richard3.txt

Now is the winter of our discontent
Made glorious summer by this sun of York
And all the clouds that lour'd 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 smooth'd his wrinkled front
And now instead of mounting barded 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 stamp'd and want love's majesty
To strut before a wanton ambling nymph
I that am curtail'd of this fair proportion
Cheated of feature by dissembling nature
Deformed unfinish'd 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 mew'd 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