Good day, my lord. What, at your book so hard?
Good day to you, my lord. What, you're studying so intently?
Hello there, my lord. What are you concentrating on so hard?
hey what's got your attention
Ay, my good lord—my lord, I should say rather.
’Tis sin to flatter; “good” was little better:
“Good Gloucester” and “good devil” were alike,
And both preposterous; therefore, not “good lord”.
Yes, my lord—or rather my lord, I should say. It is a sin to flatter; 'good' was hardly better: 'Good Gloucester' and 'good devil' were much the same, And both are ridiculous; therefore, not 'good lord'.
Yes, my good... no, just my lord. It's a sin to flatter, and calling you 'good' wouldn't be any better. 'Good Gloucester' and 'good devil' - they're just the same thing. Both are ridiculous, so I won't call you 'good lord.'
not gonna flatter you calling you good is a lie you're no good
Sirrah, leave us to ourselves; we must confer.
You there, leave us alone; we must speak privately.
Get out and give us some space; I need to talk to the king alone.
leave us alone
The soliloquy Richard delivers over Henry's corpse is the most important speech in Henry VI Part 3 — not for its historical content but for what it reveals about where Shakespeare is going. Richard confirms Henry's birth omens (breech birth, teeth, the midwife's horror), then makes the theological pivot: 'since the heavens have shaped my body so, / let hell make crooked my mind to answer it.' He is not claiming he is evil by nature — he is choosing to be. The deformity gives him the excuse; he accepts it.
The climax — 'I have no brother, I am like no brother; / and this word "love," which greybeards call divine, / be resident in men like one another, / and not in me. I am myself alone' — is the formal birth of the theatrical villain as a philosophical position. Richard is not evil because something went wrong; Richard is evil because he has decided that the social bonds everyone else lives by — love, loyalty, brotherhood — do not apply to him. He is a species of one.
'I am myself alone' is not a lament. It is a program statement.
So flies the reckless shepherd from the wolf;
So first the harmless sheep doth yield his fleece,
And next his throat unto the butcher’s knife.
What scene of death hath Roscius now to act?
So the careless shepherd flees from the wolf; So first the harmless sheep gives his fleece, And then his throat to the butcher's knife. What scene of death do you prepare to perform?
Like a careless shepherd running from a wolf, The harmless sheep surrenders his fleece first, And then his throat to the butcher's blade. What deadly scene do you plan to act out?
im like a sheep u shear my fleece first then u cut my throat what scene is this
Suspicion always haunts the guilty mind;
The thief doth fear each bush an officer.
Suspicion always haunts the guilty mind; The thief fears every bush as if it were a police officer.
A guilty conscience is always suspicious; a thief jumps at every shadow, thinking it's a cop.
criminals always fear everything looks like danger
The bird that hath been limed in a bush
With trembling wings misdoubteth every bush;
And I, the hapless male to one sweet bird,
Have now the fatal object in my eye
Where my poor young was limed, was caught, and killed.
The bird that has been trapped with sticky birdlime in a bush With trembling wings mistrusts every bush; And I, the unfortunate mate to one sweet bird, Now see in front of me the very danger Where my poor offspring was trapped, caught, and killed.
A bird that's been caught with sticky lime in a bush flutters nervously around every bush after that. I was the mate to a beautiful bird, and now the very thing that killed our baby is standing right in front of me.
like a trapped bird scared of everything you killed my child
Why, what a peevish fool was that of Crete
That taught his son the office of a fowl!
And yet, for all his wings, the fool was drowned.
What a foolish man was Daedalus of Crete Who taught his son how to fly like a bird! And yet, for all his feathered wings, the fool was drowned.
What an idiot that Daedalus was, teaching his son to fly like a bird. And even with all those fancy wings, the kid still drowned.
that fool taught his son to fly and he drowned anyway
I, Daedalus; my poor boy, Icarus;
Thy father, Minos, that denied our course;
The sun that seared the wings of my sweet boy,
Thy brother Edward; and thyself, the sea
Whose envious gulf did swallow up his life.
Ah, kill me with thy weapon, not with words!
My breast can better brook thy dagger’s point
Than can my ears that tragic history.
But wherefore dost thou come? Is ’t for my life?
I am Daedalus; my poor boy is Icarus; Your father, Minos, who blocked our escape; The sun that melted the wings of my sweet boy Is your brother Edward; and you yourself are the sea Whose cruel gulf swallowed up his life. Ah, kill me with your weapon, not with words! My chest can better endure your dagger's point Than can my ears endure that tragic story. But why do you come? Is it for my life?
