Richard III (2015) - full transcript

Now is the winter of our discontent,

made glorious summer

by this son of York.

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.

Grim-visaged War
hath smooth'd his wrinkled front,

instead of mounting barbed steeds
to fright the souls of adversaries,



he capers nimbly in a lady's chamber
to the lascivious pleasing of a guitar.

But I,

that am not shaped for sportive tricks,

nor made to court
an amorous looking-glass;

I,

that am rudely stamped,

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,

deformed,

unfinished,

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;

In this piping time of peace,
I 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:

And if King Edward
be as true and just

as I am subtle,
false, and treacherous,

this day should Clarence
closely be mewed up.

Clarence, what does this mean?

His majesty, tendering my safety,
sends me to the Tower.

- What's the matter?
- When I know!

But, he hearkens
after prophecies and dreams.

This it is, when men
are ruled by women:

It's not the king
that sends you to the Tower:

Elizabeth, his wife
tempers him to this extremity.

She and her brother Rivers,

made him send
Lord Hastings to the Tower.

We are not safe, Clarence!

No man is secure
but the queen's kindred.

She has become a mighty gossip since
our brother dubbed her gentlewoman.

His majesty forbids
to have conference with your brother.

We know thy charge
and will obey.

Clarence, farewell.
I will unto the king.

Whatever you employ me in,
I will perform it to enfranchise you,

were it to call
King Edward's widow “sister.”

- Meantime, have patience.
- I must perforce.

Go!

Tread the path
that thou shalt never return.

Simple, plain Clarence!

I do love thee so,
that I will send thy soul to heaven,

if heaven will take
the present at our hands.

But who’s here?

The new-delivered Hastings!

- My gracious lord!
- Welcome to the open air.

How have you
brook'd imprisonment?

With patience.

But I shall live to give them thanks
that were the cause of it.

No doubt,
and so shall Clarence too;

Your enemies are his and have
prevailed as much on him as you.

What news abroad?

The king is sickly,
weak, and melancholy.

- His physicians fear him mightily.
- This news is bad indeed.

He hath kept an evil diet
and consumed his royal person:

'Tis grievous to be thought upon.

- Is he in his bed?
- He is.

Go you before,
I will follow you.

The King cannot live, I hope.

And must not die till Clarence
be pack'd up to heaven.

I'll in, to urge his hatred
to Clarence,

with lies well steeled
with weighty arguments.

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!

I'll marry Warwick's daughter,
Lady Anne.

I killed her husband

and her father.

So what?

To make the wench amends
I’ll be her husband and her father.

Not all so much for love

as for a secret close intent,
which I must reach unto.

But yet
I run before my horse to market:

Clarence still breathes,
Edward lives and reigns:

When they are gone,
then must I count my gains.

Poor key-cold figure
of a holy king!

Pale ashes
of the house of Lancaster!

Thou bloodless remnant
of that royal blood!

I invocate thy ghost,

to hear the lamentations of poor Anne,
wife to thy Edward,

to thy slaughtered son,

stabbed by the selfsame hand
that made these wounds!

Cursed be the hand
that made these fatal holes!

Cursed the heart
that had the heart to do it!

Cursed the blood
that let this blood from hence!

That hated wretch that makes us
wretched by the death of thee

than I can wish to adders, spiders, toads,
or any creeping venom'd thing!

If ever he hath a wife, let her be more
miserable by the death of him

as I am made
by my poor lord and thee!

What black magician
conjures up this fiend,

to stop
my devoted deeds?

Avaunt,
thou dreadful minister of hell!

Thou hadst but power over his mortal body,
his soul thou canst not have.

Sweet saint,
be not so curst.

Foul devil,
trouble me not.

For thou hast made
the happy earth thy hell,

filled it with cries
and exclaims.

If thou delight
to view thy deeds,

behold this pattern
of thy butcheries.

You know no rules of charity,
which renders good for bad.

Thou know'st
no law of God nor man:

No beast so fierce
but knows some touch of pity.

I know none,
therefore am no beast.

Wonderful,
when devils tell the truth!

More wonderful,
when angels are so angry.

Vouchsafe,
divine perfection of a woman,

of these supposed-evils,
to acquit myself.

Vouchsafe,
defused infection of a man,

for these known evils
to curse thy cursed self.

Fairer than tongue can name thee,
let me have some leisure to excuse myself.

Fouler than heart can think thee.

Thou canst make no excuse,
but to hang thyself.

- By such despair, I should accuse myself.
- By despairing thou stand excused,

for doing worthy vengeance on thyself,
which didst unworthy slaughter upon others.

- And if I slew them not?
- Then they are not dead.

But dead they are,
and by thee.

- I did not kill your husband.
- Then he is alive.

Nay, he is dead,
slain by Edward's hand.

Thou liest:
Queen Margaret saw thy falchion,

which thou once didst bend
against her breast.

I was provoked
by her slanderous tongue.

Thy bloody mind
never dreamt but butcheries:

Didst thou not kill King Henry?

I grant ye.

Then, God grant me too
thou mayst be damned for that!

He was gentle,
mild, and virtuous!

The fitter for the King of Heaven,
that hath him.

He is in heaven,
where thou shalt never come.

Let him thank me,
that helped to send him thither.

- He was fitter for that place.
- And thou unfit for any place but hell.

- One else ...
- Some dungeon?

Your bed-chamber.

Ill rest betide
the chamber where thou liest!

So will it, till I lie with you.

But, is not the causer of the deaths
as blameful as the executioner?

- Thou art the cause, and effect.
- Your beauty was the cause.

It haunted me to undertake
the death of all the world,

so I might live one hour
in your sweet bosom.

If I thought that,

these nails should rend
that beauty from my cheeks.

These eyes could never endure
sweet beauty's wreck.

As the world is cheered by the sun,
your beauty is my day, my life.

Black night overshade thy day,
and death thy life!

- Curse not thyself, thou art both.
- I would I were, to be revenged on thee.

It is unnatural,
to be revenged on him that loveth you.

It is just, to be revenged
on him that slew my husband.

He did it to help thee
to a better one.

His better doth not breathe
upon the earth.

He lives that loves thee better
than he could.

- Plantagenet.
- That was he.

The selfsame name,
but one of better nature.

Where is he?

Here.

- Why dost thou spit at me?
- Would it were mortal poison!

- Never came poison from so sweet a place.
- Never hung poison on a fouler toad.

