Why, I can smile… And murder while I smile!
Now is the winter of our discontent made glorious summer by this sun of York.
Let us to’t pell-mell, if not to heaven, then hand in hand to hell.
A horse! A horse! My kingdom for a horse!
But in your daughter’s womb, I bury them: Where, in that nest of spicery, they will breed.
Simple, plain Clarence! I do love you so, that I shall shortly send your soul to heaven. If heaven will take the present from my hands.
Your beauty which did haunt me in my sleep could make me undertake the death of all the world.
Since I cannot prove a lover, I am determined to prove a villain – and hate the idle pleasures of these days.
I, that am not shaped for sportive tricks, nor made to court an amorous looking-glass. I, that am rudely stamped, 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 now, I’ll marry. What though I killed her husband and his father?
The world is grown so bad that wrens make prey where eagles dare not perch!
Who is it that complains unto the King that I, in truth, am stern and love them not? Because I cannot flatter and look fair smile in men’s faces, smooth, deceive and cog, I must be held a rancorous enemy. Cannot a plain man live and think no harm?
Teach not your lip such scorn, for it was made for kissing, lady, not for such contempt.
Let’s leave this keen encounter of our wits. Your beauty, which did haunt me in my sleep, could make me undertake the death of all the world – so I might live one hour in your sweet bosom.
We have many goodly days to see. The liquid drops of tears that you have shed, shall come again, transformed to orient pearl.
If! Thou protector of this damned strumpet, talk’st thou to me of if? Thou art a traitor! Off with his head. By St Paul I shall not dine until I see the same. Those who love me stand and follow me!
I must be married now, to young Elizabeth, or else my kingdom stands on brittle glass.
Relenting fool and shallow, changing woman!
I did but dream. Oh, coward conscience. What do I fear? There’s none else by. Richard loves Richard. That is, I am I. Is there a murderer here? No. Yes… I am. I love myself. But why? For any good that I myself have done unto myself? Oh, no. Alack, I rather hate myself… For hateful deeds committed by myself. I am a villain. But I lie. I am not. Fool, of thyself speak well. Fool, do not flatter. My conscience has a thousand, several tongues thronged to the bar, crying all, “Guilty! Guilty!” I shall despair. There is no creature loves me, and if I die, no soul will pity me.
Let’s do it pell-mell. If not to heaven, then hand in hand to hell.
This it is when men are ruled by women.
Your eyes drop millstones when fools’ eyes fall tears.
Let me put in your mind, if you forget what you have been before and what you are; indeed what I have been and what I am.
When these troops of mine have chastised the petty rebel Richmond and dull-brained Buckingham, bound with triumphant garlands will I come and lead your daughter to a conqueror’s bed.
Remember whom you are to cope with – all a sort of vagabonds, rascals and runaways. And who does lead ’em but a paltry fellow, a milksop? If we be conquered, let men conquer us. Let’s whip these stragglers over the seas again! Shall these enjoy our lambs? Lie with our wives? Ravish our daughters?
Be sudden in the execution. For Clarence is well spoken and perhaps may move your hearts to pity.
