Беспокойное бессмертие: 450 лет со дня рождения Уильяма Шекспира

Let him thank me, that holp to send him thither,
For he was fitter for that place than earth.

Anne

And thou unfit for any place but hell.

Richard

Yes, one place else, if you will hear me name it.

Anne

Some dungeon.

Richard

Your bedchamber.

Anne

Ill rest betide the chamber where thou liest.

Richard

So will it, madam, till I lie with you.

Anne

I hope so.

Richard

I know so. But gentle Lady Anne,
To leave this keen encounter of our wits
And fall something into a slower method,
Is not the causer of the timeless deaths
Of these Plantagenets, Henry and Edward,
As blameful as the executioner?

Anne

Thou wast the cause and most accursed effect.

Richard

Your beauty was the cause of that effect:
Your beauty, that did haunt me in my sleep
To undertake the death of all the world,
So I might live one hour in your sweet bosom.

Anne

If I thought that, I tell thee, homicide,
These nails should rend that beauty from my cheeks.

Richard

These eyes could never endure sweet beauty’s wreck.
You should not blemish it if I stood by.
As all the world is cheered by the sun,
So I by that. It is my day, my life.

Anne

Black night o’ershade thy day, and death thy life.

Richard

Curse not thyself, fair creature; thou art both.

Anne

I would I were, to be revenged on thee.

Richard

It is a quarrel most unnatural
To be revenged on him that loveth you.

Anne

It is a quarrel just and reasonable
To be revenged on him that killed my husband.

Richard

He that bereft thee, lady, of thy husband
Did it to help thee to a better husband.

Anne

His better doth not breathe upon the earth.

Richard

He lives that loves thee better than he could.

Anne

Name him.

Richard

                                        Plantagenet.

Anne

                                    Why, that was he.

Richard

The selfsame name, but one of better nature.

Anne

Where is he?

Richard

                                   Here.

^{[She] spits at him.}

                                 Why dost thou spit at me?

Anne

Would it were mortal poison for thy sake.

Richard

Never came poison from so sweet a place.

Anne

Never hung poison on a fouler toad.
Out of my sight. Thou dost infect mine eyes.

Richard

Thine eyes, sweet lady, have infected mine.

Anne

Would they were basilisks’, to strike thee dead.

Richard