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Now is the winter of our discontent Made glorious summer by this sun of York; And all the clouds that lour’d 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 smooth’d 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 stamp’d, and want love’s majesty To strut before a wanton ambling nymph; I, that am curtail’d of this fair proportion, Cheated of feature by dissembling nature, Deformed, unfinish’d, 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 mew’d up, About a prophecy, which says that ’G’ Of Edward’s heirs the murderer shall be. Dive, thoughts, down to my soul: here Clarence comes.
Now the bitter winter of our unhappiness Has turned into the glorious summer of York; And all the dark clouds that hung over our house Are buried deep in the ocean. Now our heads are crowned with victorious wreaths; Our wounded arms hung up as monuments; Our harsh alarms changed to happy gatherings, Our terrifying marches to joyful dances. Grim-faced war has smoothed out his wrinkles; And now, instead of riding wild horses To frighten our fearful enemies, He skips lightly in a lady’s room To the seductive sound of a lute. But I, who am not made for such light-hearted tricks, Nor made to court a flattering mirror; I, who am roughly shaped, and lack love’s grace To strut before a flirtatious young woman; I, who am short of this ideal beauty, Deceived by nature’s trickery, Deformed, unfinished, sent into this world Only half-formed, And so awkward and unattractive That dogs bark at me as I limp past them; Why, I, in this peaceful time, Find no joy in passing time, Except to watch my own shadow in the sun And complain about my own ugliness: And so, since I cannot be a lover, To enjoy these peaceful days, I’ve decided to be a villain And despise these idle pleasures. I have made plans, dangerous ones, Through drunken prophecies, slanders, and dreams, To stir up deadly hatred between my brother Clarence and the king. And if King Edward is as true and just As I am cunning, deceitful, and treacherous, This day should see Clarence locked away, Over a prophecy that says the murderer of Edward’s heirs will have the letter ’G’. Go deep, my thoughts: here comes Clarence.
Brother, good day; what means this armed guard That waits upon your grace?
Brother, good day; why all these guards Waiting on you?
His majesty Tendering my person’s safety, hath appointed This conduct to convey me to the Tower.
His majesty Concerned for my safety, has ordered This escort to take me to the Tower.
Upon what cause?
What’s the reason?
Because my name is George.
Because my name is George.
Alack, my lord, that fault is none of yours; He should, for that, commit your godfathers: O, belike his majesty hath some intent That you shall be new-christen’d in the Tower. But what’s the matter, Clarence? may I know?
Oh, my lord, that’s not your fault; He should punish your godfathers for that: Oh, perhaps the king intends To have you re-baptized in the Tower. But what’s the matter, Clarence? May I know?
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 such like toys as these Have moved his highness to commit me now.
Yes, Richard, when I know; I swear I don’t yet know: but, as far as I can tell, He listens to prophecies and dreams; And from the alphabet pulls out the letter G. And says a wizard told him that by G His heirs would be disinherited; And since my name George begins with G, He thinks I am the one. These things, and other similar nonsense, Have led the king to imprison me now.
Why, this it is, when men are ruled by women: ’Tis not the king that sends you to the Tower: My Lady Grey his wife, Clarence, ’tis she That tempers him to this extremity. Was it not she and that good man of worship, Anthony Woodville, her brother there, That made him send Lord Hastings to the Tower, From whence this present day he is deliver’d? We are not safe, Clarence; we are not safe.
Ah, this is what happens when men are controlled by women: It’s not the king who sends you to the Tower, It’s Lady Grey, his wife, Clarence, it’s she Who has twisted his mind to this point. Wasn’t it she and that good man Anthony Woodville, Her brother, who made him send Lord Hastings to the Tower, From where, as of today, he has been freed? We are not safe, Clarence; we are not safe.
By heaven, I think there’s no man is secure But the queen’s kindred and night-walking heralds That trudge betwixt the king and Mistress Shore. Heard ye not what an humble suppliant Lord hastings was to her for his delivery?
By heaven, I think no man is safe Except the queen’s family and the night-walking heralds Who move between the king and Mistress Shore. Did you not hear how humbly Lord Hastings pleaded with her for his release?
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 dubb’d them gentlewomen. Are mighty gossips in this monarchy.
Humbly asking the goddess for help Got my lord chamberlain released. I’ll tell you what; I think this is the way, If we want to stay in favor with the king, To be her men and wear her uniform: The jealous, worn-out widow and herself, Ever since our brother made them ladies. Are powerful gossipers in this kingdom.
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 his brother.
I beg your graces to forgive me; His majesty has strictly ordered That no one is allowed to speak privately, No matter what their rank, with his brother.
