DUCHESS OF YORK, mother to King Edward IV., Clarence, and Gloucester
QUEEN MARGARET, widow to King Henry VI.
DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM
LORD HASTINGS, the Lord Chamberlain
LORD STANLEY, the Earl of Derby
EARL RIVERS, brother to Queen Elizabeth
LORD GREY, son of Queen Elizabeth by her former marriage
MARQUESS OF DORSET, son of Queen Elizabeth by her former marriage
SIR THOMAS VAUGHAN
SIR WILLIAM CATESBY
SIR RICHARD RATCLIFFE
LORD LOVELL
DUKE OF NORFOLK
EARL OF SURREY
HENRY, EARL OF RICHMOND, afterwards KING HENRY VII.
EARL OF OXFORD
SIR JAMES BLUNT
SIR WALTER HERBERT
SIR WILLIAM BRANDON
CHRISTOPHER URSWICK, a priest
THOMAS ROTHERHAM, ARCHBISHOP OF YORK
CARDINAL BOURCHIER, ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY
John Morton, BISHOP OF ELY
SIR ROBERT BRAKENBURY, Lieutenant of the Tower
SIR JAMES TYRREL
Another Priest
LORD MAYOR OF LONDON
SHERIFF OF WILTSHIRE
Lords, and other Attendants; two Gentlemen, a Pursuivant, Scrivener, Citizens, Murderers, Messengers, Ghosts, Soldiers, &c.
SCENE: England
ACT I
SCENE I. 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.