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

45

50

The first that there did greet my stranger soul
Was my great father-in-law, renowned Warwick;
Who spake 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
Dabbl'd in blood; and he shriek'd out aloud,
"Clarence is come; false, fleeting, perjur'd Clar-

ence,

That stabb'd me in the field by Tewksbury.
Seize on him, Furies, take him unto torment !"
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.
Keep. No marvel, lord, though it affrighted you;

55

60

65

I am afraid, methinks, to hear you tell it. Clar. Ah! Keeper, Keeper, 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 in me alone!

70

O, spare my guiltless wife and my poor children!
Keeper, I prithee, sit by me a while.

My soul is heavy, and I fain would sleep.

Keep. I will, my lord. God give your Grace good [Clarence sleeps.]

rest!

Enter Brakenbury, the Lieutenant.

76

Brak. 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,

80

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 wouldst thou, fellow, and how cam'st

thou hither?

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

Brak. What, so brief?

85

1. Murd. 'Tis better, sir, than to be tedious. Let him see our commission, and talk no 90

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 from the meaning.
There lies the Duke asleep, and there the keys.
I'll to the King, and signify to him

That thus I have resign'd to you my charge.

95

Exit [with Keeper].

1. Murd. You may, sir, 'tis a point of wisdom. Fare you well.

2. Murd. What, shall we stab him as he sleeps ?

1. Murd. No; he'll say 'twas done cowardly, when

he wakes.

100

2. Murd. Why, he shall never wake until the 105 great judgement-day.

1. Murd. Why, then he'll say we stabb'd him

sleeping.

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

1. Murd. What, art thou afraid?

2. Murd. Not to kill him, having a warrant; but to be damn'd for killing him, from the which no warrant can defend me.

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 Gloucester and

110

115

tell him so.

2. Murd. Nay, I prithee, stay a little. I hope

this passionate humour of mine will change. 120 It was wont to hold me but while one tells

twenty.

1. Murd. How dost thou feel thyself now?

2. Murd. 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. O, in the Duke of Gloucester's purse.
1. Murd. 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?

125

130

135

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 140 lie with his neighbour's wife, but it detects him. 'Tis a blushing shamefac'd spirit that mutinies in a man's bosom. It fills a man full of obstacles. restore a purse of gold that by chance I found. It beggars any man that keeps 145 it. It is turn'd out of towns and cities for a

It made me once

dangerous thing; and every man that means
to live well endeavours to trust to himself and
live without it. ['Zounds,] 'tis even now at my
elbow, persuading me not to kill the Duke.
[1.] Murd. Take the devil in thy mind, and believe
him not; he would insinuate with thee but
to make thee sigh.

[2.] Murd. I am strong-fram'd, he cannot prevail
with me.
[1.] Murd. Spoke like a tall man that respects thy
reputation. Come, shall we fall to work?
[2.] Murd. Take him on the costard with the hilts

of thy sword, and then throw him into the
malmsey-butt in the next room.

[1.] Murd. O excellent device! and make a sop of
him.

[2.] Murd. Soft! He wakes.

[1.] Murd. Strike!

150

155

160

[2.] Murd. No, we'll reason with him.

165

Clar. Where art thou, Keeper? Give me a cup of wine. [1.] Murd. You shall have wine enough, my lord, anon. Clar. In God's name, what art thou?

[2.] Murd. A man, as you are.

Clar. But not, as I am, royal.

[2.] Murd. Nor you, as we are, loyal.

170

Clar. Thy voice is thunder, but thy looks are humble. [2.] Murd. My voice is now the King's, my looks

mine own.