Though 'twere to buy a world of happy days;
So full of dismal 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 embarked to cross to Burgundy;

And, in my company, my brother Gloster;
Who from my cabin tempted me to walk
Upon the hatches:-As we pac'd along,
Upon the giddy footing of the hatches,
Methought that Gloster stumbled; and, in falling,
Struck me, that thought to stay him, overboard,
Into the tumbling billows of the main.

Lord, Lord, methought, what pain it was to drown!
What dreadful noise of waters in mine ears !—
What sights of ugly death within my eyes!
Methought, I saw a thousand fearful wrecks;
A thousand men, that fishes gnawed upon;
Wedges of gold, great anchors, heaps of pearl,
Inestimable stones, unvalued jewels,

All scattered in the bottom of the sea.

Some lay in dead men's skulls: and, in those holes
Where eyes did once inhabit, there were crept,
(As 'twere in scorn of eyes,) reflecting gems,
That wooed the slimy bottom of the deep,
And mock'd the dead bones that lay scatter'd by.
Brak. Awaked you not with this sore agony?

Clar. Oh, no-my dream was lengthened after life:

O, then began the tempest to my soul!

I passed, 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 cried aloud-" What scourge for perjury
"Can this dark monarchy afford false Clarence ?"
And so he vanished: then came wandering by
A shadow like an angel, with bright hair,
Dabbled in blood; and he shrieked out aloud-
"Clarence is come-false, fleeting, perjured Clarence,-
"That stabbed me in the field by Tewksbury ;-
"Seize on him, furies, take him to your torments !"-

With that, methought, a legion of foul fiends
Environed 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 impression made my dream.

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

Clar. Oh, Brakenbury, I have done these things,— Which now give evidence against my soul,

For Edward's sake; and see how he requites me!—

Brakenbury is going.

I prythee, Brakenbury, soon return.

My soul is heavy, and I fain would sleep.

Brak. I will, my lord.

(A knocking.)

(Exit.

Clar. Oh, heaven! if my deep prayers cannot appease

thee,

But thou wilt be avenged on my misdeeds,

Yet execute thy wrath on me alone :

O, spare my guiltless wife, and my poor children!

Enter the two Officers.

In heaven's name, what art thou?

How darkly, and how deadly dost thou look!
Your eyes do menace me: why look you pale?
Who sent you hither? Wherefore, do you come?
1st. Off. To-

Clar. To murder me?

1st Off. Ay.

Clar. You scarcely have the hearts to tell me so,
And therefore cannot have the hearts to do it.

What's my offence? Where is the evidence?—
Who hath pronounced the sentence of my death?

1st Off. He that commands the action is our king. Clar. Erroneous vassal! The great king of kings Hath in the table of his law commanded

That thou shalt do no murder-O then, take heed! 1st. Off. We will!-They seize him.)

Clar. If you are hired for meed, go back again, And I will send you to my brother Gloster

1st. Off

"Tis he that sends us to destroy you here. Clar. It cannot be for he bewept my fortunes.Oh, friend! I see some pity in thy looks

2d Off. In vain thou speak'st.

Clar. I never did thee harm—

But let me pray before I take my death.

2d. Off. Strike!

Clar. Oh, mercy! hear me speak-before I die

(Struggling.) Oh, my poor children! Oh! most bloody deed!

(Falls into the arms of the Officers, who bear him off into an inner chamber.)

END OF ACT THE FIRST.

C

ACT II.

SCENE I.—A street before St. Paul's Church.

Enter Sir William Brandon meeting Lord Stanley.

Bran. Good day, my lord: What brings you to St. Paul's?

Stan. I come among the crowd, to see the corpse

Of poor king Henry; 'tis a dismal sight.

Bran. I am oblig'd to pay attendance here:

The lady Anne has license to remove

King Henry's corpse to be interr'd at Chertsey;
And I'm engag'd to follow her.

Stan. Mean you king Henry's daughter-in-law?

Bran. The same, sir; widow to the late prince Edward, Whom Gloster kill'd at Tewkesbury.

Stan. Alas, poor lady! she's severely us'd;

And yet, I hear, Richard attempts her love:

Methinks, the wrongs he has done her, might deter him. Bran. Neither those wrongs, nor his own shape can fright him :

He sent for leave to visit her this morning,

And she was forc'd to keep her bed to avoid him.
But, look-here Gloster comes— -Will you along,
To see this doleful ceremony?—

Stan. I'll wait on you.

[Exeunt.

Enter Gloster.

Glos. "Twas her excuse, to avoid me. Alas!

She keeps no bed ;

-

She has health enough to progress far as Chertsey,
Though not to bear the sight of me.

I cannot blame her:

Why, love forswore me in my mother's womb;
And, for I should not deal in his soft laws,
He did corrupt frail nature with a bribe,
To shrink my arm up, like a wither'd shrub;

To make an envious mountain on my back,
Where sits deformity to mock my body;
To shape my legs of an unequal size;
To disproportion me in every part :-
And am I then a man to be belov'd?
O, monstrous thought! more vain than
my ambition!-
Then, since the heavens have shaped my body so,
Let hell make crooked my mind, to answer it!
And since it seems I cannot prove a lover,

I am determined to prove a villain !—
Bell tolls.

But see! my love appears.

'Tis true, my form, perhaps, may little move her;
But I've a tongue shall wheedle with the devil.
Why, I can smile, and murder while I smile,
And wet my cheek with artificial tears,

And cry, content, to that which grieves my heart,
And frame my face to all occasions.

(Bell tolls. Enter Lady Anne, Stanley, Brandon. Officers, Guards, Friars, Ladies, and Pallbearers, with King Henry's body. Yet, hold; she mourns the man that I have kill'd: First let her sorrows take some vent: Stand here: I'll take her passion in its wane, and turn This storm of grief to gentle drops of pity For his repentant murderer.

Anne. Set down, set down your honorable load,

While I awhile obsequiously lament

The untimely fall of virtuous Henry.

O, cursed be the hands that made these wounds!
Cursed the heart, that had the heart to do it!
If ever he have wife, let her be made

More miserable by the life of him,

Than I am made by my young lord and thee!

(Retires.

Glos. Poor girl! what pains she takes to curse herself! Anne. If ever he have child, abortive be it,

Prodigious, and untimely brought to light,

Whose ugly and unnatural aspect

May fright the hopeful mother at the view,
And that be heir to his unhappiness!
Now, on to Chertsey with your sacred load.

(They advance with the corpse.