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Into the tumbling billows of the main.
O Lord: methought what pain it was to drown!
What dreadful noise of water in mine ears!
What sights of ugly death within mine eyes!
Methought I saw a thousand fearful wrecks;
A thousand men, that fishes gnaw'd upon;
Wedges of gold, great anchors, heaps of pearl,
Inestimable stones, unvalued jewels,
All scatter'd in the bottom of the sea,
Some lay in dead men's skulls; and, in those holes.

eyes did once inhabit, there were crept (As 'twere in scorn of eyes,) reflecting gems, That woo'd the slimy bottom of tae deep, And mock'd the dead bones that lay scatter'd by.

Brak. Had you such leisure in the time of death, Το gaze upon

these secrets of the deep? Clar. Methought, I had: and cften did I strive To yield the ghost: but still the envious flood Kept in my soul, and would not let it forth To seek the empty, vast, and wand'ring air: But smother'd it within my panting bulk, * Which almost burst to belch it in the sea.

Brak. Awak'd you not with this sore agony?

Clar. O, no, my dream was lengthen’d after life; 0, then began the tempest to my soul! I pass’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 soul; Was my great father-in-law, renowned Warwick, Who cry'd aloud,-What scourge for perjury Can this dark monarchy afford false Clarence? And so he vanish'd: Then came wand'ring by A shadow like an angel, with bright hair Dabbled in blood: and he shriek'd out aloud, Clarence is come,-false, 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 Environ'd me, and howled in mine ears

* Body

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 my dream.

Brak. No marvel, lord, though it affrighted you ! I am afraid, methinks, to hear you tell it.

Clar. 0, Brakenbury, I have done these things That now give evidence against my soul, For Edward's sake; and, see, 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, spare my guiltless wife, and my poor children!


Sorrow breaks seasons, and reposing hours, Makes the night morning, and the noon-tide night.


Princes have their titles for their glories,
An outward honour for an inward toil;
And, for my 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.

A MURDERER'S ACCOUNT OF CONSCIENCE. I'll not meddle with it, it is a dangerous thing, it makes a man a coward: a man cannot steal but it accuseth him; a man cannot swear, but it checks him; a man cannot lie with his neighbour's wife, but it detects him; 'Tis a blushing shame-fac'd spirit, that mutinies in a man's bosom; it fills one full of obstacles; it made me once restore a purse of gold, that by chance I found; it beggars any man that keeps it; it is turned out of all towns and cities for a dangerous thing; and every man, that means to live well, endeavours to trust to himself, and live without it.



Ah, that deceit should steal sueh gentle shapes, d with a virtuous visor hide deep vice!


In common worldly things, 'tis call'd-ungrateful, With dull unwillingness to repay a debt, Which with a bounteous hand was kindly lent; Much more to be thus opposite with heaven, For it requires the royal debt it lent you. THE DUCHESS OF YORK'S LAMENTATION ON THE MIS


Duch. Accursed and unquiet wrangling days! How many of you have mine eyes beheld? My husband lost his life to get the crown; And often up and down my sons were tost, For me to joy, and weep, their gain, and loss: And being seated, and domestic broils Clean overblown, themselves, the conquerors, Make war upon themselves: brother to brother, Blood to blood, self 'gainst self; 0, preposterous And frantic courage, end thy damned spleen; Or let me die to look on death no more!

O momentary grace of mortal men,
Which we more hunt for than the grace of God!
Who builds his hope in air of your fair looks,
Lives like a drunken sailor on a mast:
Ready, with every nod, to tumble down
Into the fatal bowels of the deep.

When holy and devout religious men
Are at their beads, 'tis hard to draw them thence;
So sweet is zealous contemplation.




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,
Melting with tenderness and mild compassion,
Wept like two children, in their death's sad story.
O thus quoth Dighton, lay the gentle babes,-
Thus, thus, quoth Forrest girdling one another
Within their alabaster innocent arms;
Their lips were four red ses on a stalk,
Which, in their summer beauty, kiss'd each other.
A bool of prayers on their pillow lay;
Which once, quoth Forrest, almost chang'd my mind;
But, 0, the Devil—there the villain stopp'd;
When Dighton thus told on, we smotherd
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.


Come, I have learn’d, that fearful commenting
Is leaden servitor to dull delay;
Delay leads impotent and snail-pac'd beggary:
Then fiery expedition be my wing,
Jove's Mercury, and herald for a king!

I call?d thee then, rain flourish of my fortune;
I called thee then, poor shadow, painted queen:
The presentation of but what I was,
The flattering indext of a direful pageant,
One hear'd a high to be hurl'd down below:
A mother only mock'd with two fair babes;
A dream of what thou wast; a garisht flag,
To be the aim of every dangerous shot;
A sign of dignity, a breath, a bubble,

queen in jest, only to fill the scene.
* Merciless.
+ Indexes were anciently placed at the beginning


Where is thy husband now? Where be thy brothers?
Where be thy two sons? wherein dost thou joy?
Who sues, and kneels, and says—God save the queen?
Where be the bending peers that flatter'd thee?
Where be the thronging troops that follow'd thee?
Decline all this and see what now thou art.
For happy wife, a most distressed widow;
For joyful mother, one that wails the name;
For one being sued to one that humbly sues:
For queen, a very caitiff crown'd with care;
For one that scorn'd at me, now scorn'd of me;
For one being feard of all, now fearing one;
For ore commanding all, obey'd of none.
Thus hath the course of justice wheel'd about,
And left thee but a very prey to time;
Having no more but thought of what thou wert,
To torture thee the more, being what thou art.


Techy* and wayward was thy infancy; Thy school-days, frightful, desperate, wild, and furi

ous; Thy prime of manhood, daring, bold, and venturous; Thy age confirm’d, proud, subtle, sly, and bloody.



True hope is swist, and flies with swallow's wings, Kings it makes gods, and meaner creatures kings.


The weary sun hath made a golden set, And, by the bright tract of his fiery car, Gives token of a goodly day to-morrow.


The silent hours steal on,
And flaky darkness breaks within the east.

O thou ! whose captain I account myself,
Look op my forces with a gracious eye;

* Touchy, fretful.

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