Gloucester: Short summers lightly have a forward spring.
Richard [aside]: So wise so young, they say do never live long.
Gloucester: Now is the winter of our discontent
Made glorious summer by this sun of York,
And all the clouds that lower’d upon our house
In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.
Richard: A horse, a horse, my kingdom for a horse!
No beast so fierce but knows some touch of pity, but I know none, therefore am no beast.
First murderer: Tut, tut, my lord, we will not stand to prate.
Talkers are no good doers. Be assured
We go to use our hands and not our tongues.
I shall despair. There is no creature loves me; and if I die no soul will pity me: and wherefore should they, since that I myself find in myself no pity to myself?
Queen Elizabeth: An honest tale speeds best being plainly told.
Richard: Then plainly to her tell my loving tale.
Queen Elizabeth: Plain and not honest is too harsh a style.