Chapter 1

Executive Director's Notes:

In addition to the notes below, and so you will *NOT* think all the spelling errors introduced by the printers of the time have been corrected, here are the first few lines of Hamlet, as they are presented herein:

Barnardo. Who's there? Fran. Nay answer me: Stand & vnfold your selfe

Bar. Long liue the King

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As I understand it, the printers often ran out of certain words or letters they had often packed into a "cliche". . .this is the original meaning of the term cliche. . .and thus, being unwilling to unpack the cliches, and thus you will see some substitutions that look very odd. . .such as the exchanges of u for v, v for u, above. . .and you may wonder why they did it this way, presuming Shakespeare did not actually write the play in this manner. . . .

The answer is that they MAY have packed "liue" into a cliche at a time when they were out of "v"'s. . .possibly having used "vv" in place of some "w"'s, etc. This was a common practice of the day, as print was still quite expensive, and they didn't want to spend more on a wider selection of characters than they had to.

You will find a lot of these kinds of "errors" in this text, as I have mentioned in other times and places, many "scholars" have an extreme attachment to these errors, and many have accorded them a very high place in the "canon" of Shakespeare. My father read an assortment of these made available to him by Cambridge University in England for several months in a glass room constructed for the purpose. To the best of my knowledge he read ALL those available . . .in great detail. . .and determined from the various changes, that Shakespeare most likely did not write in nearly as many of a variety of errors we credit him for, even though he was in/famous for signing his name with several different spellings.

So, please take this into account when reading the comments below made by our volunteer who prepared this file: you may see errors that are "not" errors. . . .

So. . .with this caveat. . .we have NOT changed the canon errors, here is the Project Gutenberg Etext of Shakespeare's The first Part of Henry the Sixt.

Michael S. Hart Project Gutenberg Executive Director

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Scanner's Notes:

What this is and isn't. This was taken from a copy of Shakespeare's first folio and it is as close as I can come in ASCII to the printed text.

The elongated S's have been changed to small s's and the conjoined ae have been changed to ae. I have left the spelling, punctuation, capitalization as close as possible to the printed text. I have corrected some spelling mistakes (I have put together a spelling dictionary devised from the spellings of the Geneva Bible and Shakespeare's First Folio and have unified spellings according to this template), typo's and expanded abbreviations as I have come across them. Everything within brackets [] is what I have added. So if you don't like that you can delete everything within the brackets if you want a purer Shakespeare.

Another thing that you should be aware of is that there are textual differences between various copies of the first folio. So there may be differences (other than what I have mentioned above) between this and other first folio editions. This is due to the printer's habit of setting the type and running off a number of copies and then proofing the printed copy and correcting the type and then continuing the printing run. The proof run wasn't thrown away but incorporated into the printed copies. This is just the way it is. The text I have used was a composite of more than 30 different First Folio editions' best pages.

David Reed

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The Tragedie of Richard the Third

with the Landing of Earle Richmond, and the Battell at Bosworth Field

Actus Primus. Scoena Prima.

Enter Richard Duke of Gloster, solus.

Now is the Winter of our Discontent, Made glorious Summer by this Son of Yorke: And all the clouds that lowr'd vpon our house In the deepe bosome of the Ocean buried. Now are our browes bound with Victorious Wreathes, Our bruised armes hung vp for Monuments; Our sterne Alarums chang'd to merry Meetings; Our dreadfull Marches, to delightfull Measures. Grim-visag'd Warre, hath smooth'd his wrinkled Front: And now, in stead of mounting Barbed Steeds, To fright the Soules of fearfull Aduersaries, He capers nimbly in a Ladies Chamber, To the lasciuious pleasing of a Lute. But I, that am not shap'd for sportiue trickes, Nor made to court an amorous Looking-glasse: I, that am Rudely stampt, and want loues Maiesty, To strut before a wonton ambling Nymph: I, that am curtail'd of this faire Proportion, Cheated of Feature by dissembling Nature, Deform'd, vn-finish'd, sent before my time Into this breathing World, scarse halfe made vp, And that so lamely and vnfashionable, That dogges barke at me, as I halt by them. Why I (in this weake piping time of Peace) Haue no delight to passe away the time, Vnlesse to see my Shadow in the Sunne, And descant on mine owne Deformity. And therefore, since I cannot proue a Louer, To entertaine these faire well spoken dayes, I am determined to proue a Villaine, And hate the idle pleasures of these dayes. Plots haue I laide, Inductions dangerous, By drunken Prophesies, Libels, and Dreames, To set my Brother Clarence and the King In deadly hate, the one against the other: And if King Edward be as true and iust, As I am Subtle, False, and Treacherous, This day should Clarence closely be mew'd vp: About a Prophesie, which sayes that G, Of Edwards heyres the murtherer shall be. Diue thoughts downe to my soule, here Clarence comes. Enter Clarence, and Brakenbury, guarded.

