Brak.
Why looks your grace so heavily to-day?

Clar.
O! I have pass'd a miserable night,
So full of fearful dreams, of ugly sights^{5 note}
,
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^{6 note}.

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 England,
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 Gloster stumbled; and, in falling^{7 note},
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^{8 note} 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^{9 note}:
Some lay in dead men's skulls; and in the 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^{1 note}
; but still the envious flood

Stopt in my soul^{2 note}, and would not let it forth
To find^{3 note} 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 in this sore agony^{4 note}?

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^{5 note} 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^{6 note},—“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^{7 note},—
“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^{8 note}!”
With that, methought, a legion of foul fiends
Environ'd me^{9 note}, 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^{1 note}.

Brak.
No marvel, lord, though it affrighted you;

I am afraid, methinks, to hear you tell it^{2 note}.

Clar.
Ah, keeper, keeper! I have done these things
That now give evidence^{3 note} 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^{4 note}!—
Keeper, I pr'ythee, sit by me awhile^{5 note}
;
My soul is heavy, and I fain would sleep.

Brak.
I will, my lord: God give your grace good rest.— [Clarence reposes himself on a Chair^{6 note}.
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^{7 note}?

1 Murd.

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

Brak.

What! so brief^{8 note}?

2 Murd.
'Tis better' sir, than to be tedious.—
Let him see our commission; and talk no more. [A Paper delivered to Brakenbury, who 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^{9 note}.
I'll to the king; and signify to him,
That thus I have resign'd to you my charge.

1 Murd.
You may, sir; 'tis a point of wisdom:
Fare you well. [Exit Brakenbury.

2 Murd.

What, shall we stab him as he sleeps?

1 Murd.

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

2 Murd.

Why, he shall never wake until the great judgment day.

1 Murd.

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

2 Murd.

The urging of that word, judgment, 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 note}.

1 Murd.

I'll back to the duke of Gloster, and tell him so.

2 Murd.

Nay, I pr'ythee, stay a little: I hope, this passionate humour of mine 11Q0767^{2 note} will change; it was wont to hold me but while one tells twenty.

1 Murd.

How dost thou feel thyself now?

2 Murd.

'Faith, 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 Gloster'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?

2 Murd.

I'll not meddle with it; it is a dangerous thing^{3 note}, 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 shame-faced 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 by chance 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.

1 Murd.

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

2 Murd.

Take the devil in thy mind, and believe

him not: he would insinuate with thee, but to make thee sigh.

1 Murd.

I am strong-fram'd^{4 note}; he cannot prevail with me.

2 Murd.

Spoke like a tall man that respects his reputation. Come, shall we fall to work^{5 note}?

1 Murd.

Take him on the costard with the hilts of thy sword, and then throw him into the malmsey-butt in the next room.

2 Murd.

O, excellent device! and make a sop of him.

1 Murd.

Soft! he wakes.

2 Murd.

Strike.

1 Murd.

No; we'll reason with him.

Clar. [Waking.]
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?

1 Mur.

A man, as you are.

Clar.

But not, as I am, royal.

1 Murd.

Nor you, as we are, loyal.

Clar.
Thy voice is thunder, but thy looks are humble.

1 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^{6 note}
?
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?

1 Murd.
Offended us you have not, but the king.

Clar.
I shall be reconcil'd to him again.

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

Clar.
Are you drawn forth among a world of men^{7 note},
To slay the innocent? What is my offence?
Where is the evidence that doth accuse me?
What lawful quest have given their verdict up
Unto the frowning judge? or who pronounc'd
The bitter sentence of poor Clarence' death?
Before I be convict by course of law,
To threaten me with death is most unlawful.
I charge you, as you hope to have redemption^{8 note}
By Christ's dear blood shed for our grievous sins,
That you depart, and lay no hands on me;
The deed you undertake is damnable.

1 Murd.
What we will do, we do upon command.

2 Murd.
And he, that hath commanded, is our king.

Clar.
Erroneous vassals! the great King of kings
Hath in the table of his law commanded,
That thou shalt do no murder: will you, then,
Spurn at his edict, and fulfil a man's?
Take heed; for he holds vengeance in his hand,
To hurl upon their heads that break his law.

