Выбери любимый жанр

Вы читаете книгу

Беспокойное бессмертие: 450 лет со дня рождения Уильяма Шекспира

Казавчинская Тамара Яковлевна

Выбрать книгу по жанру

Фантастика и фэнтези

Детективы и триллеры

Проза

Любовные романы

Приключения

Детские

Поэзия и драматургия

Старинная литература

Научно-образовательная

Компьютеры и интернет

Справочная литература

Документальная литература

Религия и духовность

Юмор

Дом и семья

Деловая литература

Жанр не определен

Разное

Техника

Автомобили и ПДД

Прочее

Драматургия

Фольклор

Военное дело

Последние комментарии

оксана2018-11-27

Вообще, я больше люблю новинки литератур

К книге

Professor2018-11-27

Очень понравилась книга. Рекомендую!

К книге

Vera.Li2016-02-21

Миленько и простенько, без всяких интриг

К книге

ст.ст.2018-05-15

И что это было?

К книге

Наталья222018-11-27

Сюжет захватывающий. Все-таки читать кни

К книге

Беспокойное бессмертие: 450 лет со дня рождения Уильяма Шекспира - Казавчинская Тамара Яковлевна - Страница 40

Изменить размер шрифта:

She looks scornfully at him.

Teach not thy lip such scorn, for it was made

For kissing, lady, not for such contempt.

If thy revengeful heart cannot forgive,

Lo, here I lend thee this sharp-pointed sword,

Which if thou please to hide in this true breast

And let the soul forth that adoreth thee,

I lay it naked to the deadly stroke

And humbly beg the death upon my knee.

He lays his breast open; she offers at with his sword.

Nay, do not pause, for I did kill King Henry,

But ’twas thy beauty that provokèd me.

Nay, now dispatch; ’twas I that stabbed young Edward,

But ’twas thy heavenly face that set me on.

She falls the sword.

Take up the sword again, or take up me.

Anne

Arise, dissembler; though I wish thy death,

I will not be the executioner.

Richard

Then bid me kill myself, and I will do it.

Anne

I have already.

Richard

That was in thy rage.

Speak it again, and even with the word,

That hand, which for thy love did kill thy love,

Shall for thy love kill a far truer love.

To both their deaths shalt thou be àccessary.

Anne

I would I knew thy heart.

Richard

ʼTis figured in my tongue.

Anne

I fear me both are false.

Richard

Then never man was true.

Anne

Well, well, put up your sword.

Richard

Say then my peace is made.

Anne

That shalt thou know hereafter.

Richard

But shall I live in hope?

Anne

All men, I hope, live so.

Richard

Vouchsafe to wear this ring.

Anne

To take is not to give.

Richard

Look, how this ring encompasseth thy finger.

Even so thy breast encloseth my poor heart.

Wear both of them, for both of them are thine.

And if thy poor devoted servant may

But beg one favour at thy gracious hand,

Thou dost confirm his happiness for ever.

Anne

What is it?

Richard

That it would please thee leave these sad designs

To him that hath more cause to be a mourner

And presently repair to Crosby House,

Where, after I have solemnly interred

At Chertsey monast’ry this noble king

And wet his grave with my repentant tears,

I will with all expedient duty see you.

For divers unknown reasons, I beseech you,

Grant me this boon.

Anne

With all my heart, and much it joys me, too,

To see you are become so penitent.

Tressel and Berkeley, go along with me.

Richard

Bid me farewell.

Anne

ʼTis more than you deserve;

But since you teach me how to flatter you,

Imagine I have said farewell already.

Exeunt two with Anne.

Richard

Sirs, take up the corpse.

Gentlemen

Towards Chertsey, noble lord?

Richard

No, to Whitefriars; there attend my coming.

Exeunt all but Richard with the corpse.

Was ever woman in this humour wooed?

Was ever woman in this humour won?

I’ll have her, but I will not keep her long.

What, I that killed her husband and his father,

To take her in her heart’s extremest hate,

With curses in her mouth, tears in her eyes,

The bleeding witness of my hatred by,

Having God, her conscience, and these bars against me,

And I no friends to back my suit withal

But the plain devil and dissembling looks,

And yet to win her, all the world to nothing!

Ha!

Hath she forgot already that brave prince,

Edward, her lord, whom I some three months since

Stabbed in my angry mood at Tewkesbury?

A sweeter and a lovelier gentleman,

Framed in the prodigality of nature,

Young, valiant, wise, and (no doubt) right royal,

The spacious world cannot again afford.

And will she yet abase her eyes on me,

That cropped the golden prime of this sweet prince

And made her widow to a woeful bed?

On me, whose all not equals Edward’s moiety?

On me, that halts and am misshapen thus?

My dukedom to a beggarly denier,

I do mistake my person all this while.

Upon my life, she finds (although I cannot)

Myself to be a marv’lous proper man.

I’ll be at charges for a looking-glass

And entertain a score or two of tailors

To study fashions to adorn my body.

Since I am crept in favour with myself,

I will maintain it with some little cost.

But first I’ll turn yon fellow in his grave

And then return lamenting to my love.

Shine out, fair sun, till I have bought a glass,

That I may see my shadow as I pass.

Exit.

Scene 3

Enter the queen Mother [Elizabeth], lord Rivers, and lord Grey [and the marquess of Dorset].

Rivers

Have patience, madam. There’s no doubt his majesty

Will soon recover his accustomed health.