RICHARD

The king's brother, born misshapen and passed over for love, turns his exclusion into a career. He lets the audience in on the joke before anyone onstage suspects him.

1:32Dramatic-comic30s–40sAdvanced

The speech156 words · 4 beats

0:00 / 1:32

Off-book

Now is the winter of our discontent Made glorious summer by this sun of York; And all the clouds that lour'd upon our house In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.

Grim-visag'd war hath smooth'd his wrinkled front; And now, instead of mounting barbed steeds To fright the souls of fearful adversaries, He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber To the lascivious pleasing of a lute.

But I, that am not shap'd for sportive tricks, Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass; I, that am rudely stamp'd, and want love's majesty To strut before a wanton ambling nymph; I, that am curtail'd of this fair proportion, Cheated of feature by dissembling nature, Deform'd, unfinish'd, sent before my time Into this breathing world scarce half made up.

And therefore, since I cannot prove a lover To entertain these fair well-spoken days, I am determined to prove a villain And hate the idle pleasures of these days.turn

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Speaking to: The audience, taken into confidence as accomplices.
What just happened: His brother Edward has won the throne and the wars are over. The court is dancing. Richard, who has no use for peace, steps downstage while the celebration goes on behind him.
Objective: To recruit the audience into the plot by making his resentment sound like reason.
The turn: 'And therefore, since I cannot prove a lover' — self-pity flips into a stated plan; the wound becomes a weapon.
Watch out for: The trap is snarling villainy from line one. The opening is genuinely elegant and almost genial; the menace should arrive as a logical conclusion, not a mood. Land 'descant on mine own deformity' with charm, not bile.

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RICHARD

Richard III · William Shakespeare · 1:32 · 156 words

Now is the winter of our discontent Made glorious summer by this sun of York; And all the clouds that lour'd upon our house In the deep bosom of the ocean buried. Grim-visag'd war hath smooth'd his wrinkled front; And now, instead of mounting barbed steeds To fright the souls of fearful adversaries, He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber To the lascivious pleasing of a lute. But I, that am not shap'd for sportive tricks, Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass; I, that am rudely stamp'd, and want love's majesty To strut before a wanton ambling nymph; I, that am curtail'd of this fair proportion, Cheated of feature by dissembling nature, Deform'd, unfinish'd, sent before my time Into this breathing world scarce half made up. And therefore, since I cannot prove a lover To entertain these fair well-spoken days, I am determined to prove a villain And hate the idle pleasures of these days.

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