Richard III

 Richard III

Now is the winter of our discontent

Made glorious summer by this son of York;

And all the clouds that low'r'd upon our house                                                 

In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.

Look how my ring encompasseth thy finger:
Even thy breasts encloseth my poor heart;
Wear both of theme, for both of them are thine.
And if thy poor devoted servant may
But beg one favour at thy gracious hand,
Thou dost confirm his happiness for ever.

And turns the sun to shade, alas, alas!
Witness my son, now in the shade of death,
Whose bright out-shining beams thy cloudy wrath
Hath in eternal darkness folded up.
Your aery buildeth in our aery`s nest:
OGod, that seest it, do not suffer it:
As it won with blood, lost be it so.

But for my brother not a man would speak,
Nor I, ungracious, speak unto myself
For him, poor soul. The proudest of you all
Have been beholding to him in his life,
Yet none of you would once beg for his life.
OGod, I fear Thy justice will take hold
On me, and you, and mine and yours for this.




Video music an acting by Major Murks:

King Edward

Queen Margaret

Lady Anna

Richard III

special thanx to Major Murks