Glo. Yet you have all the yantage of her wrong. I was too hot to do some body good, That is too cold in thinking of it now. Marry, as for Clarence, he is well repay'd; He is frank'd up to fatting for his pains; God pardon them that are the cause thereof! Riv. A virtuous and a christian-like conclusion, To pray for them that have done scath to us. Glo. So do I ever, being well advis'd; For had I curs'd now, I had curs'd myself. [Aside.

Enter CATESBY.

Cates. Madam, his Majesty doth call for you, And for your Grace, and you, my noble

Lords.

Q. Eliz. Catesby, I come: Lords, will you

go with me?

Riv. Madam, we will attend upon your Grace. [Exeunt all but GLOSTER. Glo. I do the wrong, and first begin to brawl. The secret mischiefs that I set abroach,

I lay unto the grievous charge of others.

Clarence,

whom I, indeed, have laid in dark

ness,

"

do beweep to many simple gulls;
Namely, to Stanley, Hastings, Buckingham;
And tell them 'tis the Queen and her allies,
That stir the King against the Duke my brother.
Now they believe it; and withal whet me

To be reveng'd on Rivers, Vaughan, Grey:
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 villainy

VOL. XII.

3

With old odd ends, stol'n forth of holy writ;
And seem a saint, when most I play the devil.

1

Enter two Murderers.

But soft, here come my executioners. -
How now, my hardy, stout, resolved mates?
Are you now going to despatch this thing?

1. Murd. We are, my Lord; and come to have the warrant,

That we may be admitted where he is.

Glo. Well thought upon,

I have it here about me: [Gives the warrant.

When you have done, repair to Crosby-place.
But, Sirs, he sudden in the execution,--
Withal obdurate, do not hear him plead;
For Clarence is well spoken, and, perhaps,
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 assur'd,

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

I like you, lads;

Go, go, despatch.

eyes drop. tears 2

about your business straight;

1. Murd. We will, my noble Lord. [Exeunt.

Brak. Why looks your Grace so heavily to-day?
Clar. O, I have pass'da miserable night,

So full of fearful dreams, of ugly sights,
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 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 Eng
land,

And cited up a thousand heavy times,
During the wars of York and Lancaster
That had befall'n us. As we pac'd along
Upon the giddy footing of the hatches,

W

Methought, that Gloster stumbled; and, in falling,
Struck me, that thought to stay him, over-board,
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. Brak, Had you such leisure in the time of edeatlys

To gaze upon these 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 wand'ring air; But smother'd it within my panting bulk, Which almost burst to belch it in the sea.

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

O, then began the tempest to my
soul !
I pass'd, methought, the melancholy flood,
With that grim ferryman which poets write of,
Unto the kindom of perpetual night.

The first that there did greet my stranger soul,
Was my great father-in-law, renowned Warwick;
Who cry'd 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 tor-

ments!

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.

Brák. No marvel, Lord, though it affrighted yout

I am afraid, metlinks, to hear your tell it.

Clar. O, Brakenbury, I have done these

things,

That now give evidence against my soul,
For Edward's sake; and, see

me!

how he requites

O God! if my deep prayers cannot appease thee,
But thou will he aveng'd on my misdeeds, n. 19
Yot execute thy wrath on me alone:te Holder
O, spare my guiltless wife, and my poor child-
ren!

I pray thee, gentle keeper, stay by me;
My soul is heavy, and I fain would sleep.
Brak, I will, my Lord; God give your
good rest! -

Grace

[Clarence reposes himself on a chair. 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. sbd ron Mbed

Brak. What, so brief? T

2. Murd. O, Sir, 'tis better to be brief, thau

tedious: