Читать книгу Richard III - Уильям Шекспир, William Szekspir, the Simon Studio - Страница 2

  Anne. Set downe, set downe your honourable load,

If Honor may be shrowded in a Herse;

Whil'st I a-while obsequiously lament

Th' vntimely fall of Vertuous Lancaster.

Poore key-cold Figure of a holy King,

Pale Ashes of the House of Lancaster;

Thou bloodlesse Remnant of that Royall Blood,

Be it lawfull that I inuocate thy Ghost,

To heare the Lamentations of poore Anne,

Wife to thy Edward, to thy slaughtred Sonne,

Stab'd by the selfesame hand that made these wounds.

Loe, in these windowes that let forth thy life,

I powre the helplesse Balme of my poore 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 direfull hap betide that hated Wretch

That makes vs wretched by the death of thee,

Then I can wish to Wolues, to Spiders, Toades,

Or any creeping venom'd thing that liues.

If euer he haue Childe, Abortiue be it,

Prodigeous, and vntimely brought to light,

Whose vgly and vnnaturall Aspect

May fright the hopefull Mother at the view,

And that be Heyre to his vnhappinesse.

If euer he haue Wife, let her be made

More miserable by the death of him,

Then I am made by my young Lord, and thee.

Come now towards Chertsey with your holy Lode,

Taken from Paules, to be interred there.

And still as you are weary of this waight,

Rest you, whiles I lament King Henries Coarse.

Rich. Stay you that beare the Coarse, & set it down

   An. What blacke Magitian coniures vp this Fiend,

To stop deuoted charitable deeds?

  Rich. Villaines set downe the Coarse, or by S[aint]. Paul,

Ile make a Coarse of him that disobeyes

Gen. My Lord stand backe, and let the Coffin passe

   Rich. Vnmanner'd Dogge,

Stand'st thou when I commaund:

Aduance thy Halbert higher then my brest,

Or by S[aint]. Paul Ile strike thee to my Foote,

And spurne vpon thee Begger for thy boldnesse

   Anne. What do you tremble? are you all affraid?

Alas, I blame you not, for you are Mortall,

And Mortall eyes cannot endure the Diuell.

Auant thou dreadfull minister of Hell;

Thou had'st but power ouer his Mortall body,

His Soule thou canst not haue: Therefore be gone

Rich. Sweet Saint, for Charity, be not so curst

   An. Foule Diuell,

For Gods sake hence, and trouble vs not,

For thou hast made the happy earth thy Hell:

Fill'd it with cursing cries, and deepe exclaimes:

If thou delight to view thy heynous deeds,

Behold this patterne of thy Butcheries.

Oh Gentlemen, see, see dead Henries wounds,

Open their congeal'd mouthes, and bleed afresh.

Blush, blush, thou lumpe of fowle Deformitie:

For 'tis thy presence that exhales this blood

From cold and empty Veines where no blood dwels.

Thy Deeds inhumane and vnnaturall,

Prouokes this Deluge most vnnaturall.

O God! which this Blood mad'st, reuenge his death:

O Earth! which this Blood drink'st, reuenge his death.

Either Heau'n with Lightning strike the murth'rer dead:

Or Earth gape open wide, and eate him quicke,

As thou dost swallow vp this good Kings blood,

Which his Hell-gouern'd arme hath butchered

   Rich. Lady, you know no Rules of Charity,

Which renders good for bad, Blessings for Curses

   An. Villaine, thou know'st nor law of God nor Man,

No Beast so fierce, but knowes some touch of pitty

Rich. But I know none, and therefore am no Beast

   An. O wonderfull, when diuels tell the truth!

