In this play, Shakespeare demonstrates a more complete artistic control of his historical material than in its predecessors: Richard himself is a more dominating central figure than is to be found in any of the earlier plays, historical events are freely manipulated in the interests of an overriding design, and the play’s language is more highly patterned and rhetorically unified. That part of the play which shows Richard’s bloody progress to the throne is based on the events of some twelve years; the remainder covers the two years of his reign. Shakespeare omits some important events, but invents Richard’s wooing of Lady Anne over her father-in-law’s coffin, and causes Queen Margaret, who had returned to France in 1476 and who died before Richard became king, to remain in England as a choric figure of grief and retribution. The characterization of Richard as a self-delighting ironist builds upon More. The episodes in which the older women of the play—the Duchess of York, Queen Elizabeth, and Queen Margaret—bemoan their losses, and the climactic procession of ghosts before the final confrontation of Richard with the idealized figure of Richmond, the future Henry VII, help to make Richard III the culmination of a tetralogy as well as a masterly poetic drama in its own right. The final speech, in which Richmond, heir to the house of Lancaster and grandfather of Queen Elizabeth I, proclaims the union of ‘the white rose and the red’ in his marriage to Elizabeth of York, provides a patriotic climax which must have been immensely stirring to the play’s early audiences.
Colley Cibber’s adaptation (1700) of Richard III, incorporating the death of Henry VI, shortening and adapting the play, and making the central role (played by Cibber) even more dominant than it had originally been, held the stage with great success until the late nineteenth century. Since then, Shakespeare’s text has been restored (though usually abbreviated—next to Hamlet, this is Shakespeare’s longest play), and the role of Richard has continued to present a rewarding challenge to leading actors.
THE PERSONS OF THE PLAY
The Tragedy of King Richard the Third
1.1 Enter Richard Duke of Gloucester
RICHARD GLOUCESTER
Now is the winter of our discontent
Made glorious summer by this son of York;
And all the clouds that loured 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 smoothed his wrinkled front,
And now—instead of mounting barbed steeds
To fright the souls of fearful adversaries—
He capers nimbly in a lady’s chamber
To the lascivious pleasing of a lute.
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 curtailed 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—
Why, I in this weak piping time of peace
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 the one against the other.
And if King Edward be as true and just
As I am subtle false and treacherous,
This day should Clarence closely be mewed up
About a prophecy which says that ‘G’
Of Edward’s heirs the murderer shall be.
Enter George Duke of Clarence, guarded, and Sir Robert Brackenbury
Dive, thoughts, down to my soul: here Clarence comes.
Brother, good day. What means this armèd guard
That waits upon your grace?
CLARENCE
His majesty,
Tend’ring my person’s safety, hath appointed
This conduct to convey me to the Tower.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER
Upon what cause?
CLARENCE
Because my name is George.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER
Alack, my lord, that fault is none of yours.
He should for that commit your godfathers.
Belike his majesty hath some intent
That you should be new-christened in the Tower.
But what’s the matter, Clarence? May I know?
CLARENCE
Yea, Richard, when I know—for I protest
As yet I do not. But as I can learn
He hearkens after prophecies and dreams,
And from the cross-row plucks the letter ‘G’
And says a wizard told him that by ‘G’
His issue disinherited should be.
And for my name of George begins with ‘G’,
It follows in his thought that I am he.
These, as I learn, and suchlike toys as these,
Hath moved his highness to commit me now.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER
Why, this it is when men are ruled by women.
‘Tis not the King that sends you to the Tower;
My Lady Gray, his wife—Clarence, ’tis she
That tempts him to this harsh extremity.
Was it not she, and that good man of worship
Anthony Woodeville her brother there,
That made him send Lord Hastings to the Tower,
From whence this present day he is delivered?
We are not safe, Clarence; we are not safe.
CLARENCE
By heaven, I think there is no man secure
But the Queen’s kindred, and night-walking heralds
That trudge betwixt the King and Mrs Shore.
Heard ye not what an humble suppliant
Lord Hastings was for his delivery?
RICHARD GLOUCESTER
Humbly complaining to her deity
Got my Lord Chamberlain his liberty.
I’ll tell you what: I think it is our way,
If we will keep in favour with the King,
To be her men and wear her livery.
