With that, methought, a legion of foul fiends
Environ'd me about, 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 impression made the dream.
THE MURDER OF KING EDWARD'S SONS
Tyrell, commissioned by the infamous Richard III, to despatch the two sons of King Edward, soliloquizes on the murder.
The tyrannous and bloody act is done:
The most arch deed of piteous massacre,
That ever yet this land was guilty of.
Dighton and Forrest, whom I did suborn
To do this piece of ruthless butchery,
Albeit they were flesh'd villains, bloody dogs, Melted with tenderness and mild compassion, Wept like two children in their death's sad story. "Lo! thus," quoth Dighton, "lay the gentle babes,”"Thus, thus," quoth Forrest, "girding one another Within their alabaster innocent arms:
Their lips were four red roses on a stalk,
Which in their summer beauty kiss'd each other.
A book of prayers on their pillow lay;
Which once," quoth Forrest, "almost chang'd my mind;
But O! the devil"-there the villain stopp'd;
When Dighton thus told on,-"We smothered
The most replenished sweet work of nature,
That from the prime creation e'er she fram'd."
Hence both are gone: with conscience and remorse,
They could not speak; and so I left them both,
To bear this tidings to the bloody king.
RICHARD III. IS CONSCIENCE-STRICKEN
The king, branded many times over with the curse of Cain, starts from a hideous dream, in which the spirits of his murdered victims have risen up before him to glare at and curse him.
Give me another horse!-bind up my wounds!—
Have mercy, Jesu!-Soft! I did but dream.-
O, coward conscience, how dost thou afflict me!—
The lights burn blue. It is now dead midnight.
Cold fearful drops stand on my trembling flesh.
What do I fear? myself? there's none else by:
Richard loves Richard; that is, I am I.
Is there a murderer here? No;-yes; I am:
Then fly. What, from myself? Great reason: why? Lest I revenge. What! Myself upon myself?
Alack! I love myself. Wherefore? for any good That I myself have done unto myself?
O! no: alas! I rather hate myself
For hateful deeds committed by myself.
I am a villain. Yet I lie; I am not.
Fool, of thyself speak well:-Fool, do not flatter.
My conscience hath a thousand several tongues,
And every tongue brings in a several tale,
And every tale condemns me for a villain.
Perjury, perjury, in the high'st degree;
Murder, stern murder, in the direst degree:
All several sins, all us'd in each degree,
Throng to the bar, crying all,-Guilty! guilty!-
I shall despair.-There is no creature loves me;
And if I die, no soul shall pity me: -
Nay, wherefore should they? since that I myself
Find in myself no pity to myself.
Methought the souls of all that I had murder'd
Came to my tent; and every one did threat
To-morrow's vengeance on the head of Richard.
RICHMOND TO HIS SOLDIERS
-ID., ACT V, SCENE 3.
Arousing them against the blood-thirsty Richard III.
More than I have said, loving countrymen,
The leisure and enforcement of the time
Forbids to dwell on: yet remember this,—
God and our good cause fight upon our side;
The prayers of holy saints and wrongéd souls,
Like high-rear'd bulwarks stand before our faces.
Richard except, those whom we fight against
Had rather have us win than him they follow.
For what is he they follow? Truly, gentlemen,
A bloody tyrant, and a homicide;
One rais'd in blood, and one in blood establish'd;
One that made means to come by what he hath,
And slaughter'd those that were the means to help
A base foul stone, made precious by the foil
Of England's chair, where he is falsely set;
One that hath ever been God's enemy:
Then, if you fight against God's enemy,
God will in justice ward you as his soldiers:
If you do sweat to put a tyrant down,
You sleep in peace, the tyrant being slain;
If you do fight against your country's foes,
Your country's fat shall pay your pains the hire;
If you do fight in safeguard of your wives,
Your wives shall welcome home the conquerors;
If you do free your children from the sword,
Your children's children quit it in your age.
Then, in the name of God and all these rights,
Advance your standards, draw your willing swords.
For me, the ransom of my bold attempt
Shall be this cold corpse on the earth's cold face;
But if I thrive, the gain of my attempt
The least of you shall share his part thereof.
Sound drums and trumpets boldly, cheerfully;
God and Saint George! Richmond and victory!
RICHMOND VICTORIOUS OVER RICHARD III. -ID., ACT V, SCENE 4.
Richmond, in the battle of Bosworth Field, has just killed in personal encounter the frenzied king and ended his reign of horrors and assassinations.
Inter their bodies as becomes their births;
Proclaim a pardon to the soldiers fled,
That in submission will return to us;
And then, as we have ta'en the sacrament,
We will unite the white rose and the red:
Smile heaven upon this fair conjunction,
That long hath frown'd upon their enmity!
What traitor hears me, and says not amen?
England hath long been mad, and scarr'd herself;
The brother blindly shed the brother's blood,
The father rashly slaughter'd his own son,
The son, compell'd, been butcher to the sire;
All this divided York and Lancaster,
Divided in their dire division.
O! now let Richmond and Elizabeth,
The true succeeders of each royal house,
By God's fair ordinance conjoin together:
And let their heirs, God, if thy will be so,
Enrich the time to come with smooth-faced peace,
With smiling plenty and fair prosperous days!
Abate the edge of traitors, gracious Lord,
That would reduce these bloody days again,
And make poor England weep in streams of blood!
Let them not live to taste this land's increase
That would with treason wound this fair land's peace!
Now civil wounds are stopp'd; peace lives again;
That she may long live here, God say amen!
CARDINAL WOLSEY'S SOLILOQUY
SHAKESPEARE'S HENRY VIII., ACT III, SCENE 2.
The Cardinal has been disgraced by his king, Henry VIII., and shorn of the dignity of Lord Chancellor of the realm.
Farewell, a long farewell, to all my greatness!
This is the state of man: to-day he puts forth.
The tender leaves of hope, to-morrow blossoms,
And bears his blushing honors thick upon him:
The third day comes a frost, a killing frost:
And, when he thinks,-good easy man, full surely
His greatness is a ripening,-nips his root,
And then he falls, as I do. I have ventured,
Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders,
This many summers in a sea of glory;
But far beyond my depth: my high blown pride.
At length broke under me, and now has left me,
Weary and old with service, to the mercy
Of a rude stream, that must forever hide me.
|