Out of my sight!
Thou dost infect my eyes.

- Thine eyes, have infected mine.
- Would they strike thee dead!

I would they did.
For now they kill me with a living death.

Those eyes from mine
have drawn salt tears,

shamed their aspect
with store of childish drops:

These eyes that never shed
remorseful tear,

what sorrows could not
thence exhale, thy beauty hath.

I never sued to friend nor enemy,

my tongue could never learn
sweet smoothing words.

But now thy beauty is my fee,
and my proud heart sues.

Teach not thy lips such scorn,

they were made for kissing,
not for such contempt.

If thy heart cannot forgive,
here I lend thee this sword.

Which if thou please
to hide in this true bosom

and let the soul forth
that adoreth thee,

I lay it naked to the deadly stroke,
and humbly beg the death.

I did kill King Henry.

But 'twas thy beauty that provoked me.

I stabbed young Edward

but 'twas thy heavenly face
that set me on.

Take up the sword,

or take up me.

Arise, dissembler:

Though I wish thy death,
I will not be the executioner.

- Then bid me kill myself.
- I have already.

That was in thy rage:

Speak it again, and that hand,
which did kill thy love,

shall, for thy love,
kill a far truer love.

To both their deaths
thou shalt be accessory.

- I would I knew thy heart.
- 'Tis figured in my tongue.

- I fear me both are false.
- Then never man was true.

- Put up your sword.
- Say then my peace is made.

- That shall you know hereafter.
- Shall I live in hope?

All men, I hope, live so.

Vouchsafe to wear this ring.

To take is not to give.

How this ring
encompasseth thy finger,

even so thy breast
encloseth my poor heart.

Wear both of them,
for both of them are thine.

Bid me farewell.

'Tis more than you deserve.

But since you teach me
how to flatter you,

imagine I have said
farewell already.

Was ever woman
in this humor wooed?

Was ever woman
in this humor won?

I'll have her.

But I will not keep her long.

I killed her husband,

and his father,

and I take her
in her heart's extremest hate,

with curses in her mouth,
tears in her eyes,

the bleeding witness
of her hatred by.

Having God,
her conscience against me,

nothing to back my suit
but the devil and dissembling looks,

and yet to win her?

All the world to nothing?

Hath she forgot already
that brave prince,

Edward, her lord,

whom I, three months since,
stabbed in my angry mood?

A sweeter
and a lovelier gentleman,

framed in the prodigality of nature,
young, wise, and right royal,

the spacious world
cannot again afford.

And will she yet debase
her eyes on me,

that made her widow
to a woeful bed?

On me,

whose all
not equals Edward's moiety?

On me,

that halts
and am misshapen thus?

I do mistake my person
all this while:

She finds,
although I cannot,

myself to be
a marvelous proper man.

I'll be at charges
for a looking-glass,

and entertain some score of tailors,
to study fashions to adorn my body.

Since I am crept in favor with myself,
I will maintain it with some little cost.

But first
I'll turn yon fellow in his grave.

And then return lamenting
to my love.

And till I have bought a glass,
shine out, fair sun

that I may see
my shadow as I pass.

Have patience, the king
will soon recover his health.

In that you brook it ill,
it makes him worse.

If he were dead,
what would betide of me?

Your son will be your comforter.

He is young and under
the trust of Richard,

who loves not me,
nor none of you.

- Saw you the king today?
- I come from visiting his majesty.

- What likelihood of his amendments?
- Good hope. His grace speaks cheerfully.

- Did you confer with him?
- He desires to make atonement

between Richard,
your brothers and Lord Hastings.

He sent to warn them
to his royal presence.

Would all were well!

But I fear our happiness
is at the highest.

They do me wrong,
and I will not endure it:

Who are they that complain unto the king
that I am stern, and love them not?

Because I cannot flatter
and look fair,

smile in men's faces,
smooth, deceive, and cog,

duck with French nods
and apish courtesy,

I must be held
a rancorous enemy?

Cannot a man think no harm,
but thus his simple truth

must be abused by silken,
sly, insinuating Jacks?

- To whom speaks your grace?
- To thee, that hast nor honesty nor grace.

When have I injured thee?
Or any of your faction?

A plague upon you all!

His royal person cannot be quiet
a breathing while,

but you must trouble him
with complaints.

Richard, you mistake the matter.
The king, of his own disposition

makes him to send
aiming at your interior hatred

against my kindred, brothers,
and myself

to gather the ground of your ill will,
and so remove it.

The world is grown so bad.

Since every Jack became a gentleman
many gentle person is made a Jack.

You envy our advancement.

My brother is imprisoned
by your means,

myself disgraced,
and the nobility held in contempt.

I never did incense his majesty
against the Duke of Clarence,

but have been
an advocate to plead for him.

You may deny to be the cause
of Lord Hastings' imprisonment.

- She may, my lord …
- She may do more than denying that:

She may help you
to many fair preferments,

and then deny her aiding hand,
and lay those honors on your high deserts.

- What may she not?
- Marry, may she?

Marry with a king, a bachelor,
a handsome stripling too.

I know your grandam had a worser match.

I have too long borne
your upbraidings and your scoffs:

I will acquaint his majesty
with those gross taunts.

I had rather be a servant-maid
than a queen,

to be thus taunted and baited at:

Small joy have I
in being England's queen.

And lessened be that small!
Thy honor, state and seat is due to me.

Threat you me with telling of the king?
Tell him!

What I have said
I will avouch in presence of the king.

May I be sent to the Tower.
'Tis time to speak: my pains are quite forgot.

Thou slewest my husband in the Tower,
and my son at Tewkesbury.

Ere you were queen, or your husband king,
I was a packhorse in his great affairs.

A weeder-out of his proud adversaries,
a liberal rewarder of his friends:

- To royalize his blood I spilt mine own.
- And much better blood than his or thine.

You and your husband were factious
for the house of Lancaster;

Was not he slain
in Margaret's battle at Saint Albans?

Remember what you have been
and what you are now.

And what I have been,
and what I am.

A murderous villain,
and so still thou art.

Poor Clarence forswore himself.

- Which Jesus pardon …
- Which God revenge!

To fight on Edward's party for the crown;
And for his meed he is mew'd up?

I would to God my heart were flint,
like Edward's;

Or Edward's soft and pitiful,
like mine.

I am too childish-foolish
for this world.

Hie thee to hell for shame,
there thy kingdom is.

