Vince I already posted this.  Guess there's never enough WS.

Maybe too much of me or of you.

ISM



>From: Vince Montgomery <[log in to unmask]>
>Reply-To: "St. John's University Cerebral Palsy List"
><[log in to unmask]>
>To: [log in to unmask]
>Subject: Richard III  (Long)
>Date: Wed, 21 Mar 2001 12:43:15 -0800
>
>Here it is Gang...
>
>- Vince
>-----------
>
>ACT I
>
>SCENE I. London. A street.
>
>      Enter GLOUCESTER, solus
>
>GLOUCESTER
>
>      Now is the winter of our discontent
>      Made glorious summer by this sun of York;
>      And all the clouds that lour'd 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 smooth'd his wrinkled front;
>      And now, instead of mounting barded steeds
>      To fright the souls of fearful adversaries,
>      He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber
>      To the lascivious pleasing of a lute.
>      But I, that am not shaped for sportive tricks,
>      Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass;
>      I, that am rudely stamp'd, and want love's majesty
>      To strut before a wanton ambling nymph;
>      I, that am curtail'd of this fair proportion,
>      Cheated of feature by dissembling nature,
>      Deformed, unfinish'd, 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,
>      Unless to spy my shadow in the sun
>      And descant on mine own deformity:
>      And therefore, since I cannot prove a lover,
>      To entertain these fair well-spoken days,
>      I am determined to prove a villain
>      And hate the idle pleasures of these days.
>      Plots have I laid, inductions dangerous,
>      By drunken prophecies, libels and dreams,
>      To set my brother Clarence and the king
>      In deadly hate the one against the other:
>      And if King Edward be as true and just
>      As I am subtle, false and treacherous,
>      This day should Clarence closely be mew'd up,
>      About a prophecy, which says that 'G'
>      Of Edward's heirs the murderer shall be.
>      Dive, thoughts, down to my soul: here
>      Clarence comes.
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