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Collect them all together at my tent:

I'll be before thee.

Erp. I fhall do't, my Lord.

K. Henry. O God of battles! feel my foldiers hearts;
Poffefs them not with fear; take from them now
The fenfe of reck'ning; left th' oppofed numbers
Pluck their hearts from them.-Not to-day, O Lord,
O not to-day,-think not upon the fault
My father made in compaffing the crown-
I, Richard's body have interred new,

And on it have beftow'd mòre contrite tears,
Than from it iffu'd forced drops of blood.
Five hundred poor I have in yearly pay,
Who twice a day their wither'd hands hold
Tow'rd heav'n to pardon blood; and I have built
Two chauntries, where the fad and folemn priefts
Sing ftill for Richard's foul. More will I do;
Though all that I can do is nothing worth,
Since that my penitence comes after all,
Imploring pardon.


ACT I. SCENE IV. The Tower.

Enter Clarence and Brakenbury.


WHY looks your Grace fo heavily to-day?

Clar. O, I have pafs'd a miferable night;
So full of ugly fights, of ghaftly dreams,
'That as I am a Chriftian faithful man,
I would not spend another fuch a night,
Though 'twere to buy a world of happy days;
So full of difmal terror was the time.

Brak. What was your dream, my Lord? I


pray you,

Clar. Methought, that I had broken from the Tower, And was embark'd to cross to Burgundy; And in my company my brother Glo'fter, 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 befall'n us. As we pac'd along

Upon the giddy footing of the hatches,
Methought that Glo'fter ftumbled; and in falling
Struck me, that fought to ftay him, over-board,
Into the tumbling billows of the main.

Lord, Lord, methought, what pain it was to drown!
What dreadful noife of waters in my ears!
What fights of ugly death within mine eyes!
I thought, I faw a thousand fearful wrecks;
A thousand men that fifhes gnaw'd upon;
Wedges of gold, great anchors, heaps of pearl,
Ineftimable ftones, unvalued jewels.

Some lay in dead men's skulls; and in thofe holes,
Where eyes did once inhabit, there were crept,
As 'twere in fcorn of eyes, reflecting gems;
That woo'd the flimy bottom of the deep,
And mock'd the dead bones that lay fcattered by.
Brak. Had you fuch leifure in the time of death
To gaze upon the fecrets of the deep?

Clar. Methought, I had; and often did I ftrive
To yield the ghost; but ftill the envious flood
Kept in my foul, and would not let it forth
To find the empty, vaft, and wand'ring air,
But mother'd it within my panting bulk,
Which almoft burft to belch it in the fea.
Brak. Awak'd you not with this fore agony ?
Clar. No, no, my dream was length'ned after life;
O then began the tempeft to my foul..

I pafs'd, methought, the melancholy flood,
With that grim ferryman which poets write of,
Unto the kingdom of perpetual night.
The firft that there did greet my ftranger foul,
Was my great father-in-law, renowned Warwick,
Who cry'd aloud-What fcourge for perjury
Can this dark monarchy afford falfe Clarence?
And fo he vanifh'd. Then came wand'ring by
A fhadow like an angel, with bright hair
Dabbled in blood; and he fhriek'd out aloud-


Clarence is come, falfe, fleeting, perjur'd Clarence,
That ftabb'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 feafon after
Could not believe but that I was in hell:
Such terrible impreffion made my dream.
Brack. 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 againft my foul,

For Edward's fake; and, fee, 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 on me alone :

O, fpare my guiltlefs wife, and my poor children!
-I pr'ythee, Brakenbury, ftay by me;

My foul is heavy, and I fain would fleep.

Brak. I will, my Lord; God give your Grace good ref

Sorrow breaks feafons, and repofing hours,


Makes the night morning, and the noontide 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 reftless cares:
So that between their titles and low name,
There's nothing differs but the outward fame.

Enter the two Murderers.

a Vil. Ho! who's there?

Brak. In God's name, what art thou? how cam'ft the hither?

