Беспокойное бессмертие: 450 лет со дня рождения Уильяма Шекспира

But he (poor man) by your first order died,
And that a wing`ed Mercury did bear;
Some tardy cripple bore the countermand,
That came too lag to see him buri`ed.
God grant that some, less noble and less loyal,
Nearer in bloody thoughts and not in blood,
Deserve not worse than wretched Clarence did,
And yet go current from suspicion.
Enter Stanley earl of Derby.

Stanley

A boon, my sovereign, for my service done.

King Edward

I prithee, peace, my soul is full of sorrow.

Stanley

I will not rise unless your highness hear me.

King Edward

Then speak at once what is it thou requests.

Stanley

The forfeit, sovereign, of my servant’s life,
Who slew today a riotous gentleman
Lately attendant on the Duke of Norfolk.

King Edward

Have a tongue to doom my brother’s death,
And shall the same give pardon to a slave?
My brother killed no man; his fault was thought,
And yet his punishment was bitter death.
Who sued to me for him? Who (in my wrath)
Kneeled at my feet, and bade me be advised?
Who spoke of brotherhood? Who spoke of love?
Who told me how the poor soul did forsake
The mighty Warwick, and did fight for me?
Who told me, in the field ’at Tewksbury
When Oxford had me down, he rescued me
And said ’Dear brother, live, and be a king’?
Who told me, when we both lay in the field,
Frozen almost to death, how he did lap me
Even in his garments and gave himself
(All thin and naked) to the numb cold night?
All this from my remembrance brutish wrath
Sinfully plucked, and not a man of you
Had so much grace to put it in my mind.
But when your carters or your waiting vassals
Have done a drunken slaughter and defaced
The precious image of our dear redeemer,
You straight are on your knees for pardon, pardon,
And I, unjustly too, must grant it you.
But for my brother not a man would speak,
Nor I, ungracious, speak unto myself
For him, poor soul. The proudest of you all
Have been beholding to him in his life,
Yet none of you would once beg for his life.
O God, I fear thy justice will take hold
On me and you, and mine, and yours, for this.
Come, Hastings, help me to my closet.
Ah, poor Clarence!

^{Exeunt some with King and Queen.}

Richard

This is the fruit of rashness. Marked you not
How that the guilty kindred of the queen
Looked pale when they did hear of Clarence’ death?
Oh, they did urge it still unto the king.
God will revenge it. Come, lords, will you go
To comfort Edward with our company?

Buckingham

We wait upon your grace.

^Exeunt.

Акт I

Сцена 1

^{Входит Ричард, герцог Глостер. Он один.}

Ричард