The jealous, o’erworn widow and herself,
Since that our brother dubbed them gentlewomen,
Are mighty gossips in our monarchy.
BRACKENBURY
I beseech your graces both to pardon me.
His majesty hath straitly given in charge
That no man shall have private conference,
Of what degree soever, with your brother.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER
Even so. An’t please your worship, Brackenbury,
You may partake of anything we say.
We speak no treason, man. We say the King
Is wise and virtuous, and his noble Queen
Well struck in years, fair, and not jealous.
We say that Shore’s wife hath a pretty foot,
A cherry lip,
A bonny eye, a passing pleasing tongue,
And that the Queen’s kin are made gentlefolks.
How say you, sir? Can you deny all this?
BRACKENBURY
With this, my lord, myself have naught to do.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER
Naught to do with Mrs Shore? I tell thee, fellow:
He that doth naught wi
th her—excepting one—
Were best to do it secretly alone.
BRACKENBURY What one, my lord?
RICHARD GLOUCESTER
Her husband, knave. Wouldst thou betray me?
BRACKENBURY
I beseech your grace to pardon me, and do withal
Forbear your conference with the noble Duke.
CLARENCE
We know thy charge, Brackenbury, and will obey.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER
We are the Queen’s abjects, and must obey.
Brother, farewell. I will unto the King,
And whatsoe‘er you will employ me in—
Were it to call King Edward’s widow ‘sister’—
I will perform it to enfranchise you.
Meantime, this deep disgrace in brotherhood
Touches me dearer than you can imagine.
CLARENCE
I know it pleaseth neither of us well.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER
Well, your imprisonment shall not be long.
I will deliver you or lie for you.
Meantime, have patience.
CLARENCE
I must perforce. Farewell.
Exeunt Clarence, Brackenbury, and guard, to the Tower
RICHARD GLOUCESTER
Go tread the path that thou shalt ne’er return.
Simple plain Clarence, I do love thee so
That I will shortly send thy soul to heaven,
If heaven will take the present at our hands.
But who comes here? The new-delivered Hastings?
Enter Lord Hastings from the Tower
LORD HASTINGS
Good time of day unto my gracious lord.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER
As much unto my good Lord Chamberlain.
Well are you welcome to the open air.
How hath your lordship brooked imprisonment?
LORD HASTINGS
With patience, noble lord, as prisoners must.
But I shall live, my lord, to give them thanks
That were the cause of my imprisonment.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER
No doubt, no doubt—and so shall Clarence too,
For they that were your enemies are his,
And have prevailed as much on him as you.
LORD HASTINGS
More pity that the eagles should be mewed
While kites and buzzards prey at liberty.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER What news abroad? 135
LORD HASTINGS
No news so bad abroad as this at home:
The King is sickly, weak, and melancholy,
And his physicians fear him mightily.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER
Now by Saint Paul, that news is bad indeed.
O he hath kept an evil diet long,
And overmuch consumed his royal person.
’Tis very grievous to be thought upon.
Where is he ? In his bed ?
LORD HASTINGS He is.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER
Go you before and I will follow you. Exit Hastings
He cannot live, I hope, and must not die
Till George be packed with post-haste up to heaven.
I’ll in to urge his hatred more to Clarence,
With lies well steeled with weighty arguments.
And 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.
For then I’ll marry Warwick’s youngest daughter.
What though I killed her husband and her father?
The readiest way to make the wench amends
Is to become her husband and her father,
The which will I: not all so much for love,
As for another secret close intent,
By marrying her, which I must reach unto.
But yet I run before my horse to market.
Clarence still breathes, Edward still lives and reigns;
When they are gone, then must I count my gains.
Exit
1.2 Enter gentlemen, bearing the corpse of King Henry the Sixth in an open coffin, with halberdiers to guard it, Lady Anne being the mourner
LADY ANNE
Set down, set down your honourable load,
If honour may be shrouded in a hearse,
Whilst I a while obsequiously lament
Th’untimely fall of virtuous Lancaster.
They set the coffin down
Poor key-cold figure of a holy king,
Pale ashes of the house of Lancaster,
Thou bloodless remnant of that royal blood:
Be it lawful that 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.
