King (Richard III): [stands, hunched, speaks awkwardly]
Now is the summer of our sweet content,
Made o'er-cast winter by these Tudor clouds.
And I that am not shaped for black-faced war,
Now is the winter of our discontent
Made glorious summer by this son of York;
And all the clouds that low'r'd upon our house
In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.
King: Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more! Consign their parts most private to a Rutland tree!
KING HENRY V:
Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more;
Or close the wall up with our English dead.
Harry: It's true, My Lord! I stumbled on his body myself! O, pardon me, thou bleeding piece of earth!
O, pardon me, thou bleeding piece of earth,
That I am meek and gentle with these butchers!
Harry: Good night, sweet King...
Richard: Yes, yes, that's enough of that, thank you, Harry...
Harry: ...and flights of angels sing thee to thy rest...
Richard: Thank you, Harry...
Now cracks a noble heart. Good night sweet prince:
And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest!
Why does the drum come hither?
【在线观看 】：黑爵士一世 Blackadder