Struck me, that thought to stay him, over-board,
Into the tumbling billows of the main.

O Lord! methought, what pain it was to drown!
What dreadful noife of water in mine ears!
What fights of ugly death within mine eyes!
Methought, I faw a thousand fearful wrecks;
A thousand men, that fishes gnaw'd upon;
Wedges of gold, great anchors, heaps of pearl,
Inestimable ftones, unvalued jewels,

All scatter'd in the bottom of the fea.

Some lay in dead men's skulls; and, in those 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 scatter'd by.
Brak. Had you fuch leisure in the time of death,
To gaze upon these fecrets 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 feek the empty, vaft, and wand'ring air;
But fmother'd it within my panting bulk,
Which almoft burft to belch it in the fea.
Brak. Awak'd you not with this fore agony?
Clar. O, no, my dream was lengthen'd after life

O, then began the tempest to my foul !
I pafs'd, 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 foul,
Was my great father-in-law, renowned Warwick;
Who cry'd aloud,-What scourge for perjury
Can this dark monarchy afford false Clarence?
And fo he vanish'd: Then came wand'ring by

A fhadow

Satchwell, del.

Hopwood, seulp.

Richard the Third!

Act. 2. Scene. 4.

Published Jand. 1800, by Vernor & Hood, Poultry.

A fhadow like an angel, with bright hair

Dabbled in blood; and he shriek'd out aloud,—
Clarence is come,-false, fleeting, perjur'd Clarence,—
That ftabb'd me in the field by Tewksbury ;—

Seize on him, furies, take him to your torments !—
With that, methought, a legion of foul fiends
Environ'd me, and howled in mine ears
Such hideous cries, that, with the very noise,
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, though it affrighted you;
I am afraid, methinks, to hear you tell it.

Clar. O, Brakenbury, I have done these 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
I pray thee, gentle keeper, stay by me;

My foul is heavy, and I fain would sleep.

children!

Brak. I will, my lord; God give your grace good rest !-[CLARENCE reposes himself on a chair.

Sorrow breaks seasons, 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 restlefs cares:

So that, between their titles, and low name,
There's nothing differs but the outward fame.

Enter

Enter the two Murderers.

1 Murd. Ho! who's here?

Brak. What would't 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, fir, 'tis better to be brief, than tedious :Let him fee our commiffion; 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 reafon what is meant hereby, Because I will be guiltless of the meaning. Here are the keys;-there fits the duke asleep: I'll to the king; and fignify to him,

That thus I have refign'd to you my charge.

1 Murd. You may, fir; 'tis a point of wisdom : Fare you well. [Exit BRAKENBURY.

2 Murd. What, shall we stab him as he fleeps? 1 Murd. No; he'll fay, 'twas done cowardly, when he wakes.

2 Murd. When he wakes! why, fool, he fhall never wake until the great judgement day.

1 Murd. Why, then he'll fay, we stabb'd him sleeping. 2 Murd. The urging of that word, judgement, hath bred a kind of remorfe in me.

1 Murd. What? art thou afraid?

but

2 Murd. Not to kill him, having a warrant for it; to be damn'd for killing him, from the which no warrant can defend me.

1 Murd. I thought, thou had'ft been refolute.

2 Murd.