Richard III is Dead? Really? by Steven Anthony George (Appeared in the January 2010 Issue) Ah, a London street! These would be the last three or four years of the Middle Ages in England, I suppose, as my shoes are no longer pointy and cloth of gold has become quite popular. I’m rather lucky. Not everyone lives to see an era turn over. And I am… I am… Richard, Duke of Gloucester. Yet this little book is titled Richard the Third. What are the chances that there are two characters in this play named Richard? Yes, it appears I’m very lucky, indeed. The playwright is Mr. William Shakespeare. Oh, I’ve long admired his work. After all, he’s created Julius Caesar, a couple of the Anglo-Saxons, and King John! I wonder how he’s depicted me. If he can do for me what he did for Henry V, I’ll be legendary. It will be interesting to see how my life will end. The play opens with a soliloquy. I should begin. Now is the hour of our discontent Made glorious summer by this sun of York Oh yes, this is a fine soliloquy. Yes it is—or is it a monologue? I forget which is which. I seem to be forming a couple of clever puns. Yes, delightful. Hmm… not only is the word “sun,” s-u-n, a homophone for “son,” s-o-n, but it can be applied to myself as well as to my brother. I must check the OED to see if the word homophone has been invented yet. Of course, the OED hasn't been invented yet. …But I am not shaped for sportive tricks Nor made to court an amorous looking glass Now, wait a minute, this seems to be some kind of comment on either my sexual prowess or my physical appearance in general. I am, I believe, quite well endowed, although they do say size doesn’t matter. As to my appearance, I’ve seen a portrait and I’m respectable, if I must say so, and although they say it’s not contemporary, just how far off can it be? I, that am rudely shaped and want love’s majesty... Oh, no! I’m definitely not hot property. What has Shakespeare done to me? What have I done to him? …so lamely and unfashionable That dogs bark at me as I halt by them Whoa! What’s this? Now, I cannot possibly be so hideous that dogs threaten to attack. That reminds me of a joke about a pork chop. I suppose I’ll need to find one if I’m to wander about safely. …since I cannot prove a lover To entertain these fair well-spoken days, I am determinéd to prove a villain I really don’t like the sound of this at all. I have the opening soliloquy—monologue, whichever! Doesn't that make me the hero? Okay, I’m an ugly hero, we established that, but doesn't the chap that the entire play is named for get to wear the white hat, so to speak? Oh, scratch that! We don’t have American westerns for another four hundred years, but am I given no speech to rouse and inspire my army as we head into battle? Plots have I laid, inductions dangerous By drunken prophesies, libels, and dreams… Perhaps before I decide to take on this role, I should flip to the last page. . . Egads!
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