Lo, in these windows that let forth thy life,
I pour the helpless balm of my poor eyes.
O cursed be the hand that made these holes,
Cursed the blood that let this blood from hence,
Cursed the heart that had the heart to do it.
More direful hap betide that hated wretch
That makes us wretched by the death of thee
Than I can wish to wolves, to spiders, toads,
Or any creeping venomed thing that lives.
If ever he have child, abortive be it,
Prodigious, and untimely brought to light,
Whose ugly and unnatural aspect
May fright the hopeful mother at the view,
And that be heir to his unhappiness.
If ever he have wife, let her be made
More miserable by the death of him
Than I am made by my young lord and thee.—
Come now towards Chertsey with your holy load,
Taken from Paul’s to be interred there,⌈The gentlemen lift the coffin⌉
And still as you are weary of this weight
Rest you, whiles I lament King Henry’s corpse.Enter Richard Duke of Gloucester
RICHARD GLOUCESTER (to the gentlemen)
Stay, you that bear the corpse, and set it down.
LADY ANNE
What black magician conjures up this fiend
To stop devoted charitable deeds?
RICHARD GLOUCESTER (to the gentlemen)
Villains, set down the corpse, or by Saint Paul
I’ll make a corpse of him that disobeys.
⌈HALBERDIER⌉
My lord, stand back and let the coffin pass.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER
Unmannered dog, stand thou when I command.
Advance thy halberd higher than my breast,
Or by Saint Paul I’ll strike thee to my foot
And spurn upon thee, beggar, for thy boldness.
They set the coffin down
LADY ANNE (to gentlemen and halberdiers)
What, do you tremble? Are you all afraid?
Alas, I blame you not, for you are mortal,
And mortal eyes cannot endure the devil.—
Avaunt, thou dreadful minister of hell.
Thou hadst but power over his mortal body;
His soul thou canst not have; therefore be gone.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER
Sweet saint, for charity be not so cursed.
LADY ANNE
Foul devil, for God’s sake hence and trouble us not,
For thou hast made the happy earth thy hell,
Filled it with cursing cries and deep exclaims.
If thou delight to view thy heinous deeds,
Behold this pattern of thy butcheries.—
O gentlemen, see, see! Dead Henry’s wounds
Ope their congealed mouths and bleed afresh.—
Blush, blush, thou lump of foul deformity,
For ‘tis thy presence that ex-hales this blood
From cold and empty veins where no blood dwells.
Thy deed, inhuman and unnatural,
Provokes this deluge supernatural.
O God, which this blood mad’st, revenge his death.
O earth, which this blood drink‘st, revenge his death.
Either heav’n with lightning strike the murd’rer dead,
Or earth gape open wide and eat him quick
As thou dost swallow up this good king’s blood,
Which his hell-governed arm hath butchered.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER
Lady, you know no rules of charity,
Which renders good for bad, blessings for curses.
LADY ANNE
Villain, thou know’st no law of God nor man.
No beast so fierce but knows some touch of pity.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER
But I know none, and therefore am no beast.
LADY ANNE
O wonderful, when devils tell the truth!
RICHARD GLOUCESTER
More wonderful, when angels are so angry.
Vouchsafe, divine perfection of a woman,
Of these supposed crimes to give me leave
By circumstance but to acquit myself.
LADY ANNE
Vouchsafe, diffused infection of a man,
Of these known evils but to give me leave
By circumstance t’accuse thy cursèd self.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER
Fairer than tongue can name thee, let me have
Some patient leisure to excuse myself.
LADY ANNE
Fouler than heart can think thee, thou canst make
No excuse current but to hang thyself.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER
By such despair I should accuse myself. 85
LADY ANNE
And by despairing shalt thou stand excused,
For doing worthy vengeance on thyself
That didst unworthy slaughter upon others.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER
Say that I slew them not.
LADY ANNE
Then say they were not slain.
But dead they are—and, devilish slave, by thee.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER
I did not kill your husband.
LADY ANNE
Why, then he is alive.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER
Nay, he is dead, and slain by Edward’s hand.
LADY ANNE
In thy foul throat thou liest. Queen Margaret saw
The Oxford Shakespeare: The Complete Works Page 69
