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GLOUCESTER
Now is the winter of our
discontent
Made glorious summer by this
sun of York;
And all the clouds that lower'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 chang'd to
merry meetings,
Our dreadful marches to
delightful measures.
Grim-visag'd war hath smooth'd
his wrinkled front;
And now, instead of mounting
barbed steeds 10
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,
Deform'd, unfinish'd, sent
before my time 20
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 30
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. 40
Dive, thoughts, down to my
soul: -- here
Clarence
comes.
...
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