Act1Scene4_edited.txt

The Same. The Tower.

Enter CLARENCE and BRAKENBURY.

Why looks your Grace so heavily today?	 
O, I have passed a miserable night,	   4
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 I were to buy a world of happy days,	   8
So full of dismal terror was the time.	 
What was your dream, my lord? I pray you, tell me.	 
Methought that I had broken from the Tower,	 
And was embarked to cross to Burgundy;	  12
And in my company my brother Gloucester,	 
Who from my cabin tempted me to walk	 
Upon the hatches: thence we looked toward England,	 
And cited up a thousand heavy times,	  16
During the wars of York and Lancaster,	 
That had befallen us. As we pace along	 
Upon the giddy footing of the hatches,	 
Methought that Gloucester stumbled; and, in falling,	  20
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 water in mine ears!	  24
What sights of ugly death within mine eyes!	 
Methought I saw a thousand fearful wracks;	 
A thousand men that fishes gnawed upon;	 
Wedges of gold, great anchors, heaps of pearl,	  28
Inestimable stones, unvalued jewels,	 
All scattered in the bottom of the sea.	 
Some layin dead men skulls; and in those holes	 
Where eyes did once inhabit, there were crept,	  32
As there were in scorn of eyes, reflecting gems,	 
That wooed the slimy bottom of the deep,	 
And mocked the dead bones that lay scattered by.	 
Had you such leisure in the time of death	  36
To gaze upon those secrets of the deep?	 
Methought I had; and often did I strive	 
To yield the ghost; but still the envious flood	 
Stopt in my soul, and would not let it forth	  40
To find the empty, vast, and wandering air;	 
But smothered it within my panting bulk,	 
Which almost burst to belch it in the sea.	 
Awaken you not with this sore agony?	  44
No, no, my dream was lengthened after life;	 
O! then began the tempest to my soul.	 
I passed, methought, the melancholy flood,	 
With that grim ferryman which poets write of,	  48
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, that scourge for perjury	  52
Can this dark monarchy afford false Clarence?? 
And so he vanished: then came wandering by	 
A shadow like an angel, with bright hair	 
Dabbled in blood; and he shrieked out aloud,	  56
Larence is come, false, fleeting, perjured Clarence,	 
That stabbed me in the field by Tewksbury;? 
Seize on him! Furies, take him unto torment.? 
With that, methought, a legion of foul fiends	  60
Environed me, and howled in mine ears	 
Such hideous cries, that, with the very noise	 
I trembling waked, and, for a season after	 
Could not believe but that I was in hell,	  64
Such terrible impression made my dream.	 
No marvel, lord, though it affrighted you;	 
I am afraid, methinks, to hear you tell it.	 
O Brakenbury! I have done these things	  68
That now give 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 avenged on my misdeeds,	  72
Yet execute thy wrath on 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.	  76
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,	  80
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,	  84
There is nothing differs but the outward fame.	 

Enter the two Murderers.

