Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Burton Raffel (1928–2015) was Distinguished Professor of Arts and Humanities emeritus and professor of English emeritus at the University of Louisiana at Lafayette. Among his many edited and translated publications are Poems and Prose from the Old English, Cligès, Lancelot, Perceval, Erec and Enide, and Yvain. Harold Bloom (1930–2019) was Sterling Professor of Humanities at Yale University and Berg Professor of English at New York University. His many books include The Western Canon, Shakespeare: The Invention of the Human, and Genius: A Mosaic of One Hundred Exemplary Creative Minds.

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Richard III

Yale University Press

Contents

About This Book................................................ixIntroduction...................................................xixSome Essentials of the Shakespearean Stage.....................xxxixRichard III....................................................1An Essay by Harold Bloom.......................................193Further Reading................................................201Finding List...................................................207

Chapter One

CHARACTERS (DRAMATIS PERSONAE)

King Edward IV Edward, Prince of Wales (the King's oldest son) Richard, Duke of York (the King's younger son) George, Duke of Clarence (the King's next oldest brother) Richard, Duke of Gloucester (the King's youngest brother, later King Richard III) Edward (Clarence's young son) Henry, Earl of Richmond (later King Henry VIII) Cardinal Bourchier (Archbishop of Canterbury) Thomas Rotherham (Archbishop of York) John Morton (Bishop of Ely) Duke of Buckingham Duke of Norfolk (Northumberland) Earl of Surrey (Norfolk's son) Earl Rivers (Queen Elizabeth's brother, Anthony Woodville) Marquis of Dorset (Queen Elizabeth's son by her prior marriage) Grey (Queen Elizabeth's son by her prior marriage) Earl of Oxford Stanley (Earl of Derby, Count of Richmond) Hastings (Lord Chamberlain) Sir Thomas Lovel Sir Thomas Vaughan Sir Richard Ratcliff Sir William Catesby Sir James Tyrrel Sir James Blount Sir Walter Herbert Sir Robert Brakenbury (in charge of the Tower) Sir William Brandon Lord Mayor of London Tressel, Berkeley (gentlemen attendants on Lady Anne) Sir Christopher Urswick (a priest) another priest Queen Elizabeth (Edward IV's wife) Queen Margaret (Henry VI's widow) Duchess of York (mother of Edward IV, Gloucester, and Clarence) Lady Anne (betrothed [pledged to be married] to Henry VI's son, Edward, Prince of Wales; later, Richard III's wife) Clarence's young daughter (also named Margaret) Ghosts of those murdered by Richard III Lords, attendants, bishops, priests, sheriff, jailer, murderers, scrivener, herald, page, citizens, messengers, soldiers, etc.

Act I

SCENE I

London, A street

enter Gloucester

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 bruisd 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 barbd 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 see 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. Dive, thoughts, down to my soul, here Clarence comes.

enter Clarence, guarded, and Sir Robert Brakenbury, Constable of the Tower of London

Brother, good day. What means this armd 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.

Gloucester Upon what cause?

Clarence Because my name is George.

Gloucester A lack, 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-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 such like toys as these Have moved his Highness to commit me now.

Gloucester 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 tempts 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 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 Mistress Shore. Heard ye not what an humble suppliant Lord Hastings was to her for his delivery?

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 favor 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.

Brakenbury 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 so ever) with your brother.

Gloucester Even so, and 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 gentlefolks. How say you sir? Can you deny all this?

Brakenbury With this (my lord) myself have nought to do.

Gloucester Naught to do with Mistress Shore? I tell thee, fellow, He that doth naught with her (excepting one) Were best to do it secretly, alone.

Brakenbury What one, my lord?

Gloucester Her husband, knave. Wouldst thou betray me?

Brakenbury I do beseech your Grace To pardon me, and withal forbear Your conference with the noble Duke.

Clarence We know thy charge, Brakenbury, and will obey.

Gloucester 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 Touches1 me deeper than you can imagine.

Clarence I know it pleaseth neither of us well.

Gloucester Well, your imprisonment shall not be long, I will deliver you or else lie for you. Meantime, have patience.

Clarence I must perforce. Farewell.

