Ian McKellen - Richard III - Now Is The Winter Of Our Discontent lyrics

Now is the winter of our discontent made glorious summer by this sun of York. And all the clouds that loured 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 chang'd to merry meetings, Our dreadful marches to delightful measures. (applause) Grim-visaged war has smoothed his wrinkled front. And now, instead of mounting barbed steads, To fight the souls of fearful adversaries. He - (He finished the monologue mumbling and standing at a lavatory urinal in a stately washroom, and then washed his hands and dried them. After speaking to his own mirrored reflection at the washbasin, he delivered his final line in the washroom by turning and directly addressing the camera): 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 amorous looking-gla**, I - that am rudely stamped - Deformed, 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 pa** away the time, Unless to spy my shadow in the sun, And descant on my own deformity. Why I can smile; and murder while I smile; And wet my cheeks with artificial tears, And frame my face to all occasions. (To camera) And, therefore, since I cannot prove a lover, I am determined to prove a villain, And hate the idle pleasures of these days. Plots have I laid, (After leaving the restroom, Richard III was on the walkway of the palace) To set my brothers, Clarence and King Edward, In deadly hate, the one against the other.