Tinct · Library · Richard III
Free online book

Richard III

by William Shakespeare

Now is the winter of our discontent. The hunchbacked Duke of Gloucester schemes, seduces, and murders his way to the throne of England, only to lose it at Bosworth Field — "A horse! A horse! My kingdom for a horse!" The young Shakespeare's breakthrough in tragic villainy.

Start reading in Tinct →
Chapters
  1. Chapter 1Act 1, Scene 1 — London. A street
  2. Chapter 2Act 1, Scene 2 — London. Another street
  3. Chapter 3Act 1, Scene 3 — London. A Room in the Palace
  4. Chapter 4Act 1, Scene 4 — London. A Room in the Tower
  5. Chapter 5Act 2, Scene 1 — London. A Room in the palace
  6. Chapter 6Act 2, Scene 2 — Another Room in the palace
  7. Chapter 7Act 2, Scene 3 — London. A street
  8. Chapter 8Act 2, Scene 4 — London. A Room in the Palace
  9. Chapter 9Act 3, Scene 1 — London. A street
  10. Chapter 10Act 3, Scene 2 — Before Lord Hastings’ house
  11. Chapter 11Act 3, Scene 3 — Pomfret. Before the Castle
  12. Chapter 12Act 3, Scene 4 — London. A Room in the Tower
  13. Chapter 13Act 3, Scene 5 — London. The Tower Walls
  14. Chapter 14Act 3, Scene 6 — London. A street
  15. Chapter 15Act 3, Scene 7 — London. Court of Baynard’s Castle
  16. Chapter 16Act 4, Scene 1 — London. Before the Tower
  17. Chapter 17Act 4, Scene 2 — London. A Room of State in the Palace
  18. Chapter 18Act 4, Scene 3 — London. Another Room in the Palace
  19. Chapter 19Act 4, Scene 4 — London. Before the Palace
  20. Chapter 20Act 4, Scene 5 — A Room in Lord Stanley’s house
  21. Chapter 21Act 5, Scene 1 — Salisbury. An open place
  22. Chapter 22Act 5, Scene 2 — Plain near Tamworth
  23. Chapter 23Act 5, Scene 3 — Bosworth Field
  24. Chapter 24Act 5, Scene 4 — Another part of the Field
  25. Chapter 25Act 5, Scene 5 — Another part of the Field

Act 1, Scene 1 — London. A street

Enter Richard, Duke of Gloucester, alone.

RICHARD. 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. Dive, thoughts, down to my soul. Here Clarence comes.

Enter Clarence, guarded and Brakenbury.

Brother, good day. What means this armed 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. Upon what cause?

CLARENCE. Because my name is George.

RICHARD. 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 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 such like toys as these, Hath moved his Highness to commit me now.

RICHARD. 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, Antony 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 you not what an humble suppliant Lord Hastings was to her for his delivery?

RICHARD. 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’er-worn widow and herself, Since that our brother dubbed them gentlewomen, Are...