In those busy days which here
you urge to prove us enemies,

we followed then our lawful king:

So should we you,
if you should be our king.

If I should be king!

I had rather be a peddler!

Far be it from my heart,
the thought of it!

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?

Gentle villain,
do not turn away!

Foul wrinkled witch,
what makest thou in my sight?

- I repeat what thou hast marred.
- Wert thou not banished on pain of death?

I do find more pain in banishment
than in death.

Richard, you owe to me
a husband and a son.

And thou, Elizabeth, a kingdom;

and all of you allegiance:

The sorrow that I have,
by right is yours,

and all the pleasures you usurp
are mine.

The curse
my noble father laid on thee,

when thou didst crown
his warlike brows with paper

and with thy scorns
drew'st rivers from his eyes,

and then, to dry them,
gavest the duke a clout

steeped in the blood
of my sweet brother Rutland.

His curses are all fall'n upon thee.

- God, not we, hath plagued thy bloody deed.
- So just is God, to right the innocent.

'Twas the foulest deed to slay that babe.

- Tyrants themselves wept.
- No man but prophesied revenge for it.

Northumberland,
then present, wept to see it.

You were ready to catch
each other by the throat,

and turn you
all your hatred now on me?

Did your father's dread curse
prevail so much?

That Henry's death,
my lovely Edward's death,

their kingdom's loss, my banishment,
could all but answer for that peevish brat?

Can curses pierce the clouds
and enter heaven?

Why then give way, dull clouds,
to my quick curses!

If not by war, by surfeit die your king,
as ours by murder, to make him a king!

Edward thy son, Prince of Wales,
die in his youth

by like untimely violence
as my son Edward!

Outlive thy glory,
like my wretched self!

Long mayst thou live
to wail thy children's loss,

and see another decked in thy rights,
as I see thee now stalled in mine!

Long die thy happy days
before thy death!

After many hours of grief, die!
Neither mother, wife, nor England's queen!

Rivers, you were a stander by,
and so wast thou, Lord Hastings,

when my son was stabbed.

I pray to God, that none of you
may live your natural age.

Have done thy hocus-pocus,
thou hateful withered hag!

- And leave out thee?
- Go to hell!

Stay, dog, for thou shalt hear me.
If heaven have any grievous plague in store,

let them keep it till thy sins be ripe,
then hurl down their indignation on thee!

The worm of conscience
still begnaw thy soul!

Thy friends suspect for traitors and
take deep traitors for thy dearest friends!

No sleep close up
that deadly eye of thine,

unless it be whilst dreams
affrights thee with a hell of devils!

Thou abortive, rooting hog!

Thou slander of thy mother's heavy womb!
Thou loathed issue of thy father's loins!

- Let me make the period to my curse!
- 'Tis done by me, and ends in "Margaret."

Thus have you breathed your curse
against yourself.

Poor painted queen!
Vain flourish of my fortune!

Strew'st thou sugar on that spider,
whose deadly web ensnareth thee about?

Fool!
Thou whetest a knife to kill thyself.

Thou shalt wish for me to help thee
curse that toad.

End thy frantic curse,
thou move our patience.

Foul shame upon you!
You have all moved mine.

- Dispute not with her; she is lunatic.
- Peace, master Marquess, you are malapert:

Your fire-new stamp of honor is scarce current.
That thou could judge what 'twere to lose it!

They that stand high
have many blasts to shake them.

And if they fall,
they dash themselves to pieces.

- Good counsel: learn it.
- It touches you as much as me.

But I was born so high,
our aery buildeth in the cedar's top,

dallies with the wind
and scorns the sun.

- And turns the sun to shade!
- Enough!

I'll kiss thy hand, in sign of league:
Now fair befall thee and thy noble house!

Thy garments are not spotted with our blood,
nor thou within the compass of my curse.

Nor no one here.

Buckingham, take heed of yonder dog!
When he fawns, he bites.

And his venom tooth will rankle to the death:
Have not to do with him.

Sin, death, and hell
have set their marks on him.

- What doth she say, Buckingham?
- Nothing that I respect.

Dost thou scorn me for my counsel
and soothe the devil?

Remember this,
when he shall split thy heart,

and say poor Margaret
was a prophetess!

Live each of you
the subjects to his hate,

and he to yours

and all of you
the subjects to God’s hate.

Am I happy that she's gone!

Me too.

I muse why she's at liberty.

I cannot blame her.
By God's holy mother,

she hath had too much wrong.

I repent my part thereof
that I have done to her.

- I never did her any.
- But you have all the vantage of her wrong.

What's this noise?
You know that I'm ill.

Come here please,
I have to speak to you.

I do the wrong,
and first begin to brawl.

Clarence, who I indeed
have cast in darkness,

and tell them 'tis the queen
and her allies,

thus I clothe my naked villainy
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.

We come to have the warrant
that we may be admitted.

Well thought upon,
I have it here.

Be sudden in the execution,
do not hear him plead,

for Clarence is well-spoken,
he may move your hearts to pity.

We will not stand to prate.
Talkers are no good doers:

We come to use our hands
and not our tongues.

I like you.

About your business straight.

Of course my lord.

Shall we stab him as he sleeps?

He'll say 'twas done cowardly,
when he wakes.

Fool, he shall never wake
till the judgment day.

But then he will say
we stabbed him sleeping.

The word "judgment" hath bred
a kind of remorse in me.

Back to Richard, tell him so?

My holy humor will change.

It was wont to hold me
but while one would tell twenty.

How dost thou feel thyself now?

Some certain dregs of conscience
are yet within me.

Remember our reward.

I had forgot the reward.

Take him over the costard,
and then chop him in the wine-butt.

Give me a cup of wine.

You shall have wine enough.

Who art thou?

Wherefore do you come?

To …

To murder me?

- Wherein have I offended you?
- Us not, but the king.

- I shall be reconciled to him again.
- Never, therefore prepare to die.

What is my offense?
Where is the evidence?

Who pronounced the sentence?

Before I be convict to threaten me
with death is unlawful.

What we will do,
we do upon command.

And he that hath commanded
is the king.

If you are hired for meed,
go back again.

Richard will reward you better
for my life than Edward for my death.

- Your brother Richard hates you.
- No, he loves me!

- Go you to him from me.
- So we will.

He sent us to slaughter thee.

It cannot be, he swore
that he would labor my delivery.

