Беспокойное бессмертие: 450 лет со дня рождения Уильяма Шекспира

Шекспир Уильям

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

I would they were, that I might die at once, For now they kill me with a living death. Those eyes of thine from mine have drawn salt tears, Shamed their asp`ects with store of childish drops. These eyes, that never shed remorseful tear, No, when my father York and Edward wept To hear the piteous moan that Rutland made When black-faced Clifford shook his sword at him, Nor when thy warlike father, like a child, Told the sad story of my father’s death And twenty times made pause to sob and weep, That all the standers-by had wet their cheeks Like trees bedashed with rain. In that sad time My manly eyes did scorn an humble tear. And what these sorrows could not thence exhale Thy beauty hath, and made them blind with weeping. I never sued to friend nor enemy. My tongue could never learn sweet smoothing word. But now thy beauty is proposed my fee, My proud heart sues and prompts my tongue to speak.

^{She looks scornfully at him.}

Teach not thy lip such scorn, for it was made For kissing, lady, not for such contempt. If thy revengeful heart cannot forgive, Lo, here I lend thee this sharp-pointed sword, Which if thou please to hide in this true breast And let the soul forth that adoreth thee, I lay it naked to the deadly stroke And humbly beg the death upon my knee.

^{He lays his breast open; she offers at with his sword.}

Nay, do not pause, for I did kill King Henry, But ’twas thy beauty that provok`ed me. Nay, now dispatch; ’twas I that stabbed young Edward, But ’twas thy heavenly face that set me on.

^{She falls the sword.}

Take up the sword again, or take up me.

Anne

Arise, dissembler; though I wish thy death, I will not be the executioner.

Richard

Then bid me kill myself, and I will do it.

Anne

I have already.

Richard

That was in thy rage. Speak it again, and even with the word, That hand, which for thy love did kill thy love, Shall for thy love kill a far truer love. To both their deaths shalt thou be `accessary.

Anne

I would I knew thy heart.

Richard

’Tis figured in my tongue.

Anne

I fear me both are false.

Richard

Then never man was true.

Anne

Well, well, put up your sword.

Richard

Say then my peace is made.

Anne