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Queen Margaret's Execrations on Gloster.

The worm of conscience still be-gnaw thy soul !
Thy friends suspect for traitors while thou liv'st,
And take deep traitors for thy dearest friends!
No sleep close up that deadly eye of thine,
Unless it be while some tormenting dream
Affrights thee with a hell of ugly devils;
Thou elvish-mark'd abortive, rooting hog!
High Birth.

I was born so high,

Our aiery buildeth in the cedar's top,

And dallies with the wind, and scorns the sun.

Gloster's Hypocrisy.

But then I sigh, and, with a piece of Scripture,
Tell them that God bids us do good for evil :
And thus I clothe my naked villany

With old odd ends stolen forth of Holy Writ;
And seem a saint when most I play the devil.

Clarence's Dream; Scene between Clarence and

BRAKENBURY. What was your dream, my lord? 1 tell me.

pray you

CLARENCE. Methought that I had broken from the Tower,

And was embark'd to cross to Burgundy :

And, in my company, my brother Gloster;
Who from my cabin tempted me to walk

Upon the hatches; thence we look'd toward England,
And cited up a thousand heavy times,

During the wars of York and Lancaster,

That had befallen us. As we paced along

Upon the giddy footing of the hatches,
Methought that Gloster stumbled; and, in falling
Struck me, that thought to stay him, overboard,
Into the tumbling billows of the main.

O Lord! methought what pain it was to drown!
What dreadful noise of water in mine ears!
What sights of ugly death within mine eyes!
Methought I saw a thousand fearful wrecks;
A thousand men, that fishes gnaw'd upon :
Wedges of gold, great anchors, heaps of pearl,
Inestimable stones, unvalued jewels,

All scatter'd in the bottom of the sea.

Some lay in dead men's skulls; and, in those holes Where eyes did once inhabit, there were crept (As 'twere in scorn of eyes) reflecting gems, That woo'd the slimy bottom of the deep, And mock'd the dead bones that lay scatter'd by. BRAKENBURY. Had you such leisure in the time of death

To gaze upon these secrets of the deep?

CLARENCE. Methought I had; and often did I strive To yield the ghost: but still the envious flood Kept in my soul, and would not let it forth To seek the empty, vast, and wand'ring air. But smother'd it within my panting bulk,* Which almost burst to belch it in the sea.

BRAKENBURY. Awak'd you not with this sore agony ? CLARENCE. O, no, my dream was lengthen'd after life;

O, then began the tempest to my



I pass'd, methought, the melancholy flood,
With that grim ferryman which poets write of,
Unto the kingdom of perpetual night.

* Body.

The first that there did greet my stranger soul
Was my great father-in-law, renowned Warwick,
Who cried aloud, "What scourge for perjury
Can this dark monarchy afford false Clarence?"
And so he vanish'd: Then came wand'ring by
A shadow like an angel, with bright hair
Dabbled in blood; and he shriek'd out aloud,—
"Clarence is come, false, fleeting, perjur'd Clarence,-
That stabb'd me in the field by Tewksbury ;-
Seize on him, furies, take him to your torments!"
With that, methought, a legion of foul fiends
Environ'd me, and howled in mine ears
Such hideous cries, that with the very noise,
I trembling wak'd, and, for a season after,
Could not believe but that I was in hell;
Such terrible impression made my dream.
BRAKENBURY. No marvel, lord, though it affrighted

I am afraid, methinks, to hear you tell it.

CLARENCE. O, Brakenbury, I have done these things,— That now give evidence against my soul,—

For Edward's sake; and see, how he requites me!
O God! if my deep prayers cannot appease thee,
But thou wilt be aveng'd on my misdeeds,

Yet execute thy wrath on me alone;

O, spare my guiltless wife, and my poor children!


Sorrow breaks seasons, and reposing hours, Makes the night morning, and the noon-tide night.

The Cares of Greatness.

Princes have but their titles for their glories,

An outward honour for an inward toil :


And, for unfelt imaginations,

They often feel a world of restless cares:
So that between their titles and low name,
There's nothing differs but the outward fame.



Ah, that deceit should steal such gentle shapes, And with a virtuous visor hide deep vice!

Submission to Heaven our Duty.

In common worldly things, 'tis call'd ungrateful,
With dull unwillingness to repay a debt,
Which with a bounteous hand was kindly lent;
Much more to be thus opposite with heaven,
For it requires the royal debt it lent you.

The Duchess of York's Lamentation for the Misfortunes of her Family.

Accursed and unquiet wrangling days!

How many of you have mine eyes beheld!

My husband lost his life to get the crown;
And often up and down my sons were tost,
For me to joy, and weep, their gain, and loss :
And being seated, and domestic broils
Clean overblown, themselves, the conquerors,
Make war upon themselves; brother to brother,
Blood to blood, self 'gainst self:—O, preposterous
And frantic courage, end thy damned spleen ;
Or let me die, to look on death no more!


The Vanity of Trust in Man.

O momentary grace of mortal man,

Which we more hunt for than the grace of God!

fair looks,

Who builds his hope in air of your
Lives like a drunken sailor on a mast;
Ready, with every nod, to tumble down
Into the fatal bowels of the deep.


When holy and devout religious men

Are at their beads, 'tis hard to draw them thence; So sweet is zealous contemplation.


Description of the Murder of the two young Princes in the Tower.

The tyrannous and bloody act is done;
The most arch deed of piteous massacre
That ever yet this land was guilty of.
Dighton, and Forrest, whom I did suborn
To do this piece of ruthless* butchery,
Albeit they were flesh'd villains, bloody dogs,
Melting with tenderness and mild compassion,
Wept like two children, in their death's sad story.
"O thus," quoth Dighton, "lay the gentle babes—”
"Thus, thus," quoth Forrest, "girdling one another
Within their alabaster innocent arms:

Their lips were four red roses on a stalk,
Which, in their summer beauty, kiss'd each other.
A book of prayers on their pillow lay;

* Merciless.

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