Internet Shakespeare Editions


Jump to line
Help on texts

About this text

  • Title: Richard the Third (Quarto 1, 1597)
  • Editor: Adrian Kiernander

  • Copyright Internet Shakespeare Editions. This text may be freely used for educational, non-proift purposes; for all other uses contact the Coordinating Editor.
    Author: William Shakespeare
    Editor: Adrian Kiernander
    Peer Reviewed

    Richard the Third (Quarto 1, 1597)

    of Richard the third.
    And presently repaire to Crosbie place,
    Where after I haue solemnly interred
    At Chertsie monastery this noble King,
    And wet his graue with my repentant teares,
    410I will with all expedient dutie see you:
    For diuers vnknowne reasons, I beseech you
    Grant me this boone.
    La. With all my heart, and much it ioies me too,
    To see you are become so penitent:
    415Tressi}ll and Barkley go along with me.
    Glo. Bid me farewell.
    La. Tis more then you deserue:
    But since you teach me how to flatter you,
    Imagine I haue said farewell already. Exit.
    420Glo. Sirs take vp the corse.
    Ser. Towards Chertsie noble Lord.
    Glo. No, to white Friers there attend my comming.
    Was euer woman in this humor woed, Exeunt. manet Gl.
    425Was euer woman in this humor wonne:
    Ile haue her, but I will not keepe her long.
    What I that kild her husband and his father,
    To take her in her hearts extreamest hate:
    With curses in her mouth, teares in her eies,
    430The bleeding witnesse of her hatred by,
    Hauing God, her conscience, and these bars against me:
    And I nothing to backe my suite at all,
    But the plaine Diuell and dissembling lookes,
    And yet to win her all the world to nothing. Hah
    Hath she forgot already that braue Prince
    Edward, her Lord whom I some three months since,
    Stabd in my angry moode at Tewxbery,
    A sweeter and a louelier gentleman,
    440Framd in the prodigality of nature:
    Young, valiant, wise, and no doubt right royall,
    The spacious world cannot againe affoord:
    And will she yet debase her eyes on me
    That cropt the golden prime of this sweete Prince,
    445And made her widdow to a wofull bed,
    B3 On