny, Thus far into the bowels of the land Have we march'd on without impediment."

"True hope is swift, and flies with swallows' wings; Kings it makes gods, and meaner creatures kings."

"The king's name is a tower of strength, Which they upon the adverse faction want."

"Despair and die!"

"Give me another horse,—bind up my wounds,— Have mercy, Jesu!—Soft! I did but dream.— O coward conscience, how dost thou afflict me!— The lights burn blue.—It is now dead midnight. Cold fearful drops stand on my trembling flesh. What, do I fear myself? there's none else by: Richard loves Richard; that is, I am I. Is there a murderer here? No;—yes, I am: Then fly. What, from myself? Great reason why,— Lest I revenge. What,—myself upon myself! Alack, I love myself. Wherefore? for any good That I myself have done unto myself? O, no! alas, I rather hate myself For hateful deeds committed by myself! I am a villain: yet I lie, I am not."

"My conscience hath a thousand several tongues, And every tongue brings in a several tale, And every tale condemns me for a villain."

"I shall despair. There is no creature loves me; And if I die, no soul shall pity me. Nay, wherefore should they? since that I myself Find in myself no pity to myself."

"The early village cock Hath twice done salutation to the morn."

"By the apostle Paul, shadows to-night Have struck more terror to the soul of Richard, Than can the substance of ten thousand soldiers, Armed in proof, and led by shallow Richmond!"