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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)

    Enter Quee. mother, Duchesse of Yorke, Marques Dorset, at
    one doore, Duchesse of Glocest. at another doore.
    Duch. Who meets vs heere, my neece Plantagenet?
    Qu. Sister well met, whether awaie so fast?
    Duch. No farther then the Tower, and as I ghesse
    Vpon the like deuotion as your selues,
    To gratulate the tender Princes there.
    2485Qu. Kind sister thanks, weele enter al togither, Enter Lieutenant.
    And in good time here the Lieutenant comes.
    M. Lieutenant, pray you by your leaue,
    How fares the Prince?
    2490Lieu. Wel Madam, and in health, but by your leaue,
    H3 I
    The Tragedie
    I may not suffer you to visite him,
    The King hath straightlie charged the contrarie.
    Qu. The King? whie, whose that?
    Lieu. I crie you mercie, I meane the Lord protector.
    2495Qu. The Lord protect him from that Kinglie title:
    Hath he set boundes betwixt their loue and me:
    I am their mother, who should keepe me from them?
    Du.yor. I am their Fathers, Mother, I will see them.
    2500Duch.glo. Their aunt I am in law, in loue their mother:
    Then feare not thou, Ile beare thy blame,
    And take thy office from thee on my perill.
    Lieu. I doe beseech your graces all to pardon me:
    I am bound by oath, I may not doe it. Enter L. Stanlie.
    Stan. Let me but meete you Ladies an houre hence,
    And Ile salute your grace of Yorke, as Mother :
    And reuerente looker on, of two faire Queenes.
    2510Come Madam, you must go with me to Westminster,
    There to be crowned, Richards royall Queene.
    Qu O cut my lace in sunder, that my pent heart,
    May haue some scope to beate, or else I sound,
    With this dead killing newes.
    Dor. Madam, haue comfort, how fares your grace?
    Qu O Dorset speake not to me, get thee hence,
    Death and destruction dogge thee at the heeles,
    2520Thy Mothers name is ominous to children,
    If thou wilt outstrip death, go crosse the seas,
    And liue with Richmond, from the reach of hell,
    Go hie thee, hie thee from this slaughter house,
    Least thou increase the number of the dead,
    2525 And make me die the thrall of Margarets cursse,
    Nor Mother, Wife, nor Englands counted Queene.
    Stan. Full of wise care is this your counsell Madam,
    Take all the swift aduantage of the time,
    You shall haue letters from me to my sonne,
    2530To meete you on the way, and welcome you,
    Be not tane tardie, by vnwise delaie:
    Duch. yor. O ill dispersing winde of miserie,
    O my accursed wombe, the bed of death,
    A Coca
    of Richard the third.
    A Cocatrice hast thou hatch to thc world,
    2535Whose vnauoided eye is murtherous.
    Stan. Come Madam, I in all hast was sent.
    Duch. And I in all vnwillingnes will go,
    I would to God that the inclusiue verge,
    Of golden mettall that must round my browe,
    2540were red hotte steele to seare me to the braine,
    Annointed let me be with deadlie poyson,
    And die, ere men can say, God saue the Queene.
    Qu. Alas poore soule, I enuie not thy glorie,
    To feede my humor, wish rhy selfe no harme.
    2545Duch.glo. No, when he that is my husband now,
    Came to me as I followed Henries course,
    When scarse the bloud was well washt from his handes,
    Which issued from my other angel husband,
    And that dead saint, which then, I weeping followed,
    2550O, when I say, I lookt on Richatds face,
    This was my wish, be thou quoth I accurst,
    For making me so young, so olde a widow,
    And when thou wedst, let sorrow haunt thy bed,
    And be thy wife, if any be so madde,
    2555As miserable by the death of thee,
    As thou hast made me by my deare Lordes death,
    Loe, eare I can repeate this curse againe,
    Euen in so short a space, my womans hart,
    Grosselie grewe captiue to his honie wordes,
    2560And prou'd the subiecte of my owne soules curse,
    Which euer since hath kept my eyes from sleepe,
    For neuer yet, one houre in his bed,
    Haue I enioyed the golden dew of sleepe,
    But haue bene waked by his timerous dreames,
    2565Besides, he hates me for my father Warwicke,
    And will no doubt, shortlie be rid of me.
    Qu. Alas poore soule, I pittie thy complaints.
    Duch. glo. No more then from my soule I mourne for yours.
    2570Dor. Farewell, thou wofull welcomer of glorie.
    Duch.glo. Adew poore soule, thou takst thy leaue of it.
    Du.yor. Go thou to Richmond, and good fortune guide thee.
    The Tragedie
    Go thou to Richard, and good Angels garde thee,
    2575Go thou to sanctuarie, good thoughts possesse thee,
    I to my graue where peace and rest lie with me,
    Eightie odde yeares of sorrow haue I seene,
    And each houres ioy wrackt with a weeke of teene.