Беспокойное бессмертие: 450 лет со дня рождения Уильяма Шекспира

Ere you were queen, ay, or your husband king,
I was a pack-horse in his great affairs,
A weeder-out of his proud adversaries,
A liberal rewarder of his friends.
To royalise his blood I spent mine own.

Margaret (aside)

Ay, and much better blood than his or thine.

Richard

In all which time, you and your husband Grey
Were factious for the house of Lancaster,
And, Rivers, so were you. Was not your husband
In Margaret’s battle at Saint Alban’s slain?
Let me put in your minds, if you forget,
What you have been ere this, and what you are;
Withal, what I have been, and what I am.

Margaret (aside)

A murderous villain, and so still thou art.

Richard

Poor Clarence did forsake his father Warwick,
Ay, and forswore himself, which Jesu pardon.

Margaret (aside)

Which God revenge.

Richard

To fight on Edward’s party for the crown.
And for his meed, poor lord, he is mewed up.
I would to God my heart were flint, like Edward’s,
Or Edward’s soft and pitiful, like mine.
I am too childish-foolish for this world.

Margaret (aside)

Hie thee to hell for shame, and leave the world,
Thou cacodemon. There thy kingdom is.

Rivers

My Lord of Gloucester, in those busy days
Which here you urge to prove us enemies,
We followed then our lord, our sovereign king.
So should we you, if you should be our king.

Richard

If I should be? I had rather be a pedlar.
Far be it from my heart, the thought thereof.

Elizabeth

As little joy, my lord, as you suppose
You should enjoy were you this country’s king.
As little joy may you suppose in me
That I enjoy, being the queen thereof.

Margaret (aside)

A little joy enjoys the queen thereof,
For I am she, and altogether joyless.
I can no longer hold me patient —

(Advancing.)

Hear me, you wrangling pirates, that fall out
In sharing that which you have pilled from me.
Which of you trembles not that looks on me?
If not that I am queen, you bow like subjects,
Yet that by you deposed, you quake like rebels.
Ah, gentle villain, do not turn away.

Richard

Foul wrinkled witch, what mak’st thou in my sight?

Margaret

But repetition of what thou hast marred,
That will I make before I let thee go.

Richard

Wert thou not banishèd on pain of death?

Margaret

I was. But I do find more pain in banishment
Than death can yield me here by my abode.
A husband and a son thou ow’st to me —
And thou a kingdom — all of you allegiance.
This sorrow that I have by right is yours,
And all the pleasures you usurp are mine.

Richard