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 compass of my curse.

Buck. Nor no one here; for curfes never pafs
The lips of thofe, that breathe them in the air.
Q. Mar. I'll not believe, but they afcend the sky,
And there awake God's gentle-fleeping 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 fet their marks upon him;
And all their minifters attend on him.

Glo. What doth the fay, my Lord of Buckingham? Buck. Nothing that I refpect, my gracious Lord. Q.Mar.What, dost thou scorn me for my gentle counsel? And footh the devil, that I warn thee from?

O, but remember this another day;

When he shall split thy very heart with forrow;
And fay, poor Margret was a prophetess.
Live each of you the fubject to his hate,
And he to yours, and all of you to God's !

[Exit.

Buck. My hair doth ftand on end to hear her curfes.
Riv. And fo doth mine: I wonder fhe'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 christian-like conclufion, To pray for them that have done fcathe to us.

Glo. So do I ever, being well advis'd; For had I curft now, I had curft myself.

Enter Catesby.

Catef. Madam, his Majefty doth call for you, And for your Grace, and you, my noble Lord.

[Afide.

Queen. Catesby, we come; Lords, will you go with us? Riv. Madam, we will attend your Grace.

[Exeunt all but Glocefter.
Glo. I do the wrong, and firft begin to brawl.
The fecret mischiefs, 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, Lorfet, 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

With old odd ends, ftol'n forth of holy writ,
And seem a faint, when most I play the devil.
Enter two Murderers.

But foft, here come my executioners.
How now, my handy, ftout, refolved mates,
Are you now going to dispatch 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 sudden 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 ftand to prate; Talkers are no good doers; be affur'd,

We go to ufe our hands, and not our tongues.

Glo.

Glo. Your eyes drop mill-ftones, when fools eyes drop

tears.

I like you, lads; about your business; go.

Brak.

[Exeunt.

SCENE changes to the Tower.

W

Enter Clarence and Brakenbury.

HY looks your Grace fo heavily to-day? Clar. O, I have past a miserable night, So full of ugly fights, of ghaftly dreams, That, as I am a chriftian faithful man, I would not spend another fuch 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 tell me. Clar. Methought, that I had broken from the Tower; And was embark'd to crofs to Burgundy,

And in my company my brother Glo'fter;
Who from my cabin tempted me to walk

Upon the hatches. Thence we look'd tow'rd England,
And cited up a thoufand 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 stay 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 mine eyes!
I thought, I faw a thousand fearful wracks;
A thousand men, that fishes gnaw'd upon;
Wedges of gold, great anchors, heaps of pearl,
Ineftimable ftones, unvalued jewels.

Some lay in dead men's fkulls; 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 fcatter'd by.

Brak.

To

Brak. Had you fuch leisure in the time of death, gaze upon the fecrets of the deep?

Clar. Methought, I had; and often did I strive
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 airs
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 length'ned 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 first that there did greet my stranger foul,
Was my great father-in-law, renowned Warwick,
Why 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 shriek'd out aloud
Clarence is come, falfe, fleeting, perjur'd Clarence,
That stabb'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 feafon 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 those things,
That now give evidence againft 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!
VOL. V.

K

I

I pr'ythee, Brakenbury, ftay 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,

[Afide

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.

Enter the two Murderers.

1 Vil. Ho, who's here ?

Brak. In God's name, what art thou? how cam'st thou hither?

2 Vil. I would fpeak with Clarence, and I came hither on my legs.

Brak. What, fo brief?

1 Vil. 'Tis better, Sir, than to be tedious. Let him fee our commiffion, and talk no more.

Brak. [Reads] 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.

There lies the Duke afleep, and there the keys.
I'll to the King, and fignify to him

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

[Exit.

1 Vil. You may, Sir, 'tis a point of wifdom: fare

you well.

2 Vil. What, fhall we ftab him as he fleeps?

1 Vil. No; he'll fay, 'twas done cowardly, when he wakes.

2 Vil. When he wakes! why, fool, he fhall never wake until the great judgment-day.

1 Vil. Why, then he'll fay, we ftabb'd him fleeping. 2 Vil. The urging of that word, judgment, hath bred a kind of remorfe in me.

1 Vil. What? art thou afraid?

2 Vil.