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ANNE battle blood brother BUCK Buckingham CATE Catesby CLAR Clarence CLIF Clifford cousin crown curse daughter dead death Dorset doth DUCH Duke of Gloucester Duke of York Earl Earl of Richmond Earl of Warwick ELIZ England Enter KING Exeunt Exit eyes father fear fight Folios read France friends gentle GLOU Gloucester grace GREY hand hath hear heart heaven Henry VI Henry's Holinshed honour house of Lancaster house of York infra King Edward King Henry Lady live Lord Hastings madam Marlowe Montague mother MURD murder noble Norfolk old plays pity Plantagenet PRINCE Quartos Queen Margaret Ratcliff revenge RICH Richard Richmond SCENE Shakespeare shalt slain soldiers Somerset soul sovereign speak supra sweet tears tell thee thine thou art thou hast Tower True Tragedie uncle unto Warwick William Brandon words
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.