Shakespeare’s Globe
22
July
Here
is a play the summer waited for
and
feted, full of pride and expectation.
Here’s
a man, crippled and hurt
beneath
his cloak, whom all of London loves
and
hangs upon. And here we wait, agog
to
see him limp into our midst, so close
that
we could kiss or spit upon his feet.
And
on he creeps, a quiet would-be king
who
pockets us with his first scaly speech.
His
heart is stone, and yet it seems
only
like crumbling lime or granite chips;
and
though his mind is quick and hard
as
running water, still he veers and trips
and
brings all down with him.
He
is a man, mis-reasoning and undecided
as
the rest, and yet he holds us rapt, enthralled
with
every grievous word and act;
and
though he was not born to pleasure
he
was moulded kindly by the playwright’s pen,
and
where his words fall they are dark
and
beautiful as raven song.
Richard
III runs at the Globe until 13 October
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