Richard III quotes

Enter Richard, Duke of Gloucester, solus.

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 changed to merry meetings, Our dreadful marches to delightful measures.

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.

Plots have I laid, inductions dangerous, By drunken prophecies, libels and dreams, To set my brother Clarence and the king In deadly hate the one against the other:

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.

Say that I slew them not?

Why, then they are not dead: But dead they are, and, devilish slave, by thee.

I did not kill your husband.

No, to White-Friars; there attend my coming. Exeunt all but Gloucester.

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. What! I, that kill’d her husband and his father, To take her in her heart’s extremest hate, With curses in her mouth, tears in her eyes, The bleeding witness of her hatred by;

A little joy enjoys the queen thereof; For I am she, and altogether joyless. I can no longer hold me patient. Advancing.

Hear me, you wrangling pirates, that fall out In sharing that which you have pill’d from me!

Which of you trembles not that looks on me? If not, that, I being queen, you bow like subjects, Yet that, by you deposed, you quake like rebels? O gentle villain, do not turn away!

Peace, master marquess, you are malapert: Your fire-new stamp of honour is scarce current. O, that your young nobility could judge What ’twere to lose it, and be miserable!

They that stand high have many blasts to shake them; And if they fall, they dash themselves to pieces.

Good counsel, marry: learn it, learn it, marquess.

I’ll not believe but they ascend the sky, And there awake God’s gentle-sleeping peace. O Buckingham, take heed of yonder dog!

Look, when he fawns, he bites; and when he bites, His venom tooth will rankle to the death:

Have not to do with him, beware of him; Sin, death, and hell have set their marks on him, And all their ministers attend on him.

Now, they believe it; and withal whet me To be revenged on Rivers, Vaughan, Grey: 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 villany With old odd ends stolen out of holy writ; And seem a saint, when most I play the devil.

But, soft! here come my executioners. How now, my hardy, stout resolved mates! Are you now going to dispatch this deed?

Tush! Fear not, my lord, we will not stand to prate; Talkers are no good doers: be assured We come to use our hands and not our tongues.

Your eyes drop millstones, when fools’ eyes drop tears:

I like you, lads; about your business straight; Go, go, dispatch.

I will, my lord: God give your grace good rest! Clarence sleeps. 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, betwixt their tides and low names, There’s nothing differs but the outward fame.

No, no; by God’s good grace his son shall reign.

Woe to the land that’s govern’d by a child!

In him there is a hope of government, That in his nonage council under him, And in his full and ripen’d years himself, No doubt, shall then and till then govern well.

Come, come, we fear the worst; all shall be well.

When clouds appear, wise men put on their cloaks; When great leaves fall, the winter is at hand;

When the sun sets, who doth not look for night? Untimely storms make men expect a dearth. All may be well; but, if God sort it so, ’Tis more than we deserve, or I expect.

Grandam, one night, as we did sit at supper, My uncle Rivers talk’d how I did grow More than my brother: “Ay,” quoth my uncle Gloucester, “

Small herbs have grace, great weeds do grow apace

:” And since, methinks, I would not grow so fast, Because sweet flowers are slow and weeds make haste.

Aside.

Short summers lightly have a forward spring.

Enter young York, Hastings, and the Cardinal.

Now, my lord, what shall we do, if we perceive Lord Hastings will not yield to our complots?

Chop off his head, man; somewhat we will do:

And, look, when I am king, claim thou of me The earldom of Hereford, and the moveables Whereof the king my brother stood possess’d.

Dispatch, my lord; the duke would be at dinner: Make a short shrift; he longs to see your head.

O momentary grace of mortal men, Which we more hunt for than the grace of God!

Who builds his hopes in air of your good looks, Lives like a drunken sailor on a mast, Ready, with every nod, to tumble down Into the fatal bowels of the deep.

I partly know the man: go, call him hither. Exit Page. The deep-revolving witty Buckingham No more shall be the neighbour to my counsel:

Hath he so long held out with me untired, And stops he now for breath?

How now! what news with you?

for it stands me much upon, To stop all hopes whose growth may damage me. Exit Catesby. 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.

Exit Catesby. 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.

James Tyrrel, and your most obedient subject.

“Lo, thus,” quoth Dighton, “lay those tender babes:” “Thus, thus,” quoth Forrest, “girdling one another Within their innocent alabaster arms:

Their lips were four red roses on a stalk, Which in their summer beauty kiss’d each other.

A book of prayers on their pillow lay; Which once,” quoth Forrest, “almost changed my mind; But O! the devil’—there the villain stopp’d; Whilst Dighton thus told on: “We smothered The most replenished sweet work of nature, That from the prime creation e’er she framed.”

A book of prayers on their pillow lay; Which once,” quoth Forrest, “almost changed my mind; But O! the devil’—there the villain stopp’d; Whilst Dighton thus told on: “We smothered The most replenished sweet work of nature, That from the prime creation e’er she framed.”

Thus both are gone with conscience and remorse;

They could not speak; and so I left them both, To bring this tidings to the bloody king. And here he comes.

Tell o’er your woes again by viewing mine: I had an Edward, till a Richard kill’d him; I had a Harry, till a Richard kill’d him: Thou hadst an Edward, till a Richard kill’d him; Thou hadst a Richard, till a Richard killed him;

I had a Richard too, and thou didst kill him;

I had a Rutland too, thou holp’st to kill him.

No, by the holy rood, thou know’st it well,

Thou camest on earth to make the earth my hell.

A grievous burthen was thy birth to me; Tetchy and wayward was thy infancy; Thy school-days frightful, desperate, wild, and furious, Thy prime of manhood daring, bold, and venturous, Thy age confirm’d, proud, subdued, bloody, treacherous, More mild, but yet more harmful, kind in hatred:

Which, in the day of battle, tire thee more Than all the complete armour that thou wear’st! My prayers on the adverse party fight; And there the little souls of Edward’s children Whisper the spirits of thine enemies And promise them success and victory.

Bloody thou art, bloody will be thy end; Shame serves thy life and doth thy death attend.

Exit.

But in your daughter’s womb I bury them:

Where in that nest of spicery they shall breed Selves of themselves, to your recomforture.

Shall I go win my daughter to thy will?

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!

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.