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,

Methought that Gloucester 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;
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 death
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 find the empty, vast, and wandering 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. No, 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 sour 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 vanish'd: then came wandering 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 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.
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
That 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 aveng'd on my misdeeds,
Yet execute thy wrath in me alone:

O! spare my guiltless wife and my poor children.
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 grace good

rest!

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 names,
There's nothing differs but the outward fame.

Enter the two Murderers.

First Murd. Ho! who's here?

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

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

Brak. What! so brief?

Second Murd. 'Tis better, sir, than to be tedious. Let him see our commission, and talk no more. A paper delivered to BRAKENBURY, who

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.
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.

reads it.

First Murd. You may, sir; 'tis a point of wisdom: fare you well. Exit BRAKENBURY. Second Murd. What shall we stab him as he sleeps?

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

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

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

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

First Murd. What! art thou afraid?

Second 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.

First Murd. I thought thou hadst been resolute.

Second Murd. So I am, to let him live.

First Murd. Back to the Duke of Gloucester, tell him so.

Second Murd. I pray thee, stay a while: I hope my holy humour will change; 'twas wont to hold me but while one would tell twenty.

First Murd. How dost thou feel thyself now?

Second Murd. Some certain dregs of conscience are yet within me.

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

Second Murd. 'Zounds! he dies: I had forgot the reward.

First Murd. Where's thy conscience now?

Second Murd. In the Duke of Gloucester's purse. First Murd. So when he opens his purse to give us our reward, thy conscience flies out.

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

First Murd. What if it come to thee again?

Second Murd. I'll not meddle with it; 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 a man full of obstacles; it made me once restore a purse of gold that 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 live without it.

First Murd. 'Zounds! it is even now at my elbow, persuading me not to kill the duke.

Second Murd. Take the devil in thy mind, and believe him not: he would insinuate with thee but to make thee sigh.

First Murd. I am strong-framed; he cannot prevail

with me.

Second Murd. Spoke like a tall fellow that respects his reputation. Come, shall we to this gear?

First Murd. Take him over the costard with the hilts of thy sword, and then throw him in the malmseybutt in the next room.

Second Murd. O excellent device! and make a sop of him.

First Murd. Soft! he wakes.

Second Murd. Strike.

First Murd. No; we'll reason with him.

Clar. Where art thou, keeper? give me a cup of wine.

First Murd. You shall have wine enough, my lord,

anon.

Clar. In God's name, what art thou?
First Murd. A man, as you are.

Clar. But not, as I am, royal.

First Murd. Nor you, as we are, loyal.

Clar. Thy voice is thunder, but thy looks are humble. First Murd. My voice is now the king's, my looks

mine own.

Clar. How darkly and how deadly dost thou speak Your eyes do menace me: why look you pale? Who sent you hither? Wherefore do you come? Both Murd. To, to, to

Clar. To murder me?

Both Murd. Ay, ay.

Clar. You scarcely have the hearts to tell me so, And therefore cannot have the hearts to do it.

Wherein, my friends, have I offended you?

First Murd. Offended us you have not, but the king. Clar. I shall be reconcil'd to him again.

Second Murd. Never, my lord; therefore prepare to die.