Buck. Nor no one here; for curfes never pass
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 ministers 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 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 Margaret was a prophetess.
Live each of you the fubject to his hate,
And he to yours, and all of you to God's!
Buck. My hair doth stand 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 chriftian-like conclufion,
To pray for them that have done fcathe to us.
Glo. So do I ever, being well advis'd;
For had I curs'd now, I had curs'd my felf.
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 Gloucester.
Glo. I do the wrong, and firit 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, Dorfet, Gray.
But then I figh, and with a piece of fcripture,
Tell them that God bids us do good for evil:
And thus I cloathe my naked villainy
With old odd ends, ftol'n forth of holy writ,
And feem a Saint, when most I play the Devil.
Enter two Villains.
But foft, here come my executioners.
How now, my hardy, ftout, refolved mates,
Are you now going to dispatch this deed?
I 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.
2 Vil. Fear not, my Lord, we will not ftand 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
you, lads; about your business
bufinefs; go.
U 3
Enter Clarence and Brakenbury.
Brak, WHY looks your Grace fo heavily to-day?
Cla. O, I have part a miferable 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
Cla. Methought that I had broken from the Tower, And was embark'd to cross to Burgundy,
And in my company my brother Glofter,
Who from my cabbin 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 befal❜n us. As we pafs'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 mine 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 ftones, unvalued jewels.
Some lay in dead men's skulls; 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 fuch leisure in the time of death,
To gaze upon the fecrets of the deep?
Cla. 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 air;
But fmother'd it within my panting bulk,
Which almost burst to belch it in the fea.
Brak. Awak'd you not in this fore agony?
Cla. No, no, my dream was lengthen'd after life.
O then began the tempeft to my foul:
I past, 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 ftranger-foul,
Was my great father-in-law, renowned Warwick,
Who cry'd aloud-What Scourge 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, false, fleeting, perjur'd Clarence,
That ftabb'd me in the field by Tewskbury;
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.
Cla. Ah! Brakenbury, I have done those things,
That now give evidence against my soul,
For Edward's fake; and fee how he requites me!
O God! if my deep prayers cannot appeafe 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 sleep.
Brak. I will, my Lord; God give your Grace good rest ! Sorrow breaks feasons 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.
Brak. In God's name, what art thou? how cam'ft thou hither?
2 Vil. I would speak with Clarence, and I came hither on my legs.
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 reason what is meant hereby,
Because I will be guiltless of the meaning.
There lyes the Duke alleep, and there the keys.
I'll to the King, and fignify to him,
That thus I have refign'd to you my charge.
1 Vil. You may, Sir, 'tis a point of wisdom: 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,
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