Sin, death, and hell have set their marks on him, And all their ministers attend on him. Glo. What doth she say, my Lord of Buckingham? Buck. Nothing that I respect, my gracious lord. Q. Mar. What, dost thou scorn me for my gentle counsel ? And soothe the devil that I warn thee from? When he shall split thy very heart with sorrow. [Exit. Hast. My hair doth stand on end to hear her curses. Riv. And so doth mine: I muse why she's at liberty, Glo. I cannot blame her: by God's holy mother, She hath had too much wrong; and I repent My part thereof that I have done to her. Q. Eliz. I never did her any, to my knowledge. Glo. But you have all the vantage of her wrong. I was too hot to do somebody good, That is too cold in thinking of it now. Riv. A virtuous and a Christian-like conclusion, Enter CATESBY. Cates. Madam, his majesty doth call for you,— And for your grace,—and you, my noble lords. Q. Eliz. Catesby, we come. Lords, will you go with us? Riv. We wait upon your grace. [Exeunt all but GLOSTER. Glo. I do the wrong, and first begin to brawl. The secret mischiefs that I set abroach I lay unto the grievous charge of others. Namely, to Hastings, Stanley, Buckingham; That stir the king against the duke my brother Enter two Murderers. How now, my hardy, stout, resolvéd mates! 1 Murd. We are, my lord; and come to have the warrant, That we may be admitted where he is. me. Glo. Well thought upon ;-I have it here about [Gives the warrant. When you have done, repair to Crosby Place. But, sirs, be sudden in the execution, Withal obdurate, do not hear him plead; For Clarence is well-spoken, and perhaps May move your hearts to pity, if you mark him. 1 Murd. Tut, tut, my lord, we will not stand to prate; Talkers are no good doers: be assured We come to use our hands and not our tongues. Glo. Your eyes drop millstones, when fools' eyes drop tears: I like you, lads ;—about your business straight; 1 Murd. We will, my noble lord. [Exeunt. SCENE IV.-London. A Room in the Tower. Enter CLARENCE and BRAKENBURY. Brak. Why looks your grace so heavily to-day? Clar. O, I have passed 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 embarked to cross to Burgundy; And, in my company, my brother Gloster, And cited up a thousand fearful times, During the wars of York and Lancaster That had befall'n us. As we paced along Methought that Gloster stumbled; and, in falling, Lord, Lord, methought, what pain it was to drown! All scattered in the bottom of the sea: ; Some lay in dead men's skulls; and, in those holes And mocked the dead bones that lay scattered by. 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 seek the empty, vast and wandering air, But smothered it within my panting bulk, Which almost burst to belch it in the sea. Brak. Awaked you not with this sore agony ? Clar. O, no, my dream was lengthened after life; O, then began the tempest to my soul, Who passed, methought, the melancholy flood, With that grim 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 Clarence ; That stabbed me in the field by Tewksbury ;- 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 Which now bear evidence against my soul, For Edward's sake; and see how he requites me!- O, spare my guiltless wife and my poor children!- My soul is heavy, and I fain would sleep. rest! Brak. I will, my lord: God give your grace good [Clarence sleeps. 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, |