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ANNE arms battle bear better blood brother BUCK Buckingham Catesby CLAR Clarence Clifford comes Contention crown curse daughter dead death doth doubt Duch Duke Earl Edward Eliz Enter Exeunt Exit eyes fair father fear fight Folios follow France friends gentle give Glou Gloucester grace gracious GREY hand Hast hath head hear heart heaven Henry Holinshed hope hour infra keep king Lady leave live London look lord Margaret Marlowe means mind mother MURD murder never noble once peace plays poor PRINCE Quartos queen rest Rich Richard Richmond SCENE Second Shakespeare soldiers soul speak stand stay supra sweet tears tell thee thine Third thou thought Tower True Tragedie unto Warwick wife York young
Page 140 - And so I was, which plainly signified That I should snarl, and bite, and play the dog. Then, since the heavens have shap'd my body so, Let hell make crook'd my mind to answer it. I have no brother, I am like no brother; And this word 'love,' which greybeards call divine, Be resident in men like one another, And not in me!
Page 166 - What do I fear ? myself ? there's none else by : Richard loves Richard ; that is, I am I. Is there a murderer here ? No ; — yes ; I am : Then fly, — What, from myself? Great reason : why ? Lest I revenge. What! Myself upon myself? Alack ! I love myself. Wherefore ? for any good, That I myself have done unto myself? 0 ! no : alas ! I rather hate myself, For hateful deeds committed by myself.
Page 53 - O God! methinks it were a happy life, To be no better than a homely swain; To sit upon a hill, as I do now, To carve out dials quaintly, point by point...
Page 91 - My Lord of Ely, when I was last in Holborn, I saw good strawberries in your garden there : I do beseech you send for some of them.
Page 166 - My conscience hath a thousand several tongues, And every tongue brings in a several tale, And every tale condemns me for a villain.
Page 54 - To kings, that fear their subjects' treachery? O, yes it doth ; a thousand-fold it doth. And to conclude, — the shepherd's homely curds, His cold thin drink out of his leather bottle, His wonted sleep under a fresh tree's shade, All which secure and sweetly he enjoys, Is far beyond a prince's delicates, His viands sparkling in a golden cup, His body couched in a curious bed, When care, mistrust, and treason wait on him.
Page 4 - 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 To fright the souls of fearful adversaries, He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber, To the lascivious pleasing of a lute.