Even so; an’t please your worship, Brakenbury, You may partake of any thing 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 kindred are made gentle-folks: How say you sir? Can you deny all this?
Exactly; if it pleases you, Brakenbury, You can join in anything we say: We’re not speaking treason, man: we’re saying the king Is wise and virtuous, and his noble queen Is old, fair, and not jealous; We say that Shore’s wife has a pretty foot, A cherry-red lip, a beautiful eye, a lovely tongue; And that the queen’s family has been made noble: What do you say, sir? Can you deny any of this?
With this, my lord, myself have nought to do.
I have nothing to do with this, my lord.
Naught to do with mistress Shore! I tell thee, fellow, He that doth naught with her, excepting one, Were best he do it secretly, alone.
Nothing to do with Mistress Shore! I tell you, fellow, Whoever does nothing with her, except one, Should do it quietly, alone.
What one, my lord?
Which one, my lord?
Her husband, knave: wouldst thou betray me?
Her husband, fool: would you betray me?
I beseech your grace to pardon me, and withal Forbear your conference with the noble duke.
I beg your grace to forgive me, and also Please stop talking with the noble duke.
We know thy charge, Brakenbury, and will obey.
We know your orders, Brakenbury, and we will follow them.
We are the queen’s abjects, and must obey. Brother, farewell: I will unto the king; And whatsoever 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 deeper than you can imagine.
We are the queen’s servants, and must obey. Brother, farewell: I’m going to the king; And whatever you ask me to do, Even if it’s to call King Edward’s widow sister, I’ll do it to set you free. In the meantime, this shame in our brotherhood Hurts me more than you can imagine.
I know it pleaseth neither of us well.
I know it doesn’t please either of us.
Well, your imprisonment shall not be long; Meantime, have patience.
Well, your imprisonment won’t last long; In the meantime, be patient.
I must perforce. Farewell.
I must endure it. Farewell.
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-deliver’d Hastings?
Go, walk the path that you’ll never return from. Simple, plain Clarence! I love you so much, That I’ll soon send your soul to heaven, If heaven will accept it from me. But who’s this? The newly-released Hastings?
Good time of day unto my gracious lord!
Good afternoon, my gracious lord!
As much unto my good lord chamberlain! Well are you welcome to the open air. How hath your lordship brook’d imprisonment?
Good afternoon, my good lord chamberlain! You’re very welcome to the fresh air. How has your lordship managed your imprisonment?
With patience, noble lord, as prisoners must: But I shall live, my lord, to give them thanks That were the cause of my imprisonment.
With patience, noble lord, as prisoners must: But I will live, my lord, to thank those Who were the cause of my imprisonment.
No doubt, no doubt; and so shall Clarence too; For they that were your enemies are his, And have prevail’d as much on him as you.
No doubt, no doubt; and Clarence will live too; Because those who were your enemies are his, And have succeeded in hurting him as much as you.
More pity that the eagle should be mew’d, While kites and buzzards prey at liberty.
It’s a shame that the eagle should be caged, While vultures and buzzards are free to hunt.
What news abroad?
What news from outside?
No news so bad abroad as this at home; The King is sickly, weak and melancholy, And his physicians fear him mightily.
There’s no bad news abroad as bad as this at home; The King is ill, weak, and depressed, And his doctors are very worried about him.
Now, by Saint Paul, this 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. What, is he in his bed?
By Saint Paul, this is indeed bad news. Oh, he’s been on a bad diet for too long, And he’s overworked his royal body: It’s truly painful to think about. What, is he in bed?
He is.
Yes, he is.
Go you before, and I will follow you.
You go ahead, and I’ll follow you.
He cannot live, I hope; and must not die Till George be pack’d with post-horse up to heaven. I’ll in, to urge his hatred more to Clarence, With lies well steel’d with weighty arguments; And, if I fall 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 kill’d 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.
He can’t live, I hope; and must not die Until George is sent up to heaven by horseback. I’ll go in and stir up his hatred more against Clarence, With lies well-supported by strong arguments; And, if I don’t succeed in my plan, Clarence won’t live to see another day: Once that’s done, may God have mercy on King Edward, And leave the world for me to fight in! Then I’ll marry Warwick’s youngest daughter. What if I killed her husband and her father? The quickest way to make it up to her Is to become her husband and father: Which I’ll do; not so much out of love But for another secret, hidden reason, By marrying her, which I need to achieve. But I’m getting ahead of myself: Clarence is still alive; Edward still rules: When they’re gone, then I’ll count my rewards.