Brak.
Why looks your Grace so heavily to day?

Clar.
O, I have past 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 embark'd to cross to Burgundy,
And in my company my brother Glo'ster;
Who from my Cabin tempted me to walk
Upon the Hatches. Thence we look'd tow'rd England,
And cited up a thousand heavy times,
During the Wars of York and Lancaster,
That had befal'n us. As we pac'd along
Upon the giddy footing of the Hatches,
Methought, that Glo'ster stumbled; and in falling
Struck me (that sought to stay him) over-board,
Into the tumbling billows of the main.
Lord, Lord, methought, what pain it was to drown!
What dreadful noise of waters in my ears!
What sights of ugly death within mine eyes!
I thought, 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.
Some lay in dead mens' skulls; and in those holes,
Where eyes did once inhabit, there were crept,
As 'twere in scorn of Eyes, reflecting Gems;
^{2 note}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 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 find 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.
No, no, my dream was lengthned after life.
O then began the tempest to my soul:
I past, methought, the melancholy flood,
With that grim ferry-man, 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 cry'd aloud—What scourge for purjury
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 torments!—
With that, methought, a legion of foul fiends
Inviron'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, that it affrighted you;
I am afraid, methinks, to hear you tell it.

Clar.
Ah! Brakenbury, I have done those things
That now give evidence against my soul,
For Edward's sake; and, see, how he requites me!
^{3 note}O God! if my deep prayers cannot appease thee,
But thou wilt be aveng'd on my misdeeds,
Yet execute thy wrath on me alone:
O, spare my guiltless wife, and my poor children!
I pr'ythee, Brakenbury, stay by me;
My soul is heavy, and I fain would sleep.

Brak.
I will, my lord; God give your Grace good Rest!
^{4 note}Sorrow breaks seasons and reposing hours, [Aside.
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.

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