Беспокойное бессмертие: 450 лет со дня рождения Уильяма Шекспира

In that you brook it ill, it makes him worse.
Therefore, for God’s sake, entertain good comfort,
And cheer his grace with quick and merry eyes.

Elizabeth

If he were dead, what would betide on me?

Rivers

No other harm but loss of such a lord.

Elizabeth

The loss of such a lord includes all harms.

Grey

The heavens have blessed you with a goodly son
To be your comforter when he is gone.

Elizabeth

Ah, he is young, and his minority
Is put unto the trust of Richard Gloucester,
A man that loves not me nor none of you.

Rivers

Is it concluded that he shall be Protector?

Elizabeth

It is determined, not concluded yet,
But so it must be if the king miscarry.

^{Enter Buckingham and Stanley Earl of Derby.}

Grey

Here come the lords of Buckingham and Derby.

Buckingham

Good time of day unto your royal grace.

Stanley

God make your majesty joyful, as you have been.

Elizabeth

The Countess Richmond, good my Lord of Derby,
To your good prayer will scarcely say amen.
Yet Derby, notwithstanding she’s your wife
And loves not me, be you, good lord, assured
I hate not you for her proud arrogance.

Stanley

I do beseech you, either not believe
The envious slanders of her false accusers,
Or if she be accused on true report,
Bear with her weakness, which I think proceeds
From wayward sickness and no grounded malice.

Rivers

Saw you the king today, my lord of Derby?

Elizabeth

But now the Duke of Buckingham and I
Are come from visiting his majesty.

Elizabeth

What likelihood of his amendment, lords?

Buckingham

Madam, good hope. His grace speaks cheerfully.

Elizabeth

God grant him health. Did you confer with him?

Buckingham

Ay, madam. He desires to make atonement
Between the Duke of Gloucester and your brothers,
And between them and my Lord Chamberlain,
And sent to warn them to his royal presence.

Elizabeth

Would all were well, but that will never be.
I fear our happiness is at the hight.

^{Enter Richard and Hastings.}

Richard

They do me wrong, and I will not endure it.
Who is it that complain unto the king
That I, forsooth, am stern and love them not?
By holy Paul, they love his grace but lightly
That fill his ears with such dissentious rumours.
Because I cannot flatter and look fair,
Smile in men’s faces, smooth, deceive, and cog,
Duck with French nods and apish courtesy,
I must be held a rancorous enemy.
Cannot a plain man live and think no harm,
But thus his simple truth must be abused
By silken, sly, insinuating jacks?

Grey

To who in all this presence speaks your grace?

Richard

To thee, that hast nor honesty nor grace.
When have I injured thee? When done thee wrong?
Or thee? Or thee? Or any of your faction?
A plague upon you all. His royal grace,
Whom God preserve better than you would wish,
Cannot be quiet scarce a breathing while
But you must trouble him with lewd complaints.

Elizabeth