Richard III

of day! King Edward

Happy, indeed, as we have spent the day.
Brother, we have done deeds of charity;
Made peace of enmity, fair love of hate,
Between these swelling wrong-incensed peers.

Gloucester

A blessed labour, my most sovereign liege:
Amongst this princely heap, if any here,
By false intelligence, or wrong surmise,
Hold me a foe;
If I unwittingly, or in my rage,
Have aught committed that is hardly borne
By any in this presence, I desire
To reconcile me to his friendly peace:
’Tis death to me to be at enmity;
I hate it, and desire all good men’s love.
First, madam, I entreat true peace of you,
Which I will purchase with my duteous service;
Of you, my noble cousin Buckingham,
If ever any grudge were lodged between us;
Of you, Lord Rivers, and, Lord Grey, of you;
That all without desert have frown’d on me;
Dukes, earls, lords, gentlemen; indeed, of all.
I do not know that Englishman alive
With whom my soul is any jot at odds
More than the infant that is born to-night:
I thank my God for my humility.

Queen Elizabeth

A holy day shall this be kept hereafter:
I would to God all strifes were well compounded.
My sovereign liege, I do beseech your majesty
To take our brother Clarence to your grace.

Gloucester

Why, madam, have I offer’d love for this,
To be so flouted in this royal presence?
Who knows not that the noble duke is dead? They all start.
You do him injury to scorn his corse.

Rivers Who knows not he is dead! who knows he is? Queen Elizabeth All-seeing heaven, what a world is this! Buckingham Look I so pale, Lord Dorset, as the rest? Dorset

Ay, my good lord; and no one in this presence
But his red colour hath forsook his cheeks.

King Edward Is Clarence dead? the order was reversed. Gloucester

But he, poor soul, by your first order died,
And that a winged Mercury did bear;
Some tardy cripple bore the countermand,
That came too lag to see him buried.
God grant that some, less noble and less loyal,
Nearer in bloody thoughts, but not in blood,
Deserve not worse than wretched Clarence did,
And yet go current from suspicion!

Enter Derby. Derby A boon, my sovereign, for my service done! King Edward I pray thee, peace: my soul is full of sorrow. Derby I will not rise, unless your highness grant. King Edward Then speak at once what is it thou demand’st. Derby

The forfeit, sovereign, of my servant’s life;
Who slew to-day a righteous gentleman
Lately attendant on the Duke of Norfolk.

King Edward

Have I a tongue to doom my brother’s death,
And shall the same give pardon to a slave?
My brother slew no man; his fault was thought,
And yet his punishment was cruel death.
Who sued to me for him? who, in my rage,
Kneel’d at my feet, and bade me be advised?
Who spake of brotherhood? who spake of love?
Who told me how the poor soul did forsake
The mighty Warwick, and did fight for me?
Who told me, in the field by Tewksbury,
When Oxford had me down, he rescued me,
And said, “Dear brother, live, and be a king”?
Who told me, when we both lay in the field
Frozen almost to death, how he did lap me
Even in his own garments, and gave himself,
All thin and naked, to the numb cold night?
All this from my remembrance brutish wrath
Sinfully pluck’d, and not a man of you
Had so much grace to put it in my mind.
But when your carters or your waiting-vassals
Have done a drunken slaughter, and defaced
The precious image of our dear Redeemer,
You straight are on your knees for pardon, pardon;
And I, unjustly too, must grant it you:
But for my brother not a man would speak,
Nor I, ungracious, speak unto myself
For him, poor soul. The proudest of you all
Have been beholding to him in his life;
Yet none of you would once plead for his life.
O God, I fear thy justice will take hold
On me, and you, and mine, and yours for this!
Come, Hastings, help me to my closet. Oh, poor Clarence! Exeunt some with King and Queen.

Gloucester

This is the fruit of rashness! Mark’d you not
How that the guilty kindred of the queen
Look’d pale when they did hear of Clarence’ death?
O, they did urge it still unto the king!
God will revenge it. But come, let us in,
To comfort Edward with our company.

Buckingham We wait upon your grace. Exeunt.

Scene II

The palace.

	Enter the Duchess of York, with the two children of Clarence.
Boy	Tell me, good grandam, is our father dead?
Duchess	No, boy.
Boy	Why do you wring your hands, and beat your breast, And cry “O Clarence, my unhappy son!”
Girl	Why do you look on us, and shake your head, And call us wretches, orphans, castaways, If that our noble father be alive?
Duchess	My pretty cousins, you mistake me much; I do lament the sickness of the king, As loath to lose him, not your father’s death; It were lost sorrow to wail one that’s lost.
Boy	Then, grandam, you conclude that he is dead. The king my uncle is to blame for this: God will revenge it; whom I will importune With daily prayers all to that effect.
Girl	And so will I.
Duchess	Peace, children, peace! the king doth love you well: Incapable and shallow innocents, You cannot guess who caused your father’s death.
Boy	Grandam, we can; for my good uncle Gloucester Told me, the king, provoked by the queen, Devised impeachments to imprison him: And when my uncle told me so, he wept, And hugg’d me in his arm, and kindly kiss’d my cheek; Bade me rely on him as on my father, And he would love me dearly as his child.
Duchess	Oh, that deceit should steal such gentle shapes, And with a virtuous vizard hide foul guile! He is my son; yea, and therein my shame; Yet from my dugs he drew not this deceit.
Boy	Think you my uncle did dissemble, grandam?
Duchess	Ay, boy.
Boy	I cannot think it. Hark! what noise is this?
	Enter Queen Elizabeth, with her hair about her ears; Rivers, and Dorset after her.
Queen Elizabeth	Oh, who shall hinder me to wail and weep, To chide my fortune, and torment myself? I’ll join with black despair against my