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  • 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)

    The Tragedy
    Of you my noble Coosen Buckingham,
    1190If euer any grudge were logde betweene vs.
    Of you Lo: Riuers, and Lord Gray of you,
    That all without desert haue frownd on me,
    Dukes, Earles, Lords, gentlemen, indeed of all:
    1195I doe not know that English man aliue,
    With whom my soule is any iotte at oddes,
    More then the infant that is borne to night:
    I thanke my God for my humility.
    Qu. A holy day shall this be kept hereafter,
    1200I would to God all strifes were well compounded,
    My soueraigne liege I doe beseech your Maiesty,
    To take our brother Clarence to your Grace.
    Glo. Why Madame, haue I offred loue for this,
    To be thus scorned in this royall presence?
    1205Who knowes not that the noble Duke is dead,
    You doe him iniury to scorne his corse.
    Ryu. Who knowes not he is dead? who knowes he is?
    Qu. All seeing heauen, what a world is this?
    1210Buck. Looke I so pale Lo: Dorset as the rest?
    Dor. I my good L: and no one in this presence,
    But his red couler hath forsooke his cheekes.
    Kin. Is Clarence dead, the order was reuerst.
    Glo. But he poore soule by your first order died,
    1215And that a wingled Mercury did beare,
    Some tardy cripple bore the countermaund,
    That came too lag to see him buried:
    God grant that some lesse noble, and lesse loyall,
    Neerer in bloudy thoughts, but not in blond:
    1220Deserue not worse then wretched Clarence did,
    And yet go currant from suspition. Enter Darby.
    Dar. A boone my soueraigne for my seruice done.
    Kin. I pray thee peace, my soule is full of sorrow.
    1225Dar. I will not rise vnlesse your highnesse grant.
    Kin. Then speake at once, what is it thou demaundst.
    Dar. The forfeit soueraigne of my seruants life,
    Who slew to day a riotous gentleman,
    Lately attendant on the Duke of Norfolke.
    Kin. Haue