RICHARD        My brain I’ll prove the female to my soul,

My soul the father, and these two beget

A generation of still-breeding thoughts;

And these same thoughts people this little world

In humours like the people of this world,

For no thought is contented.            (5.5.6-11)

As soon as Richard resolves to hammer it out, to try to pursue this analogy between his prison and the world, his speech and so, apparently, his thought, becomes freer. There’s whimsy here, but also a tumble of run-on lines, as generative as the scenario they imagine, whereby his brain and soul breed thoughts, and those thoughts breed in turn, a generation of still-breeding thoughts, and so on and so on, a generous (if incestuous) proliferation. And these same thoughts people this little world—company of a kind! The prison is indeed like the world, because the thoughts which fill it are like people, not least because these same thoughts are, in humours, in their character and disposition, like the people of this world. Because no thought is contented. There’s a bitter irony here, I think, in the sly quibble on contented. The thoughts which fill this prison cell, so copiously, even gleefully generated by brain and soul are discontented, unhappy, unable to find rest or equilibrium or content. They are, after all, in prison. But also, as thoughts, they remain free, in a sense. They are unbounded, uncontained, for no thought is contented. And so he’s going to keep going, keep trying, keep hammering it out. At least for a bit.