Richard III

Queen Elizabeth
What were I best to say? Her father’s brother
Would be her lord? Or shall I say her uncle?
Or he that slew her brothers and her uncles?
Under what title shall I woo for thee,
That God, the law, my honor, and her love
Can make seem pleasing to her tender years?
Richard
Infer fair England’s peace by this alliance.
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Richard
As I intend to prosper and repent,
So thrive I in my dangerous affairs
Of hostile arms! Myself myself confound,
Heaven and fortune bar me happy hours,
Day, yield me not thy light, nor night thy rest,
Be opposite all planets of good luck
To my proceeding if, with dear heart’s love,
Immaculate devotion,
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First Messenger
My gracious sovereign, now in Devonshire,
As I by friends am well advertisèd,
Sir Edward Courtney and the haughty prelate,
Bishop of Exeter, his elder brother,
With many more confederates are in arms.
   Enter another Messenger.
Second Messenger
In Kent, my liege, the Guilfords are in arms,
And every hour more competitors
Flock to the rebels,
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Give me another horse! Bind up my wounds!
Have mercy, Jesu!—Soft, I did but dream.
O coward conscience, how dost thou afflict me!Apostrophe & Alliteration
The lights burn blue; it is now dead midnight.
Cold fearful drops stand on my trembling flesh.Transferred Epithet
What do I fear? Myself? There’s none else by.
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Go, gentlemen, every man unto his charge.
Let not our babbling dreams affright our souls.
Conscience is but a word that cowards use,
Devised at first to keep the strong in awe.
Our strong arms be our conscience, swords our law.

Conscience is but a word that cowards use,
Devised at first to keep the strong in awe.
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Norfolk
This found I on my tent this morning.
 He sheweth him a paper.
Richard reads

Jockey of Norfolk, be not so bold.
For Dickon thy master is bought and sold.

A thing devisèd by the enemy.—
Go, gentlemen, every man unto his charge.
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Catesby
Rescue, my lord of Norfolk, rescue, rescue!
The King enacts more wonders than a man,
Daring an opposite to every danger.

A horse, a horse, my kingdom for a horse!

His horse is slain, and all on foot he fights,
Seeking for Richmond in the throat of death.
Rescue, fair lord, or else the day is lost.
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Richard
Think’st thou I am an executioner?
King Henry
A persecutor I am sure thou art.
If murdering innocents be executing,
Why, then, thou art an executioner.
Richard
Thy son I killed for his presumption.

Thy mother felt more than a mother’s pain,
And yet brought forth less than a mother’s hope

King Henry
Hadst thou been killed when first thou didst presume,
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