Ian Frazier:: The New Yorker Scientists say some bones that were dug up in a parking lot in Leicester are those of King Richard III, the much maligned fifteenth-century monarch. The research was driven by those who believe that the king was the victim of a posthumous smear campaign. - NPR. Act V, Scene 6 Alarums. Enter King Richard. And so at last I find an empty space Wherein to leave my much fatiguèd horse. Enter Richmond. Great God of Heav'n, thou foul and ill-made dog! Canst thou not see this empty space is mine? And how, my lord, doth this convenient space Befit thy horse than mine more suitably? Didst thou not see how long I sat a-saddle Until this space's horse was gone away? Vile, lying fiend! Well dost thou know The markings on thy horse's nearer flank Allow for no such kind of occupancy, Nor in this part of downtown Leicester green Nor elsewhere here within but certain hours Which are not now! Therefore remove thy nag And yield my noble animal the way. Look you, my lord, to thine own horse's markings. The date upon its flank is long expired, And a new surety must be obtained. Therefore my claim and thine weigh equally. But mine, because my wait was the longer, Must needs outweigh the shorter wait of thine. Such low and punning words from adder's tongue Help not thy cause, nor serve to mollify. Remove thy beast, that mine may have this space, Or by my sword and halberd thou shalt die! My gentle lord, can we not get along? Twill take me but five minutes in yon market; On my return, I'll give this space to thee. I truckle not with space-usurping villains! I'll leave this life ere leave this space to thee. Unsheath, thou loathsome, starveling, swinish elf, Thy sword or mine shall now the case decree. They fight. A horse! My kingdom for a place to park my horse! Richard is slain. Enter Lord Stanley, Earl of Derby. What's here, my gory Richmond? Whose pale corpse Dost thou, so fiercely panting, now bestride? Methinks I ken the visage of the king, All bloodied o'er, and with his skull smashed in. The king? Art thou jesting with me, Derby? That this man was the king I never dreamt. Most unlike his depictions did he seem. I am in deep and gloomy hazard, Derby, Should this unwitting slaughter come to light. He was a good and kind and gallant king, But why now tarry for the life that's spilled? Here's a shovel, Richmond. And one for me. Let's put him in the ground before he stiff'ns. They bury Richard. Drums sound from afar. They come. Friend Derby, we must haste away Lest we be apprehended and disclos'd. The space in which he wished to rest his horse May be his bed for yea five hundred years. Or longer, e'en. Richard, requiescat. Thy portrait to thy face was ill-adjusted; I had not slain thee had they been more like. Henceforth to double-proof my safety I'll spread unrighteous slanders of thy reign. The sapling princes vanished from the Tower Became apprentice furriers in France, As we now know. I'll say thou murdered them. Small, erring details - who has time to check? I'll heap them up to tow'rs of calumny, Then haply pen a history untrue, Disfiguring thy good and holy name And leave it lying about in some near place To trap base plagiarizers yet unborn. Such toilsome efforts are of me required, Because of the woeful lack of parking In Leicestershire. Exeunt. ♦