Swift Curses : "The Queen Margaret Stuff is Difficult"

O thou well skill'd in curses, stay awhile,
And teach me how to curse mine enemies!

"The Queen Margaret Stuff is Difficult"

Male Oxbridge English Literature Professor, 

On why he doesn't understand Richard III

HEAR ME!!, you wrangling pirates, that fall out 

In sharing that which you have pill'd from me!!!

Which of you trembles not that looks on me? 

Can curses pierce the clouds and enter heaven? 

Why, then, give way, dull clouds, to my quick curses! 

Poor painted queen, vain flourish of my fortune! 

Why strew'st thou sugar on that bottled spider, 

Whose deadly web ensnareth thee about? 

Fool, fool! thou whet'st a knife to kill thyself. 

The time will come when thou shalt wish for me 

To help thee curse that poisonous bunchback'd toad.

Stay, dog,!!! for thou shalt hear me. 

If heaven have any grievous plague in store 

Exceeding those that I can wish upon thee, 

O, let them keep it till thy sins be ripe, 

And then hurl down their indignation 

On thee, the troubler of the poor world's peace! 

The worm of conscience still begnaw thy soul! 

Thy friends suspect for traitors while thou livest, 

And take deep traitors for thy dearest friends! 

No sleep close up that deadly eye of thine, 

Unless it be whilst some tormenting dream 

Affrights thee with a hell of ugly devils! 

Thou elvish-mark'd, abortive, rooting hog! 

Thou that wast seal'd in thy nativity 

The slave of nature and the son of hell! 

Thou slander of thy mother's heavy womb! 

Thou loathed issue of thy father's loins! 

Thou rag of honour! thou detested—

look'd for no reply. 

O, let me make the period to my curse!

A murderous villain, and so still thou art.

To serve me well, you all should do me duty, 

Teach me to be your queen, and you my subjects: 

O, serve me well, and teach yourselves that duty!

Duke of Buckingham. Have done, have done.

O princely Buckingham I'll kiss thy hand, 

In sign of league and amity with thee: 

Now fair befal thee and thy noble house! 

Thy garments are not spotted with our blood, 

Nor thou within the compass of my curse.

What, dost thou scorn me for my gentle counsel? 

And soothe the devil that I warn thee from? 

O, but remember this another day, 

When he shall split thy very heart with sorrow, 

And say poor Margaret was a prophetess! 

Live each of you the subjects to his hate, 

And he to yours, and all of you to God's!