  Rich. More wonderfull, when Angels are so angry:

Vouchsafe (diuine perfection of a Woman)

Of these supposed Crimes, to giue me leaue

By circumstance, but to acquit my selfe

   An. Vouchsafe (defus'd infection of man)

Of these knowne euils, but to giue me leaue

By circumstance, to curse thy cursed Selfe

   Rich. Fairer then tongue can name thee, let me haue

Some patient leysure to excuse my selfe

   An. Fouler then heart can thinke thee,

Thou can'st make no excuse currant,

But to hang thy selfe

Rich. By such dispaire, I should accuse my selfe

   An. And by dispairing shalt thou stand excused,

For doing worthy Vengeance on thy selfe,

That did'st vnworthy slaughter vpon others

Rich. Say that I slew them not

   An. Then say they were not slaine:

But dead they are, and diuellish slaue by thee

Rich. I did not kill your Husband

An. Why then he is aliue

Rich. Nay, he is dead, and slaine by Edwards hands

   An. In thy foule throat thou Ly'st,

Queene Margaret saw

Thy murd'rous Faulchion smoaking in his blood:

The which, thou once didd'st bend against her brest,

But that thy Brothers beate aside the point

   Rich. I was prouoked by her sland'rous tongue,

That laid their guilt, vpon my guiltlesse Shoulders

   An. Thou was't prouoked by thy bloody minde,

That neuer dream'st on ought but Butcheries:

Did'st thou not kill this King?

  Rich. I graunt ye

   An. Do'st grant me Hedge-hogge,

Then God graunt me too

Thou may'st be damned for that wicked deede,

O he was gentle, milde, and vertuous

Rich. The better for the King of heauen that hath him

An. He is in heauen, where thou shalt neuer come

   Rich. Let him thanke me, that holpe to send him thither:

For he was fitter for that place then earth

An. And thou vnfit for any place, but hell

Rich. Yes one place else, if you will heare me name it

An. Some dungeon

Rich. Your Bed-chamber

An. Ill rest betide the chamber where thou lyest

Rich. So will it Madam, till I lye with you

An. I hope so

   Rich. I know so. But gentle Lady Anne,

To leaue this keene encounter of our wittes,

And fall something into a slower method.

Is not the causer of the timelesse deaths

Of these Plantagenets, Henrie and Edward,

As blamefull as the Executioner

An. Thou was't the cause, and most accurst effect

   Rich. Your beauty was the cause of that effect:

Your beauty, that did haunt me in my sleepe,

To vndertake the death of all the world,

So I might liue one houre in your sweet bosome

   An. If I thought that, I tell thee Homicide,

These Nailes should rent that beauty from my Cheekes

   Rich. These eyes could not endure y beauties wrack,

You should not blemish it, if I stood by;

As all the world is cheared by the Sunne,

So I by that: It is my day, my life

An. Blacke night ore-shade thy day, & death thy life

   Rich. Curse not thy selfe faire Creature,

Thou art both

An. I would I were, to be reueng'd on thee

   Rich. It is a quarrell most vnnaturall,

To be reueng'd on him that loueth thee

   An. It is a quarrell iust and reasonable,

To be reueng'd on him that kill'd my Husband

   Rich. He that bereft the Lady of thy Husband,

Did it to helpe thee to a better Husband

An. His better doth not breath vpon the earth

Rich. He liues, that loues thee better then he could

An. Name him

Rich. Plantagenet

An. Why that was he

Rich. The selfesame name, but one of better Nature

   An. Where is he?

  Rich. Heere:

Spits at him.

Why dost thou spit at me

An. Would it were mortall poyson, for thy sake

Rich. Neuer came poyson from so sweet a place

   An. Neuer hung poyson on a fowler Toade.

Out of my sight, thou dost infect mine eyes

Rich. Thine eyes (sweet Lady) haue infected mine

An. Would they were Basiliskes, to strike thee dead

   Rich. I would they were, that I might dye at once:

For now they kill me with a liuing death.

Those eyes of thine, from mine haue drawne salt Teares;

Sham'd their Aspects with store of childish drops:

These eyes, which neuer shed remorsefull teare,

No, when my Father Yorke, and Edward wept,

To heare the pittious moane that Rutland made

When black-fac'd Clifford shooke his sword at him.

Nor when thy warlike Father like a Childe,

Told the sad storie of my Fathers death,

And twenty times, made pause to sob and weepe:

That all the standers by had wet their cheekes

Like Trees bedash'd with raine. In that sad time,

My manly eyes did scorne an humble teare:

And what these sorrowes could not thence exhale,

Thy Beauty hath, and made them blinde with weeping.

I neuer sued to Friend, nor Enemy:

My Tongue could neuer learne sweet smoothing word.

