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May move your hearts to pity, if you mark him. 1 Murd. Tut, tut, my lord, we will not stand to prate;

Talkers are no good doers: be assured

We come to use our hands and not our tongues. Glo. Your eyes drop millstones, when fools' eyes drop tears:

I like lads ;-about you,

Go, go, dispatch.

your

business straight;

1 Murd. We will, my noble lord.

[Exeunt.

SCENE IV.-London. A Room in the Tower. Enter CLARENCE and BRAKENBURY.

Brak. Why looks your grace so heavily to-day? Clar. O, I have passed a miserable night, So full of ugly sights, of ghastly dreams, That, as I am a Christian faithful man, I would not spend another such a night, Though 'twere to buy a world of happy days,— So full of dismal terror was the time!

Brak. What was your dream, my lord? I pray you tell me.

Clar. Methought that I had broken from the

Tower,

And was embarked to cross to Burgundy ;
And, in my company, my brother Gloster,
Who from my cabin tempted me to walk
Upon the hatches: thence we looked toward
England,

And cited up a thousand fearful times,
During the wars of York and Lancaster

That had befall'n 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.

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

All scattered 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 wooed the slimy bottom of the deep,
And mocked the dead bones that lay scattered by.
Brak. Had you such leisure in the time of death
To gaze upon the secrets of the deep?

Clar. 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 wandering air,
But smothered it within my panting bulk,
Which almost burst to belch it in the sea.
Brak. Awaked you not with this sore agony
Clar. O, no, my dream was lengthened after life;

O, then began the tempest to my soul,
Who passed, methought, the melancholy flood,
With that grim ferryman which poets write of,
Unto the kingdom of perpetual night.

?

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 vanished: then came wandering by
A shadow like an angel, with bright hair
Dabbled in blood; and he shrieked out aloud,
'Clarence is come false, fleeting,

Clarence ;

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perjured

That stabbed me in the field by Tewksbury;-
Seize on him, Furies, take him to your torments!'
With that, methought, a legion of foul fiends
Environed me, and howléd in mine ears
Such hideous cries, that with the very noise
I trembling waked, and for a season after
Could not believe but that I was in hell,-
Such terrible impression made the dream.
Brak. No marvel, lord, though it affrighted you;
I am afraid methinks to hear you tell it.

Clar. O Brakenbury, I have done those things Which now bear 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 avenged on my misdeeds,
Yet execute thy wrath in me alone,

O, spare my guiltless wife and my poor children!--
Keeper, I prithee, sit by me awhile;

My soul is heavy, and I fain would sleep.

Brak. I will, my lord: God give your grace good

rest!

[Clarence sleeps.

Sorrow breaks seasons and reposing hours,

Makes the night morning, and the noon-tide

night.

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.

Enter the two Murderers.

1 Murd. Ho! who's here?

Brak. What would'st thou, fellow and how cam'st thou hither?

1 Murd. I would speak with Clarence and I came hither on my legs.

Brak. What, so brief?

2 Murd. 'Tis better, sir, than to be tedious. Let him see our commission; talk no more.

[Brakenbury reads it.

Brak. I am, in this, commanded to deliver
The noble Duke of Clarence to your hands:
I will not reason what is meant hereby,
Because I will be guiltless of the meaning.
Here are the keys,-there sits the duke asleep :
I'll to the king; and signify to him

That thus I have resigned my charge to you.

1 Murd. You may, sir, 'tis a point of wisdom: fare you well. Exit Brakenbury. 2 Murd. What, shall we stab him as he sleeps? 1 Murd. No; then he will say 'twas done cowardly, when he wakes.

2 Murd. When he wakes! why, fool, he shall never wake till the judgment-day.

1 Murd. Why, then he'll say we stabbed him sleeping.

2 Murd. The urging of that word 'judgment' hath bred a kind of remorse in me.

1 Murd. What, art thou afraid?

2 Murd. Not to kill him, having a warrant for it;

but to be damned for killing him, from the which no warrant can defend us.

1 Murd. I thought thou hadst been resolute. 2 Murd. So I am, to let him live.

1 Murd. I'll back to the Duke of Gloster, and tell him so.

2 Murd. Nay, I prithee, stay a little; I hope my holy humour will change; 'twas wont to hold me but while one tells twenty.

1 Murd. How dost thou feel thyself now?

2 Murd. Faith, some certain dregs of conscience are yet within me.

1 Murd. Remember our reward when the deed's done.

2 Murd. Zounds, he dies: I had forgot the reward. 1 Murd. Where's thy conscience now?

2 Murd. In the Duke of Gloster's purse.

1 Murd. So when he opens his purse to give us our reward, thy conscience flies out.

2 Murd. 'Tis no matter, let it go; there's few or none will entertain it.

1 Murd. What if it come to thee again?

2 Murd. I'll not meddle with it:-it is a dangerous thing it makes a man a coward: a man cannot steal, but it accuseth him; a man cannot swear, but it checks him; a man cannot lie with his neighbour's wife, but it detects him: 'tis a blushing shamefast spirit that mutinies in a man's bosom; it fills one full of obstacles: it made me once restore a purse of gold that by chance I found; it beggars any man that keeps it: it is turned out of all towns and cities for a dangerous thing; and every man that means to live well endeavours to trust to himself and to live without it.

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