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SCENE V. The Tower.
Clarence and Brakenbury. 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 cross to Burgundy, And in my company, my brother Glo'ster ; Who from my cabin tempted me to walk Upon the hatches. Thence we look'd tow'rd England, And cited up a thousand heavy times, During the wars of York and Lancaster, That had befal’n us. As we pac'd along Upon the giddy footing of the hatches, Methought, that Glo'fter stumbled ; 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 noise of waters in my ears ! What fights of ugly death within mine eyes ! I thought, I saw a thoufand fearful wrecks; A thousand men, that fishes gnaw'd upon ! Wedges of gold, great anchors, heaps of pearl, Ineftimable ftones, unvalued jewels; Some lay in dead mens kulls; and in those holes,
(4) See Merchant of Venice, p: 60, 0, 5. and p. 54. preceding.
Where eyes did once inhabit, there were crept,
such leisure in the time of death, To gaze upon the secrets of the deep ?
Clar. Methought, I had ; and often did I strive
Brak. Awak'd you not with this sad agony
Clar. No, no, my dream was lengthen'd after life.
noise 1, treinbling 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, that it affrighted you ; I am afraid, methinks, to hear you tell it.
Clar. Ah! Brakenbury, I have done those things
Greatness, it's Cares. (5) Princes have but their titles for their glories, An outward honour, for an inward toil ; And, for unfelt imaginat ons, They often feel a world of endless cares : So that between their titles, and low name, There's nothing differs but the outward fame. Scene V. The Murtherers Account of Conscience. .
I'll not meddle with ; 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 lye with his neighbour's wife, but it detects him. 'Tis a blufhing 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 thac keeps it. It is turned out of towns and cities for a
(5) See pages 50, 51, &c. and the notes foregoing.
dangerous dangerous thing ; and every man that means to live well, endeavours to trust to himself, and live without it.
ACT II. SCENE II.
Ah ! that deceit should steal fuch gentle shape, And with a virtuous vizor hide deep vice!
Submission to Heaven, our Duty.
(7) O monentary grace of mortal men,
(6) In, &c.] This is spoken by the marquis of Dar set to the queen, when bewailing the loss of her husband Edward'Iv.
(7) 0, &c.] This possibly might have risen from the following lines in the listh Pfalm.
It is better to trust in the lord, than to put any confidence 'in man.
It is better to trust in the lord, than to put any confidence princes, &c. See too the zoth Pfalm.
Scene VII. CONTEMPLATIO N.
When holy and devout religious men
SCENE III. Description of the Murder of the two
young Princes in the Tower.
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 ruthle's butchery, Albeit they were flesht 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 innocent alabaster arms; Their lips were four red roses on a stalk, And in their summer beauty kiss'd each other, A book of prayer's on their pillow lay, Which once, (quoth Forrest) almost chang'd my
mind : But, oh! the Devil -- there the villain lopt: When Dighton thus told on--we smothered The most replenished sweet work of nature, That from the prime creation e'er the framed. Hence both are gone with conscience and remorse;
į. They could not speak, and so I left them both, To bear those tidings to the bloody king.