But now thy Beauty is propos'd my Fee,

My proud heart sues, and prompts my tongue to speake.

She lookes scornfully at him.

Teach not thy lip such Scorne; for it was made

For kissing Lady, not for such contempt.

If thy reuengefull heart cannot forgiue,

Loe heere I lend thee this sharpe-pointed Sword,

Which if thou please to hide in this true brest,

And let the Soule forth that adoreth thee,

I lay it naked to the deadly stroke,

And humbly begge the death vpon my knee,

He layes his brest open, she offers at with his sword.

Nay do not pause: For I did kill King Henrie,

But 'twas thy Beauty that prouoked me.

Nay now dispatch: 'Twas I that stabb'd yong Edward,

But 'twas thy Heauenly face that set me on.

She fals the Sword.

Take vp the Sword againe, or take vp me

   An. Arise Dissembler, though I wish thy death,

I will not be thy Executioner

Rich. Then bid me kill my selfe, and I will do it

An. I haue already

   Rich. That was in thy rage:

Speake it againe, and euen with the word,

This hand, which for thy loue, did kill thy Loue,

Shall for thy loue, kill a farre truer Loue,

To both their deaths shalt thou be accessary

An. I would I knew thy heart

Rich. 'Tis figur'd in my tongue

An. I feare me, both are false

Rich. Then neuer Man was true

An. Well, well, put vp your Sword

Rich. Say then my Peace is made

An. That shalt thou know heereafter

Rich. But shall I liue in hope

   An. All men I hope liue so.

Vouchsafe to weare this Ring

   Rich. Looke how my Ring incompasseth thy Finger,

Euen so thy Brest incloseth my poore heart:

Weare both of them, for both of them are thine.

And if thy poore deuoted Seruant may

But beg one fauour at thy gracious hand,

Thou dost confirme his happinesse for euer

   An. What is it?

  Rich. That it may please you leaue these sad designes,

To him that hath most cause to be a Mourner,

And presently repayre to Crosbie House:

Where (after I haue solemnly interr'd

At Chertsey Monast'ry this Noble King,

And wet his Graue with my Repentant Teares)

I will with all expedient duty see you,

For diuers vnknowne Reasons, I beseech you,

Grant me this Boon

   An. With all my heart, and much it ioyes me too,

To see you are become so penitent.

Tressel and Barkley, go along with me

Rich. Bid me farwell

   An. 'Tis more then you deserue:

But since you teach me how to flatter you,

Imagine I haue saide farewell already.

  Gent. Towards Chertsey, Noble Lord?

  Rich. No: to White Friars, there attend my comming

Was euer woman in this humour woo'd?

Was euer woman in this humour wonne?

Ile haue her, but I will not keepe her long.

What? I that kill'd her Husband, and his Father,

To take her in her hearts extreamest hate,

With curses in her mouth, Teares in her eyes,

The bleeding witnesse of my hatred by,

Hauing God, her Conscience, and these bars against me,

And I, no Friends to backe my suite withall,

But the plaine Diuell, and dissembling lookes?

And yet to winne her? All the world to nothing.

Hah!

Hath she forgot alreadie that braue Prince,

Edward, her Lord, whom I (some three monthes since)

Stab'd in my angry mood, at Tewkesbury?

A sweeter, and a louelier Gentleman,

Fram'd in the prodigallity of Nature:

Yong, Valiant, Wise, and (no doubt) right Royal,

The spacious World cannot againe affoord:

And will she yet abase her eyes on me,

That cropt the Golden prime of this sweet Prince,

And made her Widdow to a wofull Bed?

On me, whose All not equals Edwards Moytie?

On me, that halts, and am mishapen thus?

My Dukedome, to a Beggerly denier!

I do mistake my person all this while:

Vpon my life she findes (although I cannot)

My selfe to be a maru'llous proper man.

Ile be at Charges for a Looking-glasse,

And entertaine a score or two of Taylors,

To study fashions to adorne my body:

Since I am crept in fauour with my selfe,

I will maintaine it with some little cost.

But first Ile turne yon Fellow in his Graue,

And then returne lamenting to my Loue.

Shine out faire Sunne, till I haue bought a glasse,

That I may see my Shadow as I passe.