Brother, good day: What meanes this armed guard That waites vpon your Grace? Cla. His Maiesty tendring my persons safety, Hath appointed this Conduct, to conuey me to th' Tower Rich. Vpon what cause? Cla. Because my name is George

Rich. Alacke my Lord, that fault is none of yours: He should for that commit your Godfathers. O belike, his Maiesty hath some intent, That you should be new Christned in the Tower, But what's the matter Clarence, may I know? Cla. Yea Richard, when I know: but I protest As yet I do not: But as I can learne, He hearkens after Prophesies and Dreames, And from the Crosse-row pluckes the letter G: And sayes, a Wizard told him, that by G, His issue disinherited should be. And for my name of George begins with G, It followes in his thought, that I am he. These (as I learne) and such like toyes as these, Hath moou'd his Highnesse to commit me now

Rich. Why this it is, when men are rul'd by Women: 'Tis not the King that sends you to the Tower, My Lady Grey his Wife, Clarence 'tis shee, That tempts him to this harsh Extremity. Was it not shee, and that good man of Worship, Anthony Woodeuile her Brother there, That made him send Lord Hastings to the Tower? From whence this present day he is deliuered? We are not safe Clarence, we are not safe

Cla. By heauen, I thinke there is no man secure But the Queenes Kindred, and night-walking Heralds, That trudge betwixt the King, and Mistris Shore. Heard you not what an humble Suppliant Lord Hastings was, for her deliuery? Rich. Humbly complaining to her Deitie, Got my Lord Chamberlaine his libertie. Ile tell you what, I thinke it is our way, If we will keepe in fauour with the King, To be her men, and weare her Liuery. The iealous ore-worne Widdow, and her selfe, Since that our Brother dub'd them Gentlewomen, Are mighty Gossips in our Monarchy

Bra. I beseech your Graces both to pardon me, His Maiesty hath straightly giuen in charge, That no man shall haue priuate Conference (Of what degree soeuer) with your Brother

Rich. Euen so, and please your Worship Brakenbury, You may partake of any thing we say: We speake no Treason man; We say the King Is wise and vertuous, and his Noble Queene Well strooke in yeares, faire, and not iealious. We say, that Shores Wife hath a pretty Foot, A cherry Lip, a bonny Eye, a passing pleasing tongue: And that the Queenes Kindred are made gentle Folkes. How say you sir? can you deny all this? Bra. With this (my Lord) my selfe haue nought to doo

Rich. Naught to do with Mistris Shore? I tell thee Fellow, he that doth naught with her (Excepting one) were best to do it secretly alone

Bra. What one, my Lord? Rich. Her Husband Knaue, would'st thou betray me? Bra. I do beseech your Grace To pardon me, and withall forbeare Your Conference with the Noble Duke

Cla. We know thy charge Brakenbury, and wil obey

Rich. We are the Queenes abiects, and must obey. Brother farewell, I will vnto the King, And whatsoe're you will imploy me in, Were it to call King Edwards Widdow, Sister, I will performe it to infranchise you. Meane time, this deepe disgrace in Brotherhood, Touches me deeper then you can imagine

Cla. I know it pleaseth neither of vs well

Rich. Well, your imprisonment shall not be long, I will deliuer you, or else lye for you: Meane time, haue patience

Cla. I must perforce: Farewell.

Exit Clar[ence].

Rich. Go treade the path that thou shalt ne're return: Simple plaine Clarence, I do loue thee so, That I will shortly send thy Soule to Heauen, If Heauen will take the present at our hands. But who comes heere? the new deliuered Hastings? Enter Lord Hastings.

Hast. Good time of day vnto my gracious Lord

Rich. As much vnto my good Lord Chamberlaine: Well are you welcome to this open Ayre, How hath your Lordship brook'd imprisonment? Hast. With patience (Noble Lord) as prisoners must: But I shall liue (my Lord) to giue them thankes That were the cause of my imprisonment

Rich. No doubt, no doubt, and so shall Clarence too, For they that were your Enemies, are his, And haue preuail'd as much on him, as you, Hast. More pitty, that the Eagles should be mew'd, Whiles Kites and Buzards play at liberty

Rich. What newes abroad? Hast. No newes so bad abroad, as this at home: The King is sickly, weake, and melancholly, And his Physitians feare him mightily

Rich. Now by S[aint]. Iohn, that Newes is bad indeed. O he hath kept an euill Diet long, And ouer-much consum'd his Royall Person: 'Tis very greeuous to be thought vpon. Where is he, in his bed? Hast. He is

Rich. Go you before, and I will follow you.

Exit Hastings.

He cannot liue I hope, and must not dye, Till George be pack'd with post-horse vp to Heauen. Ile in to vrge his hatred more to Clarence, With Lyes well steel'd with weighty Arguments, And if I faile not in my deepe intent, Clarence hath not another day to liue: Which done, God take King Edward to his mercy, And leaue the world for me to bussle in. For then, Ile marry Warwickes yongest daughter. What though I kill'd her Husband, and her Father, The readiest way to make the Wench amends, Is to become her Husband, and her Father: The which will I, not all so much for loue, As for another secret close intent, By marrying her, which I must reach vnto. But yet I run before my horse to Market: Clarence still breathes, Edward still liues and raignes, When they are gone, then must I count my gaines.

Exit

Scena Secunda.

Enter the Coarse of Henrie the sixt with Halberds to guard it, Lady Anne being the Mourner.

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. Enter Richard Duke of Gloster.

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.

Exit two with Anne.

Gent. Towards Chertsey, Noble Lord? Rich. No: to White Friars, there attend my comming

Exit Coarse

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. Enter.

Scena Tertia.

Enter the Queene Mother, Lord Riuers, and Lord Gray.

Riu. Haue patience Madam, ther's no doubt his Maiesty Will soone recouer his accustom'd health

Gray. In that you brooke it ill, it makes him worse, Therefore for Gods sake entertaine good comfort, And cheere his Grace with quicke and merry eyes Qu. If he were dead, what would betide on me? If he were dead, what would betide on me? Gray. No other harme, but losse of such a Lord

Qu. The losse of such a Lord, includes all harmes

Gray. The Heauens haue blest you with a goodly Son, To be your Comforter, when he is gone

Qu. Ah! he is yong; and his minority Is put vnto the trust of Richard Glouster, A man that loues not me, nor none of you