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The hum of either army stilly sounds,
That the fix'd centinels almost receive
The secret whispers of each other's watch;
Steed threatens steed, in high and boastful neighings,
Piercing the night's dull ear-Hark! from the tents
The armourers accomplishing the knights,
With clink of hammer, closing rivets up,
Give dreadful note of preparation; while some,
Like sacrifices, by their fires of watch,
With patience sit, and inly ruminate
The morning's danger-By yon heav'n, my stern
Impatience chides this tardy-gaited night,
Who, like a foul and ugly witch, does limp
So tediously away—I'll to my couch,
And once more try to sleep her into morning.

[Lies down ; a Groan is heard. Ha! what means that dismal voice? sure 'tis The echo of some yawning grave, That teems with an untimely ghost—'tis gone ! 'Twas but my fancy, or perhaps the wind, Forcing his entrance through some bollow cavern. No matter what I feel my eyes grow heavy. [Sleeps.

King HENRY's Ghost rises.
K. Hen. Oh! thou, whose unrelenting thoughts,

not all
The hideous terrors of thy.guilt can shake,
Whose conscience with thy body ever sleeps,
Sleep on; while I, by Heav'n's high ordinance,
In dreams of horror wake thy frightful soul:
Now give thy thoughts to me; let them behold
These gaping wounds, which thy death-dealing hand,
Within the Tower, gave my anointed body:
Now shall thy own devouring conscience gnaw
Thy heart, and terribly revenge my murder.

LADY ANNE's Ghost rises.
Lady A. Think on the wrongs of wretched Anne,

thy wife!

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Glost. Oh, Catesby, I have had such horrid dreams! Catesby. Shadows, my lord !-below the soldier's

heeding. Glost. Now, by my this day's hopes, shadows, to

Have struck more terror to the soul of Richard,
Than can the substance of ten thousand soldiers,
Arni'd all in proof, and led by shallow Richmond.

Catesby. Be more yourself, my lord: consider, sir,
Were it but known a dream had frighted you,
How would your animated foes presume on't !

Glost. Perish that thought!-no, never be it said That fate itself could awe the soul of Richard ! Hence, babbling dreams! you threaten here in vain;, Conscience, avaunt! Richard's himself again! Hark! the shrill trumpet sounds to horse ! away! My soul's in arms, and eager for the fray! (Exeunt.


A Wood,

Enter Richmond, OXFORD, SIR W. BRANDON,
Rich. Halt!
Sold. Halt!-halt!
Rich. How far into the morning is it, friends ?
Sir R. Brack. Near four, my lord.

Rich. "Tis well-
I am glad to find we are such early stirrers.
Sir W. Brand. Methinks the foes less forward than

we thought them; Worn as we are, we brave the field before them.

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