To be reveng'd on Rivers, Vaughan, Grey: With old odd ends, stol'n forth of holy writ; Enter Two Murderers. But soft, here come my executioners. How now, my hardy, stout resolved mates? Are you now going to despatch this thing? 1 Murd. We are, my lord; and come to have the warrant, That we may be admitted where he is. Glo. Well thought upon, I have it here about me: [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, We go to use our hands, and not our tongues. Glo. Your eyes drop mill-stones, when fools' eyes drop tears: I like lads; about you Go, go, despatch. 1 Murd. your business straight, We will, my noble lord. [Exeunt. SCENE IV. A Room in the Tower. Enter CLARENCE and BRAKENBURY. Brak. Why looks your grace so heavily to-day? Clar. O, I have pass'd a miserable night, Brak. What was your dream, my lord? I pray you, tell me. Clar. Methought that I had broken from the And was embark'd to cross to Burgundy; O heaven! methought, what pain it was to drown! All scatter'd in the bottom of the sea. Some lay in dead men's skulls; and, in those holes 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 wand'ring air; I pass'd, methought, the melancholy flood, The first that there did greet my stranger soul, Clar. O, Brakenbury, I have done these thingsThat 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 aveng'd on my misdeeds, 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. Brak. I will, my lord; God give your grace good rest! [CLARENCE reposes himself on a Chair. 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: Enter the Two Murderers. 1 Murd. Ho! who's here? Brak, What would'st thou, fellow? and how cam'st thou hither? 1 Murd. I would speak with Clarence, and I came hither on my legs. Brak. What, so brief? 2 Murd. O, sir, 'tis better to be brief than tedious: Let him see our commission; talk no more. [A Paper is 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 of the meaning. Here are the keys; there sits the duke asleep: 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. When he wakes! why, fool, 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 for it; but to be damn'd for killing him, from the which no warrant can defend me. 1 Murd. I thought, thou had'st been resolute. 2 Murd. So I am, to let him live. 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 holy humour of mine will change; it was wont to hold me but while one would tell 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. Come, he dies; I had forgot the reward. 1 Murd. Where's thy conscience now? 2 Murd. In the duke of Gloster's purse. 1 Murd. So 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, it makes a man a coward; a man cannot steal, but it accuseth him; a man cannot swear, but it checks him. 'Tis a blushing shame-faced spirit, that mutinies in a man's bosom; it fills 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 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. |