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

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-visag'd war hath smoothed his wrinkled front

And now, instead of mounting barbed 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 shap'd for sportive tricks

Nor made to court an amourous looking-glass

I, that am rudely stamp'd, 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

Deform'd, 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

Unless to see 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

[opening speech in Richard III]

Can I do this, and cannot get a crown?

Tut! were it further off, I'll pluck it down

[Gloster (later Richard III) in

Henry VI Part III act iii scene 2]

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