He delivers thee from this world
to the joys of heaven.

Make peace with God,
for you must die.

I spy some pity in thy looks.

If thine eye be not a flatterer,
come thou on my side,

and entreat for me,
as you would beg for you.

A begging prince
what beggar pities not?

A bloody deed.

And desperately dispatched.

How fain, like Pilate, would I
wash my hands of this murder.

Now have I done
a good day's work.

You peers,
continue this united league:

I every day expect an embassage
from my Redeemer to redeem me hence.

And now in peace
my soul shall part to heaven,

since I have set my friends
at peace on earth.

Rivers and Hastings,
take each other's hand.

Dissemble not your hatred,
swear your love.

My heart is purged
from grudging hate.

And with my hand
I seal my true heart's love.

So thrive I,
as I truly swear the like!

Elizabeth,
yourself are not exempt in this,

nor you, Buckingham.

You have been factious
one against the other.

Wife, love Lord Hastings,
let him kiss your hand

and what you do,
do it unfeignedly.

I will never more remember
our former hatred, so thrive I and mine!

And so swear I.

Dorset, embrace him.

Hastings, love Lord Marquess.

This interchange of love
upon my part shall be unviolable.

Embrace!

Princely Buckingham, seal thou this league
and embrace my wife.

And make me happy
in your unity.

Whenever Buckingham
doth turn his hate on you or yours,

God punish me with hate
in those where I expect most love.

When I need to employ a friend,
assured that he is a friend,

deep, hollow, treacherous
be he unto me!

This do I beg of God,
when I am cold in zeal to yours.

A pleasing cordial is this thy vow
unto my sickly heart.

Embrace!

There wanteth now
our brother Richard here,

to make the blessed period
of this peace.

Good morrow
to my sovereign king and queen:

Princely peers,
a happy time of day!

Happy, indeed,
as we have spent the day.

We have done deeds of charity,
made peace enmity,

fair love of hate,
between these swelling peers.

A blessed labor,
my most sovereign liege.

If any here, by false intelligence,
or wrong surmise, hold me a foe

if I unwittingly, or in my rage
have aught committed,

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.

Elisabeth,
I entreat true peace of you,

which I will purchase
with my duteous service.

Of you, Buckingham

if ever any grudge
were lodged between us;

Of you, Dorset,

and Lord Rivers, of you,
that without desert have frowned on me.

Indeed, I entreat all of you.

I do not know
that Englishman alive

with whom my soul is any jot at odds
more than the infant born tonight.

I thank my God
for my humility.

A holy day
shall this be kept hereafter.

I do beseech to take our brother
Clarence to your grace.

Have I offered love for this
to be so flouted?

Who knows not
that Clarence is dead?

- You do him injury to scorn his corpse.
- And who knows he is dead?

Is Clarence dead?
The order was reversed.

But he by your first order died.

God grant that some less loyal,
nearer in bloody thoughts, but not in blood,

deserve not worse than Clarence did,
and yet go current from suspicion!

A boon,
for my service done!

I pray thee, peace:
my soul is full of sorrow.

The forfeit of my servant's life,
who slew a righteous gentleman.

My brother slew no man;
his fault was thought,

and yet his punishment
was cruel death.

Who sued to me for him?

Who, in my rage, kneeled at my feet,
and bade me be advised?

Who spoke of brotherhood?

Who spoke of love?

How he did forsake Warwick,
and did fight for me?

Who told me, at Tewkesbury
when Oxford had me down,

he rescued me, and said
"Dear brother, live, and be a king"?

Who told me, when we lay in the field
how he did lap me in his garments,

and gave himself, naked,
to the cold night?

All this from my remembrance
wrath sinfully plucked,

and not a man of you
had so much grace to put it in my mind.

But when your carters have done
a drunken slaughter,

and defaced the image
of our Redeemer,

you straight are on your knees
for pardon!

And I, unjustly too,
must grant it you.

But for my brother
not a man would speak,

nor I speak unto myself for him.

Poor soul.

Hastings, help me to my closet.

Poor Clarence!

This is the fruit of rashness!

He did urge it still unto the king!
God will revenge it.

But let us in, to comfort Edward
with our company.

Who shall hinder me
to wail and weep,

to chide my fortune,
and torment myself?

I'll join with black despair
and to myself become an enemy.

What means this scene
of rude impatience?

Edward, my lord,
our king, is dead.

Why grow the branches
now 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.

I see, as in a map,
the end of all.

Bethink you like a mother,
of the prince, your son.

Send for him, let him be crowned;
in him your comfort lives.

Drown desperate sorrow
in dead Edward's grave,

and plant your joys
in living Edward's throne.

Sister, have comfort:

All of us have cause to wail
the dimming of our shining star.

But none can cure their harms
by wailing them.

Now cheer each other.

Though we have spent
our harvest of this king,

we are to reap
the harvest of his son.

Me seemeth good,
that with some little train,

from Ludlow the prince be fetched
to London, to be crowned.

Why with some little train?

Lest, by a multitude,
the wound of malice should break out.

The estate is green
and yet ungoverned.

I hope the king
made peace with all of us.

The compact is firm
and true in me.

And so in me;
And so, I think, in all.

Yet it should be put
to no likelihood of breach,

which by much company
might be urged.

Then be it so, go we to determine
who shall post to Ludlow.

Whoever journeys to the prince,
let not us two be behind.

For I'll sort occasion, to part
the queen's kindred from the prince.

My dear cousin,

I, like a child,
will go by thy direction.

Towards Ludlow then,
for we'll not stay behind.

Welcome, sweet prince,
to London, to your chamber.

Welcome, dear nephew,
my thoughts' sovereign.

The weary way
hath made you melancholy.

No, but our crosses on the wayhave made it wearisome.

I want more uncles here
to welcome me.

Lord Rivers is sent prison.

For what offense?

The untainted virtue of your years
hath not yet dived into the world's deceit.

This uncle was dangerous.

You attended to his sugared words,
not on the poison of his heart.

God keep you from him,
and from such false friends!

God keep me from false friends!
But he was none.

I thought my mother and my brother,
would have met us on the way.

God knows why the queen and
your brother York, have taken sanctuary.

The prince would have come with me,
but by his mother was withheld.

What a peevish course is this!

Catesby, persuade the queen
to send York unto his brother.

If she deny, from her arms
pluck him perforce.

God forbid we should infringe
the holy privilege of sanctuary!

