Richard III, William Shakespeare [if you liked this book txt] 📗
- Author: William Shakespeare
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Until your lordship came to see his death;
Which now the loving haste of these our friends,
Somewhat against our meaning, have prevented:
Because, my lord, we would have had you heard
The traitor speak, and timorously confess
The manner and the purpose of his treason;
That you might well have signified the same
Unto the citizens, who haply may
Misconstrue us in him and wail his death. Mayor
But, my good lord, your grace’s word shall serve,
As well as I had seen and heard him speak:
And doubt you not, right noble princes both,
But I’ll acquaint our duteous citizens
With all your just proceedings in this cause.
And to that end we wish’d your lordship here,
To avoid the carping censures of the world.
But since you come too late of our intents,
Yet witness what you hear we did intend:
And so, my good lord mayor, we bid farewell. Exit Mayor.
Go, after, after, cousin Buckingham.
The mayor towards Guildhall hies him in all post:
There, at your meet’st advantage of the time,
Infer the bastardy of Edward’s children:
Tell them how Edward put to death a citizen,
Only for saying he would make his son
Heir to the crown; meaning indeed his house,
Which, by the sign thereof, was termed so.
Moreover, urge his hateful luxury,
And bestial appetite in change of lust;
Which stretched to their servants, daughters, wives,
Even where his lustful eye or savage heart,
Without control, listed to make his prey.
Nay, for a need, thus far come near my person:
Tell them, when that my mother went with child
Of that unsatiate Edward, noble York
My princely father then had wars in France;
And, by just computation of the time,
Found that the issue was not his begot;
Which well appeared in his lineaments,
Being nothing like the noble duke my father:
But touch this sparingly, as ’twere far off;
Because you know, my lord, my mother lives.
Fear not, my lord, I’ll play the orator
As if the golden fee for which I plead
Were for myself: and so, my lord, adieu.
If you thrive well, bring them to Baynard’s Castle;
Where you shall find me well accompanied
With reverend fathers and well-learned bishops.
I go; and towards three or four o’clock
Look for the news that the Guildhall affords. Exit.
Go, Lovel, with all speed to Doctor Shaw;
To Catesby. Go thou to Friar Penker; bid them both
Meet me within this hour at Baynard’s Castle. Exeunt all but Gloucester.
Now will I in, to take some privy order,
To draw the brats of Clarence out of sight;
And to give notice, that no manner of person
At any time have recourse unto the princes. Exit.
The same.
Enter a Scrivener, with a paper in his hand. ScrivenerThis is the indictment of the good Lord Hastings;
Which in a set hand fairly is engross’d,
That it may be this day read over in Paul’s.
And mark how well the sequel hangs together:
Eleven hours I spent to write it over,
For yesternight by Catesby was it brought me;
The precedent was full as long a-doing:
And yet within these five hours lived Lord Hastings,
Untainted, unexamined, free, at liberty.
Here’s a good world the while! Why who’s so gross,
That seeth not this palpable device?
Yet who’s so blind, but says he sees it not?
Bad is the world; and all will come to nought,
When such bad dealings must be seen in thought. Exit.
Baynard’s Castle.
Enter Gloucester and Buckingham, at several doors. Gloucester How now, my lord, what say the citizens? BuckinghamNow, by the holy mother of our Lord,
The citizens are mum and speak not a word.
I did; with his contract with Lady Lucy,
And his contract by deputy in France;
The insatiate greediness of his desires,
And his enforcement of the city wives;
His tyranny for trifles; his own bastardy,
As being got, your father then in France,
His resemblance, being not like the duke:
Withal I did infer your lineaments,
Being the right idea of your father,
Both in your form and nobleness of mind;
Laid open all your victories in Scotland,
Your dicipline in war, wisdom in peace,
Your bounty, virtue, fair humility;
Indeed, left nothing fitting for the purpose
Untouch’d, or slightly handled, in discourse:
And when mine oratory grew to an end,
I bid them that did love their country’s good
Cry “God save Richard, England’s royal king!”
No, so God help me, they spake not a word;
But, like dumb statuas or breathing stones,
Gazed each on other, and look’d deadly pale.
Which when I saw, I reprehended them;
And ask’d the mayor what meant this wilful silence:
His answer was, the people were not wont
To be spoke to but by the recorder.
Then he was urged to tell my tale again,
“Thus saith the duke, thus hath the duke inferr’d;”
But nothing spake in warrant from himself.
When he had done, some followers of mine own,
At the lower end of the hall, hurl’d up their caps,
And some ten voices cried “God save King Richard!”
And thus I took the vantage of those few,
“Thanks, gentle citizens and friends,” quoth I;
“This general applause and loving shout
Argues your wisdoms and your love to Richard:”
And even here brake off, and came away.
The mayor is here at hand: intend some fear;
Be not you spoke with, but by mighty suit:
And look you get a prayer-book in your hand,
And stand betwixt two churchmen, good my lord;
For on that ground I’ll build a holy descant:
And be not easily won to our request:
Play the maid’s part, still answer nay, and take it.
I go; and if you plead as well for them
As I can say nay to thee for myself,
No doubt we’ll bring it to a happy issue.
Welcome my lord: I dance attendance here;
I think the duke will not be spoke withal.
Here comes his servant:
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