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 Hastings

Hastings Good time of day unto my gracious lord.

Gloucester As much unto my good Lord Chamberlain. Well are you welcome to the open air. How hath your lordship brooked imprisonment?

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.

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.

Hastings More pity that the eagles should be mewed While kites and buzzards prey at liberty.

Gloucester What news abroad?

Hastings No news so bad abroad as this at home. The King is sickly, weak, and melancholy, And his physicians fear him mightily.

Gloucester Now, by Saint John, 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?

Hastings He is.

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-horse 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.

SCENE 2

London, Another street

enter corse of King Henry VI with armed guards, Lady Anne being the mourner

Anne Set down, set down your honorable load, If honor may be shrouded in a hearse, Whilst I awhile obsequiously lament Th' untimely fall of virtuous Lancaster. 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 heart, that had the heart to do it! Cursed the blood, that let this blood from hence! More direful hap betide that hated wretch That makes us wretched by the death of thee, Than I can wish to adders, 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 As I am made by my poor lord and thee! (to corpse-bearers) Come now toward Chertsey with your holy load, Taken from Paul's to be interrd there. And still as you are weary of the weight, Rest you, whiles I lament King Henry's corse.

enter Gloucester

Gloucester Stay you that bear the corse, and set it down.

Anne What black magician conjures up this fiend, To stop devoted charitable deeds?

Gloucester Villains, set down the corse or by Saint Paul I'll make a corse of him that disobeys.

Gentleman My lord, stand back and let the coffin pass.

Gloucester Unmannered dog, stand'st thou, when I command! Advance thy halbert higher than my breast, Or by Saint Paul I'll strike thee to my foot And spurn upon thee, beggar, for thy boldness.

Anne 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.

Gloucester Sweet saint, for charity, be not so curst.

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 Open their congealed mouths and bleed afresh! Blush, blush, thou lump of foul deformity, For 'tis thy presence that exhales this blood From cold and empty veins, where no blood dwells. Thy deeds, inhuman and unnatural, Provokes this deluge most unnatural. O God, which this blood mad'st, revenge his death! O earth, which this blood drink'st, revenge his death! Either heaven with lightning strike the murderer 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 butcherd!

Gloucester Lady, you know no rules of charity, Which renders good for bad, blessings for curses.

Anne Villain, thou know'st no law of God nor man. No beast so fierce but knows some touch of pity.

Gloucester But I know none, and therefore am no beast.

Anne O wonderful, when devils tell the truth!

Gloucester More wonderful, when angels are so angry. Vouchsafe (divine perfection of a woman) Of these supposd crimes to give me leave, By circumstance, but to acquit myself.

Anne Vouchsafe, diffused infection of a man, Of these known evils but to give me leave, By circumstance, to curse thy cursd self.

Gloucester Fairer than tongue can name thee, let me have Some patient leisure to excuse myself.

Anne Fouler than heart can think thee, thou canst make No excuse current but to hang thyself.

Gloucester By such despair, I should accuse myself.

Anne And by despairing shouldst thou stand excused, For doing worthy vengeance on thyself, Which didst unworthy slaughter upon others.

Gloucester Say that I slew them not?

Anne Then say they were not slain. But dead they are, and - devilish slave - by thee. Gloucester I did not kill your husband.

Anne Why, then he is alive.

Gloucester Nay, he is dead, and slain by Edward's hands.

Anne In thy foul throat thou liest! Queen Margaret saw Thy murderous falchion smoking in his blood, The which thou once didst bend against her breast, But that thy brothers beat aside the point.

Gloucester I was provokd by her sland'rous tongue, Which laid their guilt upon my guiltless shoulders.

Anne Thou wast provokd by thy bloody mind, Which never dreamt on aught but butcheries. Didst thou not kill this king?

Gloucester I grant ye.

Anne Dost grant me, hedgehog? Then God grant me too Thou mayst be damnd for that wicked deed! O he was gentle, mild, and virtuous!

Gloucester The better for the King of Heaven, that hath him.

(Continues...)

Excerpted from Richard III Copyright © 2008 by Burton Raffel. Excerpted by permission.
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