I'm Daedalus, and my poor boy was Icarus. Your father was Minos who blocked our escape. Your brother Edward was the sun that melted my son's wings, and you're the cruel sea that swallowed him up. Please, just stab me with your sword - I can handle pain better than hearing this story again. So why are you here? Have you come to kill me?
you killed my son take my life then just kill me already
The conversation between Henry and Richard in this scene is structurally a confrontation between two antithetical worldviews. Henry represents a Christianity of mercy — he forgives Richard even as Richard is about to kill him. Richard represents the complete absence of any transcendent framework: no God, no love, no brotherhood, nothing except his own will and pleasure. The scene works as pure moral X-ray because both characters are completely transparent about what they believe. Henry prophesies accurately and dies forgiving. Richard kills to shut up a true prophecy and feels nothing. The scene is the moral inverse of the whole play: the man who spent three plays being victimized gets the last word, and the man who has triumphed over everyone ends alone with a corpse, planning his next murder.
Shakespeare doesn't editorialize. He doesn't need to.
Think’st thou I am an executioner?
Do you think I am an executioner?
What, you think I'm just some executioner?
i'm not an executioner
A persecutor I am sure thou art.
If murdering innocents be executing,
Why, then thou art an executioner.
A persecutor you certainly are. If murdering innocent people is executing, Why, then you are an executioner.
You're a persecutor, that's for sure. If killing innocent people is what an executioner does, then that's exactly what you are.
you persecute the innocent that makes you an executioner
Thy son I killed for his presumption.
I killed your son because of his arrogance.
I killed your son - he was too arrogant for his own good.
your son was arrogant i killed him
Hadst thou been killed when first thou didst presume,
Thou hadst not lived to kill a son of mine.
And thus I prophesy: that many a thousand
Which now mistrust no parcel of my fear,
And many an old man’s sigh, and many a widow’s,
And many an orphan’s water-standing eye,
Men for their sons’, wives for their husbands’,
Orphans for their parents’ timeless death,
Shall rue the hour that ever thou wast born.
The owl shrieked at thy birth, an evil sign;
The night-crow cried, aboding luckless time;
Dogs howled, and hideous tempest shook down trees;
The raven rooked her on the chimney’s top,
And chatt’ring pies in dismal discord sung;
Thy mother felt more than a mother’s pain,
And yet brought forth less than a mother’s hope,
To wit, an indigested and deformed lump,
Not like the fruit of such a goodly tree.
Teeth hadst thou in thy head when thou wast born,
To signify thou cam’st to bite the world;
And, if the rest be true which I have heard,
Thou cam’st—
If you had been killed when you first presumed to rebel, You would not have lived to kill a son of mine. And so I prophesy: that many thousands Who now suspect nothing of my grief, And many an old man's sigh, and many a widow's, And many an orphan's teary eye, Men mourning their sons, wives mourning their husbands, Orphans mourning their parents' untimely deaths, Shall regret the hour you were ever born. The owl shrieked at your birth, a sign of evil; The night-crow cried, predicting misfortune; Dogs howled, and a terrible storm shook down trees; The raven perched on the chimney's top, And chattering magpies sang in dismal discord; Your mother suffered more than a mother usually does, And yet produced less than a mother's hope, Namely, an unformed and deformed lump, Unlike the fruit of such a fine tree. You had teeth in your head when you were born, To show you came into the world to bite; And, if what I have heard be true, You came—
If you'd been killed the first time you tried to rebel, you'd never have killed my son. And this is my curse on you: thousands of people - old men, widows, orphans - all the people grieving for sons and husbands and parents, they'll curse the day you were born. Evil omens marked your arrival - an owl shrieked, crows cried out, dogs howled, a storm destroyed trees. Even the birds knew you were a disaster. Your own mother suffered like no mother should have to, and what she produced wasn't a proper baby - you were a deformed, twisted thing, nothing like what such good parents should have made. You were born with teeth in your head, ready to bite the world from day one. And if everything I've heard is true, you came into this world—
you should've been killed everyone will curse your birth the world rejected you you came to destroy no mother wanted you
I’ll hear no more. Die, prophet, in thy speech.
I will not listen anymore. Die as you speak your prophecy.
I'm done listening. Die right there with those words on your lips.
shut up. you're done
The historical Richard, Duke of Gloucester (1452-1485), may not have killed Henry VI — the historical record is uncertain. He almost certainly did not have the physical deformities Shakespeare gives him; a skeleton found under a Leicester car park in 2012 showed scoliosis (curvature of the spine) but not the extreme hunchback and withered arm of dramatic tradition. Shakespeare's Richard is a theatrical creation built partly from the Tudor propaganda of Sir Thomas More and Polydore Virgil, who had every political reason to blacken the last Plantagenet king.
None of which makes Shakespeare's Richard less interesting. In fact, his very theatrical unnaturalness — the self-aware villain who takes the audience into his confidence — is the point. Shakespeare isn't writing biography; he's writing about what power does to a person who decides that power is the only thing that matters.
For this, amongst the rest, was I ordained.
For this reason, among all the others, I was destined.
This is what I was made for, among everything else.
this is what i was born for
Ay, and for much more slaughter after this.
O God, forgive my sins, and pardon thee!
Yes, and for many more murders after this one. Oh God, forgive my sins, and pardon him!
