KING RICHARD III. William Shakespeare

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