Q. Mar. And turns the fun to fhade;-alas! alas !
Witnefs my son, now in the shade of death;
Whose bright out-fhining beams thy cloudy wrath
Hath in eternal darkness folded up.
Your Airy buildeth in our Airy's nest;
O God, that feeft it, do not fuffer it:
As it was won with blood, fo be it loft!
Buck. Peace, peace, for fhame, if not for charity. Q. Mar. Urge neither charity nor fhame to me; Uncharitably with me have you dealt,
And shamefully my hopes, by you, are butcher'd.
My charity is outrage, life my fhame,
And in my fhame ftill live my forrow's rage!
Buck. Have done, have done.
Q. Mar. O Princely Buckingham, I'll kiss thy hand, In fign 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 compafs of my curfe.
Buck. Nor no one here; for curses never pass
The lips of thofe, that breathe them in the air.
Q. Mar. I'll not believe, but they ascend the sky,
And there awake God's gentle-sleeping peace.
O Buckingham, beware of yonder dog ;
Look, when he fawns, he bites; and, when he bites, His venom tooth will rankle to the death;
Have not to do with him, beware of him;
Sin. death, and hell, have set their marks upon him,
And all their minifters attend on him.
Glo. What doth fhe fay, my Lord of Buckingham?
Buck. Nothing that I refpect, my gracious Lord.
Q. Mar. What doft thou fcorn me for my gentle.
And footh the devil, that I warn thee from ?
O, but remember this another day;
When he fhall split thy very heart with forrow;
And fay, poor Margret was a Prophetefs.
Live each of you the fubject to his hate,
And he to yours, and all of you to God's!
Buck. My hair doth fand on end to hear her Curfes. Riv. And fo doth mine: I wonder, the'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.
Dorf. I never did her any to my knowledge.
Glo. Yet you have all the 'vantage of her wrong:
I was too hot to do fome body good,
That is too cold in thinking of it now.
Marry, for Clarence, he is well repay'd;
He is frank'd up to fatting for his pains;
God pardon them, that are the cause thereof!
Riv. A virtuous and a chriftian-like conclufion,
Το pray for them that have done fcathe to us.
Glo. So do I ever, being well advis'd ;
For had I curst now, I had curft myself.
Catef. Madam, his Majefty doth call for you, And for your Grace, and you, my noble Lord. Queen. Catesby, we come; lords, will you go with us? Riv. Madam, we will attend your Grace.
[Exeunt all but Gloucefter. Glo. I do the wrong, and firft begin to brawl. The fecret mifchiefs, that I fet a-broach,
I lay unto the grievous charge of others.
Clarence, whom I indeed have laid in darkness,
I do beweep to many fimple gulls,
Namely to Stanley, Haftings, Buckingham ;
And tell them, 'tis the Queen and her allies
That ftir the King against the Duke my brother.
Now they believe it, and withal whet me
To be reveng'd on Rivers, Dorfet, Gray.
But then I figh, and with a piece of Scripture,
Tell them, that God bids us do good for evil:
And thus I clothe my naked villany
L 3
With old odd ends, ftoll'n forth of holy Writ,
And feem a Saint, when moft I play the Devil.
But foft, here come my executioners.
How now, my handy, ftout, refolved mates,
Are you now going to difpatch this deed?
1 Vil. 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: When you have done, repair to Crosby-place. But, Sirs, be fudden in the execution, Withal obdurate, do not hear him plead; For Clarence is well-fpoken, and, perhaps, May move your hearts to pity, if you mark him. Vil. Fear not, my lord, we will not fland to prate; Talkers are no good doers; be affur'd,
We go to use our hands, and not our tongues. Glo. Your eyes drop mill-ftones, when fools' eyes drop tears.
I like you, lads; about your business; go. [Exeunt.
SCENE V.
Changes to the Tower.
Enter Clarence and Brakenbury.
Brak. Clar. O, I have paft a miferable night, 7HY looks your Grace fo heavily to day? WHY
So full of ugly fights, of ghaftly dreams,
That, as I am a chriftian faithful man,
I would not spend another such 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
And was embark'd to cross to Burgundy,
And in my company my brother Glofter;
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 my 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 stones, unvalued jewels.
Some lay in dead men's fkulls; 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 fcatter'd by.
Brak. Had you such leisure in the time of death,
To gaze upon the Secrets of the Deep?
Clar. Methought, I had; and often did I ftrive
To yield the ghoft; 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 fmother'd it within my panting bulk,
Which almoft burst to belch it in the fea.
Brak. Awak'd you not with this fore agony?
Clar. No, no, my dream was lengthened after life.
O then began the tempeft to my foul:
I paft, methought, the melancholy flood,
With that grim ferry-man, 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 vanish'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 flabb'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 noife
I, trembling, wak'd; and for a season after
Could not believe but that I was in Hell:
Such terrible impreffion made my dream.
Brak. No marvel, lord, that it affrighted you;
I am afraid, methinks, to hear you tell it.
Clar. Ah! Brakenbury, I have done thofe things
That now give evidence against 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, stay by me;
My foul is heavy, and I fain would fleep.
Brak. I will, my lord; God give your Grace good Reft!
Sorrow breaks feafons and repofing 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:
So that between their titles, and low name,
There's nothing differs but the outward fame.
|