You are too obstinate,
too ceremonious and traditional.

Sanctuary is granted to those
whose dealings have deserved,

and have the wit to claim the place:

This prince hath neither claimed it
nor deserved it, and therefore cannot have it.

Make all the haste you may.

Where shall we sojourn
till our coronation?

Where it seems best
unto your royal self.

If I may counsel you,

some day or two
repose you at the Tower:

Then where you please,
and it most fits for your recreation.

I do not like the Tower,
of any place.

Here comes the Duke of York.

Richard of York!
How fares our loving brother?

Well, my dread lord;
so must I call you now.

Brother,
to our grief, as it is yours:

Too late he died that might
have kept that title.

How fares our nephew,
noble lord of York?

I thank you, gentle uncle.

You said that idle weeds
are fast in growth.

- My brother hath outgrown me far.
- He hath.

- And therefore is he idle?
- I must not say so.

Then is he more
beholding to you than I.

He may command me as my sovereign;
but you have power in me as in a kinsman.

- I pray you give me this dagger.
- With all my heart.

- A beggar, brother?
- Of my kind uncle, that I know will give.

- And being but a toy, which is no grief to give.
- A greater gift than that I'll give my cousin.

- O, that's the sword to it.
- Ay, were it light enough.

You will part but with light gifts;
in weightier things you'll say nay.

- It is too heavy for you to wear.
- I weigh it lightly, were it heavier.

Would you have
my weapon, little lord?

Rather a big weapon
than a little wagon,

and a little nephew
than a big monkey.

My brother will still be cross in talk:
you know how to bear with him.

You mean, to bear me,
not to bear with me:

Because that I am little, like an ape,

he thinks that you should bear
me on your crippled shoulders.

Will't please you pass along?

Myself and Buckingham will tell
your mother to meet you at the Tower.

- Will you go unto the Tower?
- My lord protector needs will have it so.

I shall not sleep in quiet
at the Tower.

- What should you fear?
- Uncle Clarence's ghost.

My grandam told me
he was murdered there.

- I fear no uncles dead.
- Nor none that live, I hope.

And if you live,
I hope I need not fear.

But come, unto the Tower.

Think you, this little prating York

was not incensed by his mother
to scorn you thus opprobriously?

'Tis a parlous boy.
Bold, quick, capable:

He is all the mother's.

Let them rest.
Come hither, Catesby.

Sound thou Lord Hastings,
how doth he stand

for the instalment of this duke
in the seat royal of this isle.

Summon him tomorrow to the Tower,
to sit about the coronation.

Tomorrow we hold divided councils,
you will highly be employed.

And tell him, his adversaries
Rivers and Dorset

tomorrow are let blood
at Pomfret Castle.

Good lords,
with all the heed I may.

What, if Hastings
will not yield to our complots?

Chop off his head!

Something we will determine.

Buckingham,
when I am king,

claim thou of me
the earldom of Hereford,

and all the moveables whereof
the king my brother was possessed.

I'll claim that promise.

And look to have it yielded
with all willingness.

Snail!

Let us sup, that we may digest
our complots in some form.

Many good morrows, Hastings!

Good morrow, Catesby,
you are early stirring.

What news,
in this our tottering state?

It is a reeling world, indeed, and will never
stand upright till Richard wear the garland.

- Dost thou mean the crown?
- Ay, my lord.

I'll have this crown cut from
my shoulders ere I will see it so misplaced.

But doth he aim at it?

And hopes to find you forward
upon his party.

He sends you this good news:

The brothers of the queen,
Rivers and Dorset, must die.

Indeed, I am no mourner for that news.

But, to give my voice on Richard,
I will not do it, to the death.

God keep you
in that gracious mind!

I shall laugh that I outlive he
who brought me in my master's hate.

When I met thee last,
I was going to the Tower,

by the suggestion of Rivers.

Now they are put to death,
and I in better state than ever.

'Tis a vile thing to die,
when men are unprepared.

Monstrous!

And so falls it out with Rivers:

and with some men else,
who think themselves as safe.

But we are dear
to Richard and to Buckingham.

The princes both
make high account of you.

I’ll be back in a minute.

As high,

for they account your head
upon the London Bridge.

Buckingham!

Today you’ll see subjects die
for truth, duty, and for loyalty.

God keep the prince from all the pack of you!
Knot of damned blood-suckers!

Dispatch;
the limit of your lives is out.

Now Margaret's curse
is fallen upon our heads.

She exclaimed on Hastings and I,

for standing by
when Richard stabbed her son.

Then cursed she Richard,
then Hastings, and you, Buckingham.

Remember, God,
to hear her prayers for them.

Make haste!

My friends,

we met to determine
of the coronation.

In God's name, speak:
when is the royal day?

Who knows the lord protector's
mind herein?

- Who is most inward with the duke?
- You should soonest know his mind.

We know each other's faces:

for our hearts, he knows
no more of mine, than I of yours;

or I of his,
than you of mine.

Lord Hastings,
you and he are near in love.

I know he loves me well.

But for the coronation he delivered
not his pleasure therein:

But you may name the time.

And in Richard's behalf I'll give my voice,
which he'll take in gentle part.

My noble lords and cousins all,
good morrow.

I have been long a sleeper; but, I hope,
my absence doth neglect no great designs,

which by my presence
might have been concluded.

Had not you come upon your cue,
Hastings had pronounced your voice.

No man might be bolder;
he knows, and loves me well.

Buckingham, a word with you.

Catesby hath sounded Hastings
in our business, and finds him so hot,

as he will lose his head ere give consent
his master's son, as he terms it,

shall lose the royalty
of England's throne.

Withdraw you hence,
I'll follow you.

His grace looks cheerfully
and smooth today.

Some conceit likes him well
to bid good morrow with such a spirit.

There's never a man that can less
hide his love or hate than he.

What perceive you in his face
he showed today?

That with no man here
he is offended.

Tell me, what they deserve that do conspire my death

with devilish plots
of damned witchcraft?

And that have prevailed
upon my body with their charms?

My tender love makes me most forward
to doom the offenders.

Whatsoever they be:
They have deserved death.

Then be your eyes
the witness of this ill:

See how I am bewitched.

Mine arm is like a blasted sapling,
withered up:

And this is Elizabeth,
that thus have marked me.

- If they have done this deed …
- If?

Talk’st thou me of 'ifs’
thou protector of this strumpet?

Traitor!
Off with his head!

