Further to yesterday, where we considered the role of punctuation in conveying meaning in poetry, here is the Shakespearean example that was promised - the famed opening soliloquy from Richard III. It contains only six sentences, by my count - even though it is over forty lines long. So, clearly it cannot be read with a pause at the end of every line.

Richard III picks up immediately where 3Henry VI leaves off - with the York family triumphant in the War of the Roses and now the sole possessors of the English crown. The eldest of the the three brothers, Edward IV, is the new king. The second brother is George, the Duke of Clarence. And the third is Richard, the Duke of Gloucester - and by Act Four, Richard III. This speech is part recap and part prologue, and I've separated the sentences by alternating italics with standard type. In it, Richard does the following (I'll summarize it sentence by sentence):

1. With a sarcastic tone and meteorological metaphors, he describes how all the bad is now behind his mighty family.

2. He states that the exercises of war have been put away, exchanged for peaceful activities.

3. He personifies war itself as having been turned into a lover.

4. He explains that all of this has left him out. He can't participate because of his deformities and ugliness.

5. So he'll be a villain, instead - and try to achieve the crown by treachery.

6. In fact, he's started already. He's convinced Edward the king, that it has been foretold that he should fear the second brother, George, because of the letter "G" at the beginning of his name. (Apparently he didn't notice that "Gloucester" has the same initial.)

Here it is:

Now is the winter of our discontent

Made glorious summer by this sun of York;

And all the clouds that lour'd 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 changed to merry meetings,

Our dreadful marches to delightful measures.

Grim-visaged war hath smooth'd his wrinkled front;

And now, instead of mounting barded steeds

To fright the souls of fearful adversaries,

He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber

To the lascivious pleasing of a lute.

But I, that am not shaped for sportive tricks,

Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass;

I, that am rudely stamp'd, and want love's majesty

To strut before a wanton ambling nymph;

I, that am curtail'd of this fair proportion,

Cheated of feature by dissembling nature,

Deformed, unfinish'd, 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 pass away the time,

Unless to spy my shadow in the sun

And descant on mine own deformity:

And therefore, since I cannot prove a lover,

To entertain these fair well-spoken days,

I am determined to prove a villain

And hate the idle pleasures of these days.

Plots have I laid, inductions dangerous,

By drunken prophecies, libels and dreams,

To set my brother Clarence and the king

In deadly hate the one against the other:

And if King Edward be as true and just

As I am subtle, false and treacherous,

This day should Clarence closely be mew'd up,

About a prophecy, which says that 'G'

Of Edward's heirs the murderer shall be.

Dive, thoughts, down to my soul: here

Clarence comes.

A spectacular opening, even by Shakespeare's standards, I hope you'll agree. (There are several excellent film versions, by the way, including Olivier's from 1955, Ian McKellen's from 1995, and Al Pacino's documentary, Looking for Richard from 1996. Each one interprets the above in a different and interesting way. But of course it's our own that matters most.)