Have done thy charm, thou hateful, withered hag

Richard
Have done thy charm, thou hateful, withered hag.
Queen Margaret
And leave out thee? Stay, dog, for thou shalt hear me.
If heaven have any grievous plague in store
Exceeding those that I can wish upon thee,
O, let them keep it till thy sins be ripe
And then hurl down their indignation
On thee, the troubler of the poor world’s peace.
The worm of conscience still begnaw thy soul.
Thy friends suspect for traitors while thou liv’st,
And take deep traitors for thy dearest friends.

No sleep close up that deadly eye of thine,
Unless it be while some tormenting dream
Affrights thee with a hell of ugly devils.

No sleep close up that deadly eye of thine,
Unless it be while some tormenting dream
Affrights thee with a hell of ugly devils.
Thou elvish-marked, abortive, rooting hog,
Thou that wast sealed in thy nativity
The slave of nature and the son of hell,
Thou slander of thy heavy mother’s womb,
Thou loathèd issue of thy father’s loins,
Thou rag of honor, thou detested—
Richard
Margaret.
Queen Margaret
Richard!
Richard
Ha?
Queen Margaret
I call thee not.
Richard
I cry thee mercy, then, for I did think
That thou hadst called me all these bitter names.
Queen Margaret
Why, so I did, but looked for no reply.
O, let me make the period to my curse!