I will not dine until I see his head.
Stanley, look that it be done:

The rest, that love me,
rise and follow me.

Three times my horse startled,
when he looked upon the Tower.

As loath to bear me
to the slaughter-house.

But I disdained it,
and did scorn to fly.

Margaret!

Thy heavy curse is lighted
on poor Hastings's head!

Dispatch,
it’s my first time too.

Dirty pig!

Miserable England!

They smile at me
that shortly shall be dead.

What say the citizens?

The citizens are mum.

Touched you the bastardy
of Edward's children?

I did

the greediness of his desires,
his enforcement of the city wives;

his own bastardy, as being got,
your father then in France,

his resemblance,
being not like the duke.

I did infer your lineaments,
being the right idea of your father,

both in your form
and nobleness of mind.

Laid open your discipline in war,
wisdom in peace, fair humility:

Left nothing
fitting for the purpose untouched.

And at the end I bid them
that did love their country cry:

- "God save Richard, England's royal king!"
- And did they so?

No.

They spake not a word,

but, like dumb statues
stared each on other.

Which I reprehended them,

and asked the mayor
what meant this silence:

"People are not used to be spoke to
but by the recorder."

Then he was urged to tell my tale again:

“Thus saith Richard ..."
"Thus hath Richard inferred ...”

But nothing spoke
in warrant from himself.

When he had done,
some ten followers of mine own,

hurled up their caps and cried
“God save King Richard!”

I took the vantage:
“Thanks, gentle citizens,” quoth I,

“This cheerful shout argues
your love to Richard”,

and even here brake off.

What tongueless blocks were they!
Would they not speak?

Will not the mayor then
and his brethren come?

The mayor is here at hand.

Intend some fear.

Be not you spoke with
but by mighty suit:

Get a prayer-book in your hand,

stand between two churchmen,

for on that ground I'll make a holy descant:
be not easily won to our request:

Play the maid's part,
still answer nay, and take it.

This is your last chance.

Welcome.

I dance attendance here.

I think the duke
will not be spoke withal.

Catesby, what says he?

He doth entreat your grace,
to visit him tomorrow:

He is, with two reverend fathers,
bent to meditation,

no worldly suit would draw him
from his holy exercise.

Tell him, myself,
the mayor and Lord Stanley

are come to have some
conference with his grace,

in deep designs no less importing
than our general good.

I'll tell him what you say.

This prince is not an Edward!

He is not lulling on a lewd day-bed,
but on his knees at meditation;

Happy were England,
would he take the sovereignty:

But I fear,
we shall never win him to it.

God forbid his grace
should say us nay!

What says your lord?

He wonders to what end
the Lord Mayor came here.

He fears you mean
no good to him.

We come in perfect love to him,
return and tell his grace.

When holy and religious men
are at their beads ...

... 'tis hard to draw them thence.

See, where he stands
between two clergymen!

A book of prayer in his hand,

true ornaments to know a holy man.

Famous Plantagenet.

Most gracious prince.

Lend favorable ear
to our request.

Pardon us the interruption
of thy Christian zeal.

There needs no such apology:

I do beseech you pardon me,
who, in the service of my God,

deferred the visitation
of my friends.

What is your grace's pleasure?

Even that which pleaseth God,

and all good men
of this ungoverned isle.

Have I done some offense
that seems disgracious,

and that you come
to reprehend my ignorance.

You have: Would it might please you
to amend that fault!

Else wherefore breathe I
in a Christian land?

It is your fault that you resign
the supreme seat, the throne majestical,

the sceptered office of your ancestors,
your state of fortune and your due of birth,

the lineal glory of your royal house,
to the corruption of a blemished stock:

Whilst this noble isle
doth want her proper limbs,

her face defaced
with scars of infamy,

her royal stock graft
with ignoble plants,

and almost shouldered in the gulf
of forgetfulness.

We solicit your grace to take
the kingly government of your land.

Not as protector, steward,
substitute,

but as successively from blood to blood,
your empery, your own.

For this your loving friends,
and by their instigation,

in this just suit
come I to move your grace.

I cannot tell, if the best fitteth my degree
or your condition

whether to depart in silence,
or bitterly to speak in your reproof.

If not to answer, you might
think tongue-tied ambition yielded

to bear the yoke of sovereignty,
which fondly you would here impose on me;

And if I reprove you
for this suit of yours,

then, on the other side,
I checked my friends.

To speak, and to avoid the first,
and, in speaking, not to incur the last,

definitively thus I answer you:

Your love deserves my thanks,

but my desert unmeritable
shuns your high request.

If all obstacles were cut away,
and the path even to the crown,

as my due by birth

yet so much is my poverty of spirit,
so many my defects

as I had rather hide me
from my greatness,

being a bark
to brook no mighty sea,

than in my greatness covet to be hid,
and in the vapor of my glory smothered.

But, God be thanked, there's no need of me,
the royal tree hath left us royal fruit.

Mellowed by the stealing hours of time,
he will become the seat of majesty.

On him I lay what you would lay on me,
the right and fortune of his happy stars,

which God defend
that I should wring from him!

Of course, Richard...

This argues
conscience in your grace,

but the respects thereof
are nice and trivial.

You say that Edward
is your brother's son:

So say we too,

but not by Edward’s wife.

First he was contract
to the sister to the king of France.

This put off, a poor petitioner,
made prize and purchase of his eye.

By her, in his unlawful bed,
he got this Edward,

whom our manners term the prince.

More bitterly could I expostulate,

for reverence to some alive,
I give a limit to my tongue.

Take to your royal self
this proffered benefit of dignity,

if not to bless us
and the land withal

yet to draw forth your ancestry
from the corruption of abusing times.

Do, we entreat you.

Make them joyful,
grant their lawful suit!

Why would you heap
these cares on me?

I am unfit for state and majesty;
Take it not amiss,

I cannot,
nor I will not yield to you.

If you refuse it,

as, in love and zeal,
loath to depose the child ...

... we know your tenderness of heart
and gentle, kind, effeminate

remorse to your kin,
and equally indeed to all estates.

Whether you accept our suit or no:

Your brother’s son
shall never reign our king.

We will plant some other in the throne
to the disgrace and downfall of your house:

And in this resolution
here we leave you.

Come,
we will entreat no more.

Call them again, my lord!

If you deny them,
all the land do rue it.

Would you enforce me
to a world of care?

Call them again!

