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of Edward IV., which brings Richard closer to his single object of desire-the Crown. False peace, with malice in its words, falsehood in other forms, cloaked with hypocrisy-to the children, to his mother, to Buckingham, his friend-show Richard full of danger, as the citizens believe who speak of Edward's death. Says one of them :

"By a divine instinct men's minds mistrust
Ensuing danger; as, by proof, we see

The water swell before a boist'rous storm.—
But leave it all to God."

In the Third Act the throne is won by murder

and hypocrisy. Rivers, Grey, and Vaughan are

swept away. Hastings, triumphing in their fate, blindly meets his own. Religion is the last cloak worn to win the Crown.

In the Fourth Act, since Edward's children live, the cup of iniquity is filled full by the usurper's murder of the children. The Act is opened with the tender wail of women, and there comes with it an indication that even Richard, who has shut out of his heart regard for God and man, cannot shut out the thoughts by which his dreams are tortured. Hard cruelty, false friendship, that throws Buckingham aside when he is no more helpful to selfish ends, precede the joining in one thought the murder of the children in the Tower with the marrying of their sister Elizabeth. That marriage may make

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sure the holding of the Crown; to which end, therefore, he is also preparing to destroy his wife Anne. The reader's mind is filled with the pity of the murder of the children. Then Margaret is again upon the scene, the wail of women is renewed, the day of retribution is at hand. As Richard marches to meet Richmond, the wail of the women rises to a curse, and the close of it is the curse of his mother.

When Richard, after this, uses his cloak of hypocrisy to secure his desired union with the young Princess Elizabeth, and succeeds in the temptation of her mother, he can swear to his sincerity by nothing that he had not dishonoured and profaned :

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In the Fifth Act, which fulfils Margaret's curse, and brings home full retribution, when the two tents of Richard and Richmond are shown side by side (Richard committing himself to his earthly guards, and Richmond committing himself, before he sleeps, in prayer to God), again the motive of the play has vigorous expression. Richard, awaking in fear from his tortured sleep, exclaims :

"What, do I fear myself? There's none else by.
RICHARD LOVES RICHARD, THAT IS I AM I."

Richmond, in exhorting his men before the fight says:

"God and our good cause fight upon our side." Richard has no such note in exhortation. says:

"Our strong arms be our conscience, swords our law."

He

Grant that there can be a man dead to all sympathies and sense of kin, whose only creed is "I am I;" whose actions are absolutely selfish, unrestrained by pity, love, or fear; and Shakespeare's King Richard III. sets forth the tragedy of such a death in life.

H. M.

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SIR RICHARD RATCLIFF.
SIR JAMES TYRREL.
SIR THOMAS VAUGHAN.
SIR WILLIAM CATESBY.
SIR JAMES BLOUNT.
SIR WALTER HERBERT.
SIR

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ROBERT BRAKENBURY, Lieutenant of the Tower. CHRISTOPHER URSWICK, Priest. Another Priest. TRESSEL and BERKELEY, attending on Lady Anne. Lord Mayor of London. Sheriff of Wiltshire.

ELIZABETH, Queen to King Edward IV.

MARGARET, Widow of King Henry VI.

DUCHESS OF YORK, Mother to King Edward IV. LADY ANNE, Widow of Edward, Prince of Wales, Son to King Henry VI.; afterwards married to Richard. A young Daughter of Clarence (MARGARET PLANTAGENET). Ghosts of those murdered by Richard III., Loras and other Attendants; a Pursuivant, Scrivener, Citizens, Murderers, Messengers, Soldiers, &c.

ENGL

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ACT I.

SCENE I.-London.

A Street.

Enter RICHARD, Duke of GLOSTER, solus.

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

Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths;
Our bruised arms hung up for monuments;
Our stern alarums changed to merry meetings,
Our dreadful marches to delightful measures.
Grim-visaged War hath smoothed his wrinkled front;
And now, instead of mounting barbéd steeds
To fright the souls of fearful adversaries,
nimbly in a lady's chamber
To the lascivious pleasing of a lute.

He capers

But I, that am not shaped for sportive tricks,
Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass;
I, that am rudely stamped, and want love's majesty
To strut before a wanton ambling nymph;
I, that am curtailed of this fair proportion,
Cheated of feature by dissembling nature,
Deformed, unfinished, sent before my time
Into this breathing world, scarce half made up
And that so lamely and unfashionable
That dogs bark at me as I halt by them;-
Why, I, in this weak piping time of peace,
Have no delight to pass away the time,

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