Yes, and for all the other murders I'll commit after this. Oh God, forgive me and forgive him too.
more killing to come god forgive me
What, will the aspiring blood of Lancaster
Sink in the ground? I thought it would have mounted.
See how my sword weeps for the poor King’s death.
O, may such purple tears be always shed
From those that wish the downfall of our house!
If any spark of life be yet remaining,
Down, down to hell; and say I sent thee thither—
What, will the ambitious blood of Lancaster Sink into the ground? I thought it would have risen. Look how my sword weeps for the poor King's death. Oh, may such blood-red tears always fall From those who wish for our house's ruin! If any spark of life still remains, Down, down to hell; and tell them I sent you there—
Is the ambitious blood of Lancaster just going to soak into the earth? I thought it would have kept fighting. Look at my sword weeping for the King's death - all that blood. May anyone who wants our downfall shed tears like that. If there's any life left in you, go down to hell and tell them I sent you.
lancaster is dead my sword weeps go to hell
I that have neither pity, love, nor fear.
Indeed, ’tis true that Henry told me of,
For I have often heard my mother say
I came into the world with my legs forward.
Had I not reason, think ye, to make haste
And seek their ruin that usurped our right?
The midwife wondered, and the women cried
“O, Jesus bless us, he is born with teeth!”
And so I was, which plainly signified
That I should snarl, and bite, and play the dog.
Then, since the heavens have shaped my body so,
Let hell make crooked my mind to answer it.
I have no brother, I am like no brother;
And this word “love,” which greybeards call divine,
Be resident in men like one another,
And not in me. I am myself alone.
Clarence, beware; thou keep’st me from the light,
But I will sort a pitchy day for thee;
For I will buzz abroad such prophecies
That Edward shall be fearful of his life;
And then, to purge his fear, I’ll be thy death.
King Henry and the Prince his son are gone;
Clarence, thy turn is next, and then the rest,
Counting myself but bad till I be best.
I’ll throw thy body in another room,
And triumph, Henry, in thy day of doom.
I who have no pity, love, or fear. Indeed, what Henry said about me is true, for I have often heard my mother say that I came into the world with my feet first. Did I not have reason to make haste and seek to destroy those who stole our rightful throne? The midwife was amazed, and the women cried "Jesus bless us, he is born with teeth!" And so I was, which clearly signified that I should snarl, bite, and behave like a dog. Since heaven has shaped my body this way, let hell corrupt my mind to match it. I have no brother, I am unlike any brother; and this word "love," which old men call divine, belongs to normal men like one another, and not to me. I am myself alone. Clarence, beware; you stand between me and the light, but I will arrange a dark day for you; for I will spread rumors that Edward must fear for his life; and then, to calm his fear, I'll be your death. King Henry and his son are gone; Clarence, your turn comes next, and then all the rest, counting myself as worthless until I am supreme. I'll throw your corpse in another room, and triumph, Henry, in your day of ruin.
I'm someone without pity, love, or fear. Henry was right about me—my mother used to say I was born backwards, with my feet coming out first. Didn't I have good reason to wipe out the people who stole what was rightfully ours? The midwife was shocked, and the women screamed, "Jesus help us, he's born with teeth!" And I was, which meant I was meant to snap and bite like a dog. Since heaven made my body this twisted way, let hell twist my mind to match. I don't have a brother's heart, I'm nothing like any other brother. That word "love" that old people worship—it exists between normal men, but not for me. I'm alone. Clarence, watch out; you're blocking my way to the top, but I'll arrange something dark for you. I'll spread rumors that make Edward fear for his life, and then I'll kill you to ease his mind. Henry and his son are done for. Clarence, you're next, then everyone else, and I won't be satisfied until I'm the very best. I'll hide your body somewhere and celebrate over your corpse.
i have no pity love or fear i was born twisted my mother said i came feet first i was born with teeth i'm meant to bite Clarence watch out i'll destroy you all i'll make edward kill you then i'm next to rule i'll be supreme
The Reckoning
The scene that turns a history play into something else. Henry VI is murdered not on a battlefield or in a formal execution but alone in a room with Richard, their conversation a duet of two men who understand each other completely. Henry prophesies with absolute accuracy. Richard kills him mid-sentence, then kills him again. And then he turns to the audience and explains himself — not apologizing, not justifying, but presenting. 'I am myself alone' is the declaration of a new kind of dramatic character: a man who has opted entirely out of the human network of love, loyalty, and guilt. Richard III begins in this moment.
If this happened today…
A late-stage startup founder — deformed, brilliant, impatient — walks into the room where the company's elderly original visionary has been kept comfortable but isolated. Sends the assistant out. They talk. The old man says, with complete calm: 'You were always going to destroy everything. Your birth was a warning. You have no love in you.' The founder says: 'You're right.' Then he ends the old man's involvement permanently. In the parking lot afterward, he calls no one. He sits in his car and says, out loud, to himself: 'I have no brother. I am like no brother. I am myself alone. Clarence — you're next.'