I am not made of stone,
but penetrable to your entreaties,

albeit against
my conscience and my soul.

Come back!

Cousin of Buckingham,
and you sage, grave men.

Since you will buckle fortune
on my back,

I must have patience
to endure the load:

But if scandal or reproach
attend the sequel of your imposition,

your enforcement shall
acquittance me from all the blots.

For God he knows,
and you may partly see,

how far I am
from the desire thereof.

We see it, and will say it.

In saying so,
you shall but say the truth.

Tomorrow will it please you
to be crowned?

Since you will have it so.

Tomorrow, then,
we will attend your grace.

Let us to our holy task again.

God give you a happy
and a joyful time of day!

- As much to you! Whither away?
- No farther than the Tower.

Upon the like devotion as yourselves,
to gratulate the princes.

We'll enter all together.

I may not suffer you to visit them.
The king hath strictly charged the contrary.

- The king! Who's that?
- I mean the lord protector.

The Lord protect him
from that kingly title!

Hath he set bounds
between their love and me?

I am their mother!

Their aunt I am in law, in love their mother:
Bring me to their sights.

I'll bear thy blame
and take thy office from thee.

No, I am bound by oath.

You must straight to Westminster,
to be crowned Richard's queen.

Cut my lace in sunder, that my heart
may have some scope to beat,

or else I swoon
with this dead-killing news!

- Come, I in haste was sent.
- I in all unwillingness will go.

When I looked on Richard's face,
this was my wish:

Be thy wife as miserable
by the life of thee

as thou hast made me
by my dear lord's death!

Ere I can repeat this curse again,

my woman’s heart
grossly grew captive to his honey words.

Your hand!

Thus high, by thy advice,
and thy assistance

is King Richard seated.

But shall we wear
these honors for a day?

Or shall they last,
and we rejoice in them?

Still live they
and forever may they last!

Now do I play the touch,
to try if thou be current gold.

Young Edward lives.

Think now what I would say.

Say on, my loving lord.

Why?

I say, I would be king.

So you are,
my thrice renowned lord.

Am I king?

But the crown prince lives.

True, noble prince.

Bitter consequence,
that he still should live!

Thou wast not wont to be so dull.

I wish the bastards dead;
and suddenly.

What say’st thou?
Be brief.

Your grace may do
your pleasure.

Thou art all ice,
thy kindness freezes:

Have I thy consent
that they shall die?

Give me some breath,
before I positively herein:

I will resolve your grace
immediately.

High-reaching Buckingham
grows circumspect.

The witty lord no more shall be
the neighbor to my counsel:

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

Be it so.

Catesby, rumor it abroad
that Anne, my wife, is sick.

I will take order for her keeping close.
And call for Ratcliff.

Thou dream'st?

Give out that Anne is sick
and like to die.

I want to stop all hopes
whose growth may damage me.

I must be married
to my brother's daughter,

little Elizabeth,

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.

- Is thy name Ratcliff?
- Your most obedient subject.

- Art thou, indeed?
- Prove me.

Darest thou resolve
to kill a friend of mine?

Ay, my lord.
But I had rather kill two enemies.

There thou hast it:
Two deep enemies,

my sleep's disturbers are they
that I would have thee deal upon:

I mean those bastards in the Tower.

Let me have open means to come to them,
and soon I'll rid you from the fear of them.

Thou sing'st sweet music.

Come hither
and lend thine ear:

Say it is done,

and I will love thee,
and prefer thee too.

I'll get on with it.

Lord Stanley,
what’s the matter?

Lord Grey is fled to Richmond.

- I have considered in my mind.
- Let that rest ...

- Grey is fled to Richmond.
- I hear the news.

Richmond is your wife's son,
look to it.

I claim my due by promise,
for which your honor is pawned:

The earldom of Hereford
and the moveables.

If your wife convey letters
to Richmond, you shall answer it.

What say you to my just demand?

Henry VI did prophesy
that Richmond should be king,

when Richmond
was a little boy!

How chance the prophet
could not have told me,

that I should kill him?

When last I was at Exeter,
the mayor showed me the castle,

and called it Rougemont.

A bard of Ireland told me once
I should not live long after I saw Richmond.

What's o'clock?

I am thus bold to put you in mind
of what you promised me ...

- But what's o'clock?
- Upon the stroke of ten.

- Let it strike.
- Why …?

Thou keep'st the stroke between
thy begging and my meditation!

I am not in the giving vein today.

You look like shit!

Have you eaten pussy yet today?

That's it?

Repays he my service
with such contempt?

Made I him king for this?

Let me think on Hastings
and be gone to Richmond,

while my fearful head is on.

Am I happy in thy news?

If this beget your happiness,
be happy then,

for it is done.

Come after supper,
I will tell you where to bury them.

Think how I may do thee good,
and be inheritor of thy desire.

The sons of Edward sleep

in Abraham's bosom.

And Anne my wife
hath bid the world good night.

For I know Richmond
aims at young Elizabeth,

and, by that knot,
looks proudly o'er the crown,

to her go I,

a jolly thriving wooer.

Good news or bad,
that thou com’st in so bluntly?

Bad news:
Morton is fled to Richmond.

Buckingham, back'd with the Welshmen,
is in the field, and still his power increaseth.

Ely with Richmond troubles me more
than Buckingham and his rash-levied army.

Go, muster men!
My counsel is my shield.

We must be brief
when traitors brave the field.

Hid’st thou that forehead
with a black crown,

where should be graven,
the slaughter of the prince,

and the dire death
of my two sons and brothers?

I must speak a word with you.

I have no more sons of the
royal blood for thee to murder.

My daughters shall be praying nuns,
not weeping queens.

- Level not to hit their lives.
- You have a daughter, Elizabeth.

- Virtuous and fair, royal and gracious.
- And must she die for this?

Let her live, and I'll corrupt her manners,
stain her beauty.

Slander myself
as false to Edward's bed;

I will confess
she was not Edward's daughter.

Wrong not her birth,
she is of royal blood.

- To save her life, I'll say she is not so.
- Her life is only safest in her birth.

In that safety died her brothers.

All unavoided is the doom of destiny.

My babes were destined
to a fairer death,

if grace had blessed thee
with a fairer life.

You speak as if that I
had slain my nephews.

Whose hand soever
lanced their tender hearts,

thy head, all indirectly,
gave direction:

The murderous knife
was dull and blunt

till it was whetted on thy stone-hard heart,
to revel in the entrails of my lambs.