2 Vil. I would fpeak with Clarence, and I came hither on my legs.

Brak. What! fo brief?

1 Vil. 'Tis better, Sir, than to be tedious.-Let him fe our commiffion, and talk no more.

Brak. [Reads.] I am in this commanded to deliver


: noble Duke of Clarence to your hands.
ill not reason what is meant hereby,
ufe I will be guiltlefs of the meaning.
re lies the Duke afleep, and there the keys.
to the King, and fignify to him,

t thus I have refign'd to you my charge.

Vil. You may, Sir; 'tis a point of wifdom. Fare you [Exit Brakenbury. Vil. What! fhall we ftab him as he fleeps?

Vil. No; he'll fay 'twas done cowardly when he wakes. Vil. When he wakes! Why fool, he shall never wake 1 the great judgment-day.

Vil. Why then he'll fay we stabb'd him fleeping. Vil. The urging of that word, Judgment, hath bred a 1 of remorfe in me.

Vil. What! art thou afraid?

Vil. Not to kill him, having a warant for it: but to damn'd for killing him, from the which no warrant defend me.

Vil. I'll back to the Duke of Glo'fter, and tell him fo. Vil. Nay, pr'ythee, ftay a little: I hope this holy huir of mine will change; it was wont to hold me but le one would tell twenty.

Vil. How doft thou feel thyself now?

Vil. Faith, fome certain dregs of confcience are yet

hin me.

Vil. Remember the reward, when the deed's done.
Vil. Come, he dies. I had forgot the reward.
Vil. Where's thy confcience now?

Vil. O, in the Duke of Glo'fter's purfe.

Vil. When he opens his purfe to give us our reward, confcience flies out.

Vil. 'Tis no matter, let it go; there's few or none will

ertain it.

Vil. What if it come to thee again?

Vil. I'll not meddle with it; it is a dangerous thing, it kes a man a coward: a man cannot steal, but it accufeth m; a man cannot fwear, but it checks him; a man cannot with his neighbour's wife, but it detects him. 'Tis a thing fhame-fac'd fpirit, that mutinies in a man's bosom : lls one 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 towns and cities for a dangerous thing; and every man that means to live well, endea vours to truft to himself, and live without it.

1 Vil. 'Tis even now at my elbow, perfuading me not to kill the Duke.

2 Vil. Take the devil in thy mind, and believe him not: he would infinuate with thee but to make thee figh.

1 Vil. I am ftrong fram'd, he cannot prevail with me. 2 Vil. Spoke like a tall fellow that refpects his reputation. Come, fhall we fall to work?

1 Vil. Take him over the coftard with the hilt of thy fword; and then throw him into the malmfey-butt, in the

next room.

2 Vil. O excellent devife!—and make a sop of him. 1 Vil. Soft, he wakes. Shall I strike?

2 Vil. No, we'll reafon with him.

Clar. Where art thou, Keeper? Give me a cup of wine. 2 Vil. You shall have wine enough, my Lord, anon. Clar. In God's name, what art thou?

i'Vil. A man, as you are.

Clar. But not, as I am, royal.

1 Vil. Nor you, as we are, loyal.

Clar. Thy voice is thunder, but thy looks are humble. Vil. My voice is now the King's, my looks mine own. Clar. How darkly, and how deadly, doft thou fpeak! -Your eyes do menace me. Why look you pale? Who fent you hither? wherefore do you come?

Both. To, to, to

Clar. To murder me?

Both. Ay, ay.

Clar. Ye fcarcely have the hearts to tell me so, And therefore cannot have the hearts to do it. Wherein, my friends, have I offended you?

1 Vil. Offended us you have not, but the King.
C.ar. I fhall be reconcil'd to him again.

2 Vil. Never, my Lord; therefore prepare to die.
Clar. Are you call'd forth from out a world of men,
To flay the innocent? What's my offence?
Where is the evidence that doth accufe me?
What lawful queft hath given their verdict up


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