My charity is outrage, life my shame, And in my shame still live my sorrow's rage! Q. Mar. O princely Buckingham, I kiss thy hand, In sign of league and amity with thee: Now fair befall thee, and thy noble house! Thy garments are not spotted with our blood, Nor thou within the compass of my curse. Buck. Nor no one here; for curses never pass The lips of those that breathe them in the air. Q. Mar. I'll not believe but they ascend the sky, Look, when he fawns, he bites; and, when he bites, 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 And sooth the devil that I warn thee from? [counsel ? O, but remember this another day, When he shall split thy very heart with sorrow; And he to yours, and all of you to God's! [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. Yet you have all the vantage of her wrong. I was too hot to do some body good, That is too cold in thinking of it now. Marry, as for Clarence, he is well repaid: He is frank'd up' to fatting for his pains;- For had I curs'd now, I had curs'd myself. [Aside. Cates. Madam, his majesty doth call for you,— And for your grace,—and you, my noble lords. Q. Eliz. Catesby, I come:-Lords, will you go with me? Riv. Madam, we will attend upon your grace. [Exeunt all but GLOSTER. Glo. I do the wrong, and first begin to brawl. I lay unto the grievous charge of others. Namely, to Stanley, Hastings, Buckingham; With old odd ends, stol'n forth of holy writ; But soft, here come my executioners.— 1 Murd. We are, my lord; and come to have the That we may be admitted where he is. [warrant, 1i. e. penned up. 2 i. e. harm, mischief. 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, May move your hearts to pity, if you mark him. Talkers are no good doers; be assur'd, We go to use our hands, and not our tongues. Glo. Your eyes drop mill-stones, when fools' eyes drop tears: I like you, lads ;-about your business straight; 1 Murd. We will, my noble lord. [Exeunt. SCENE IV.-The same. 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, So full of fearful dreams, of ugly sights, 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 embark'd to cross to Burgundy; And, in my company, my brother Gloster: Upon the hatches: thence we look'd toward England, Upon the giddy footing of the hatches, Methought, that Gloster stumbled; and, in falling, O Lord! 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 Brak. Awak'd you not with this sore agony? Clar. O, no, my dream was lengthen'd after life. O, then began the tempest of my soul! 4 I pass'd, methought, the melancholy flood, The first that there did greet my stranger soul, i. e. invaluable. 3 i. e. body. By seeming to gaze upon it. + Charon. A shadow like an angel, with bright hair Clar. O, Brakenbury, I have done these things,That now give evidence against my soul,— For Edward's sake; and, see, how he requites me!- Yet execute thy wrath on me alone: O, spare my guiltless wife, and my poor children!— pray thee, gentle keeper, stay by me; I 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. And, for unfelt imaginations," They often feel a world of restless cares : Enter the two Murderers. 1 Murd. Ho! who's here? The glories of princes are nothing more than empty titles. And, for imaginary and unreal gratifications, &c. |