Monologue

Ghost Of Clarence Monologue from Richard III

From Richard III by William Shakespeare

male · dark · 38 sec

Let me sit heavy in thy soul tomorrow, I, that was washed to death with fulsome wine, Poor Clarence, by thy guile betrayed to death. Tomorrow in the battle think on me, And fall thy edgeless sword. Despair, and die! Thou offspring of the house of Lancaster, The wronged heirs of York do pray for thee. Good angels guard thy battle; live, and flourish. Enter the Ghosts of Rivers, Grey and Vaughan.

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