2 Murd.
And that same vengeance doth he hurl on thee,

For false forswearing, and for murder too.
Thou didst receive^{9 note}

the sacrament, to fight
In quarrel of the house of Lancaster.

1 Murd.
And, like a traitor to the name of God,
Didst break that vow; and, with thy treacherous blade,
Unripp'dst the bowels of thy sovereign's son.

2 Murd.
Whom thou wast sworn to cherish and defend.

1 Murd.
How canst thou urge God's dreadful law to us,
When thou hast broke it in such dear degree?

Clar.
Alas! for whose sake did I that ill deed?
For Edward, for my brother, for his sake:
He sends you not to murder me for this;
For in that sin he is as deep as I.
If God will be avenged for the deed,
O! know you yet, he doth it publicly^{1 note};
Take not the quarrel from his powerful arm:
He needs no indirect or lawless course,
To cut off those that have offended him.

1 Murd.
Who made thee, then, a bloody minister,
When gallant-springing, brave Plantagenet,
That princely novice, was struck dead by thee?

Clar.
My brother's love, the devil, and my rage.

1 Murd.
Thy brother's love, our duty^{2 note}, and thy faults,
Provoke us hither now to slaughter thee.

Clar.
If you do love my brother, hate not me;
I am his brother, and I love him well.
If you are hir'd for meed, go back again,
And I will send you to my brother Gloster;

Who shall reward you better for my life,
Than Edward will for tidings of my death.

2 Murd.
You are deceiv'd: your brother Gloster hates you.

Clar.
O! no; he loves me, and he holds me dear.
Go you to him from me.

Both Murd.
Ay, so we will.

Clar.
Tell him, when that our princely father York
Bless'd his three sons with his victorious arm,
And charg'd us from his soul to love each other^{3 note},
He little thought of this divided friendship:
Bid Gloster think on this, and he will weep.

1 Murd.
Ay, mill-stones; as he lesson'd us to weep.

Clar.
O! do not slander him, for he is kind.

1 Murd.
Right; as snow in harvest.—Come, you deceive yourself;
'Tis he that sends us to destroy you here^{4 note}.

Clar.
It cannot be; for he bewept my fortune,
And hugg'd me in his arms, and swore, with sobs,
That he would labour my delivery.

1 Murd.
Why, so he doth, when he delivers you
From this earth's thraldom to the joys of heaven.

2 Murd.
Make peace with God, for you must die, my lord.

Clar.
Have you that holy feeling in your souls,
To counsel me to make my peace with God,
And are you yet to your own souls so blind,
That you will war with God by murdering me?—
O! sirs, consider, they that set you on
To do this deed, will hate you for the deed^{5 note}.

2 Murd.
What shall we do?

Clar.
Relent, and save your souls.
Which of you, if you were a prince's son,
Being pent from liberty, as I am now,
If two such murderers as yourselves came to you,
Would not entreat for life, as you would beg
Were you in my distress 11Q0768^{6 note}?

1 Murd.
Relent! no: 'tis cowardly, and womanish.

Clar.
Not to relent, is beastly, savage, devilish.—
My friend, I spy some pity in thy looks;
O! if thine eye be not a flatterer,
Come thou on my side, and entreat for me.
A begging prince what beggar pities not?

2 Murd.
Look behind you, my lord.

1 Murd.
Take that, and that: if all this will not do, [Stabs him.
I'll drown you in the malmsey-butt within. [Exit, with the body.

2 Murd.
A bloody deed, and desperately despatch'd!
How fain, like Pilate, would I wash my hands
Of this most grievous guilty murder done^{7 note}. Re-enter first Murderer.

1 Murd.
How now? what mean'st thou, that thou help'st me not?
By heaven, the duke shall know how slack you have been.

2 Murd.
I would he knew, that I had sav'd his brother!

Take thou the fee, and tell him what I say,
For I repent me that the duke is slain. [Exit.

1 Murd.
So do not I: go, coward, as thou art.—
Well, I'll go hide the body in some hole,
Till that the duke give order for his burial:
And when I have my meed, I will away;
For this will out, and then I must not stay. [Exit.

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