I intend more good,
than ever you were by me wrong'd!

What good can do me good?

The advancement of your children.

Up to some scaffold,
there to lose their heads?

Be not so hasty
to confound my meaning:

I love thy daughter,
and mean to make her queen of England.

- Who dost thou mean shall be her king?
- Even he that makes her queen.

- Thou?
- Yes. Your thoughts on the matter?

- How canst thou woo her?
- That would I learn of you ...

- And wilt thou learn of me?
- With all my heart.

With all your heart...

Send to her,
by the man that slew her brothers,

a pair of bleeding-hearts;
thereon engrave the names Edward and York.

Then happily she will weep:

Present to her a handkerchief,

which did drain the purple sap
from her sweet brother's body

and bid her dry
her weeping eyes therewith.

If this force her not to love,

send her a story of thy noble acts:

Thou mad’st away her uncles
Clarence, Rivers, and Dorset.

Madest quick conveyance
with her good aunt Anne.

You mock me. This is not the way
to win your daughter.

There is no other way

unless thou couldst not be Richard
that hath done all this.

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.

We have many goodly days to see:

Your drops of tears shall come again,
transformed to orient pearl,

advantaging their loan with interest
of ten times double gain of happiness.

Go to thy daughter! Prepare her ears
to hear a wooer's tale.

Acquaint her with the sweet
silent hours of marriage joys

and when this arm hath chastised
the petty rebel, dull-brained Buckingham,

bound with triumphant garlands
will I come

and lead thy daughter
to a conqueror's bed.

What were I best to say?

Her father's brother would be her lord?

Or shall I say, her uncle?

He that slew her brothers?
Under what title shall I woo for thee?

Heaven and fortune
bar me happy hours!

Myself confound!

Day, yield me not thy light;
nor, night, thy rest!

Be opposite all planets
to my proceedings,

if, with pure heart's love,
I tender not thy princely daughter!

In her consists my happiness
and thine.

Without her,
follows to this land and me, to thee,

death, desolation, ruin, and decay:

It cannot be avoided but by this.

Therefore, good mother,
be the attorney of my love to her:

Plead what I will be,
not what I have been.

Not my deserts,
but what I will deserve.

Urge the necessity
and state of times,

and be not peevish-fond
in great designs.

- Shall I be tempted of the devil thus?
- If he tempt thee to do good.

- Shall I forget to be myself?
- If yourself's remembrance wrong yourself.

But thou didst kill my children.

But in your daughter's womb I bury them:

In that nest of spicery they shall breed
selves of themselves,

to your recomforture.

I go.

Write to me and you shall
understand from me her mind.

Bear her my true love's kiss.

Relenting fool!

Shallow, changing woman!

My gracious sovereign,

on the western coast
rideth a puissant navy;

to the shore throng doubtful friends,
unresolved to beat them back.

Richmond is their admiral,
expecting the aid of Buckingham.

Some light-foot friend
post to the duke of Norfolk:

Ratcliff, thyself, or Catesby.
Where is he?

Fly to the duke.

Post thou to Salisbury,
when thou com’st thither ...

Dull villain,
why stand'st thou still?

First let me know,
what I shall deliver to him.

True. Bid him levy straight
the greatest strength and power

- and meet me presently at Salisbury.
- What I shall do at Salisbury?

- What wouldst thou do there before I go?
- You told me I should post before.

My mind is changed.

- What news with you?
- None good to please you.

Nor none so bad,
but it may well be told.

A riddle:
Neither good nor bad!

Why run so many mile about?
Tell thy tale a nearer way!

- Richmond is on the seas.
- There let him sink, that the sea is on him!

- What doth he there?
- I know not, but by guess.

- Well, as you guess?
- He comes to claim the crown.

Is the chair empty? The king dead?
The empire unpossessed?

What heir of York is there alive but we?

Who is England's king
but great York's heir?

- What doth he upon the sea?
- Unless for that, I cannot guess.

Unless for being your liege,
you cannot guess wherefore he comes.

- Thou wilt revolt, and fly to him, I fear.
- No, therefore mistrust me not.

Where is thy power
to beat him back?

Are they upon the shore,
safe-conducting the rebels?

- My friends are in the north.
- Should they not serve in the west?

They have not been commanded.
Please it your majesty,

I'll muster up my friends and
meet your grace where you shall please.

Thou wouldst be gone
to join with Richmond.

You have no cause
to hold my friendship doubtful.

Go,

but leave behind your son,
George Stanley.

Look your faith be firm or else
his head's assurance is but frail.

Deal with him
as I prove true to you.

- What is't o'clock?
- It's supper-time.

I will not sup tonight.

Send out a pursuivant
to Stanley's regiment;

bid him bring his power
before sunrising,

lest his son George fall
into the blind cave of eternal night.

Saddle white Surrey
for the field tomorrow.

Look that my staves be sound,
and not too heavy.

Prepare my bed
and bring my sword.

About the mid of the night come
and help to arm me.

Let me sit heavy
on thy soul tomorrow!

I, Clarence, that was washed
to death with fulsome wine,

tomorrow in the battle think on me,
and fall thy edgeless sword:

Despair, and die!

Let me sit heavy
on thy soul tomorrow!

Rivers, who died by your fault.

Think upon Rivers,
let fall thy lance:

Despair, and die!

Bloody

and guilty

guiltily awake

and in a bloody battle
end thy days!

Think on Lord Hastings:

Despair, and die!

Dream on thy nephews
smothered in the Tower.

Let us be led
within thy bosom,

and weigh thee down
to ruin, shame, and death!

Thy nephews' souls bid thee:
Despair and die!

Thy wife,
that wretched Anne,

that never slept
a quiet hour with thee,

now fills thy sleep
with perturbations.

Tomorrow in the battle think on me,
and fall thy edgeless sword!

Despair, and die!

A horse ...

My kingdom for a horse!

Bind up my wounds.

Have mercy, Jesus!

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.

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 flee!

From myself?

Great reason why: Lest I revenge.
Myself upon myself?

I love myself.

For any good that I myself
have done unto myself?

I rather hate myself for hateful deeds
committed by myself!

I am a villain.

Yet I lie. I am not.

Fool, of thyself speak well.

Fool, do not flatter.

I shall despair.

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?

Richmond!

Stanley, traitor!

Buckingham, you bloody coward!