Ho! who's here?	 
What wouldst thou, fellow? and how cam't thou hither?	  88
I would speak with Clarence, and I came hither on my legs.	 
What! so brief?	 
It is better, sir, than to be tedious.? 
Let him see our commission, and talk no more.	  92
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.	  96
There lies the duke asleep, and there the keys.	 
I'll to the king; and signify to him	 
That thus I have resigned to you my charge.	 
You may, sir; it is a point of wisdom: fare you well.	 100
What! shall we stab him as he sleeps?	 
No; he'll say it was done cowardly, when he wakes.	 
When he wakes! why, fool, he shall never wake till the judgment-day.	 
Why, then he'll say we stabbed him sleeping.	 104
The urging of that word judgment?hath bred a kind of remorse in me.	 
What! art thou afraid?	 
Not to kill him, having a warrant for it; but to be damned for killing him, from the which no warrant can defend me.	 
I thought thou hadst been resolute.	 108
So I am, to let him live.	 
I'll back to the Duke of Gloucester, and tell him so.	 
Nay, I prithee, stay a little: I hope my holy humour will change; it was wont to hold me but while one tells twenty.	 
How dost thou feel thyself now?	 112
Some certain dregs of conscience are yet within me.	 
Remember our reward when the deeded  done.	 
Pounds! he dies: I had forgot the reward.	 
Where's thy conscience now?	 116
In the Duke of Gloucester'spurse.	 
So when he opens his purse to give us our reward, thy conscience flies out.	 
It is no matter; let it go: there's few or none will entertain it.	 
What if it come to thee again?	 120
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: it is a blushing shamefast spirit, that mutinies in a man's bosom; it fills one 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.	 
Pounds! it is even now at my elbow, persuading me not to kill the duke.	 
Take the devil in thy mind, and believe him not: he would insinuate with thee but to make thee sigh.	 
Tut, I am strong-framed; he cannot prevail with me.	 124
Spoke like a tall fellow that respects his reputation. Come, shall we to this gear?	 
Take him over the costard with the hilts of thy sword, and then throw him into the malmsey-butt in the next room.	 
O, excellent device! make a sop of him.	 
Soft! he wakes.	 128
Strike!	 
No, we'll reason with him.	 
Where art thou, keeper? give me a cup of wine.	 
You shall have wine enough, my lord, anon.	 132
In God's name, what art thou?	 
A man, as you are.	 
But not, as I am, royal.	 
Nor you, as we are, loyal.	 136
Thy voice is thunder, but thy looks are humble.	 
My voice is now the king's, my looks mine own.	 
How darkly, and how deadly dost thou speak!	 
Your eyes do menace me: why look you pale?	 140
Who sent you hither? Wherefore do you come?	 
To, to, to? 
To murder me?	 
Ay, ay.	 144
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?	 
Offended us you have not, but the king.	 148
I shall be reconciled to him again.	 
Never, my lord; therefore prepare to die.	 
Are you called forth from out a world of men	 
To slay the innocent? What is my offence?	 152
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?	 156
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	 
By Christ's dear blood shed for our grievous sins,	 160
That you depart and lay no hands on me;	 
The deed you undertake is damnable.	 
What we will do, we do upon command.	 
And he that hath commanded is our king.	 164
Erroneous vassal! 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?	 168
Take heed; for he holds vengeance in his hand,	 
To hurl upon their heads that break his law.	 
And that same vengeance doth he hurl on thee,	 
For false forswearing and for murder too:	 172
Thou didst receive the sacrament to fight	 
In quarrel of the house of Lancaster.	 
And, like a traitor to the name of God,	 
Didst break that vow, and, with thy treacherous blade	 176
Unrippst the bowels of thy sovereigned son.	 
Whom thou wast sworn to cherish and defend.	 
How canst thou urge God's dreadful law to us,	 
When thou hast broke it in such dear degree?	 180
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.	 184
If God will be avenged for the deed,	 
O! know you yet, he doth it publicly:	 
Take not the quarrel from his powerful arm;	 
He needs no indirect or lawless course	 188
To cut off those that have offended him.	 
Who made thee then a bloody minister,	 
When gallant-springing, brave Plantagenet,	 
That princely novice, was struck dead by thee?	 192
My brother's love, the devil, and my rage.	 
Thy brother's love, our duty, and thy fault,	 
Provoke us hither now to slaughter thee.	 
If you do love my brother, hate not me;	 196
I am his brother, and I love him well.	 
If you are hired for meed, go back again,	 
And I will send you to my brother Gloucester,	 
Who shall reward you better for my life	200
Than Edward will for tidings of my death.	 
You are deceived, your brother Gloucester hates you.	 
O, no! he loves me, and he holds me dear:	 
Go you to him from me.	 204
Ay, so we will.	 
Tell him, when that our princely father York	 
Blessed his three sons with his victorious arm,	 
And charged us from his soul to love each other,	 208
He little thought of this divided friendship:	 
Bid Gloucester think on this, and he will weep.	 
Ay, millstones; as he lessoned us to weep.	 
O! do not slander him, for he is kind.	 212
Right;	 
As snow in harvest. Thou deceived it thyself:	 
It is he that sends us to destroy you here.	 
It cannot be; for he bewept my fortune,	 216
And hugged me in his arms, and swore, with sobs,	 
That he would labour my delivery.	 
Why, so he doth, when he delivers you	 
From this earth's thraldom to the joys of heaven.	 220
Make peace with God, for you must die, my lord.	 
Hast thou that holy feeling in thy soul,	 
To counsel me to make my peace with God,	 
And art thou yet to thy own soul so blind,	 224
That thou wilt war with God by murdering me?	 
O! sirs, consider, he that set you on	 
To do this deed, will hate you for the deed.	 
What shall we do?	 228
Relent and save your souls.	 
Relent! It is cowardly, and womanish.	 
Not to relent, is beastly, savage, devilish.	 
Which of you, if you were a prince's son,	 232
Being pent from liberty, as I am now,	 
If two such murders as yourselves came to you,	 
Would not entreat for life?	 
My friend, I spy some pity in thy looks;	 236
O! if thine eye be not a flatterer,	 
Come thou on my side, and entreat for me,	 
As you would beg, were you in my distress:	 
A begging prince what beggar pities not?	 240
Look behind you, my lord.	 
Take that, and that: if all this will not do,	 
I'll drown you in the malmsey-butt within.	 
A bloody deed, and desperately dispatched!	 244
How fain, like Pilate, would I wash my hands	 
Of this most grievous murder.	 

Re-enter first Murderer.

How now! what meanst thou, that thou helpst me not?	 248
By heaven, the duke shall know how slack you have been.	 
I would he knew that I had saved his brother!	 
Take thou the fee, and tell him what I say;	 
For I repent me that the duke is slain.	 252
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;	 256
For this will out, and here I must not stay.