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Dabbled in Blood, and he' fhriek'd out aloud
Clarence is come, falfe, fleeting, perjur'd Clarence,
That stabb'd me in the Field by Tewksbury;
Seize on him, Furies, take him unto Torment-
With that, methought, a Legion of foul Fiends
Inviron'd me, and howled in mine Ears
Such hideous Cries, that with the very Noife,
1, trembling, wak'd; and for a Seafon after
Could not believe but that I was in Hell::
Such terrible Impreffion made my Dream.
Keep. No marvel, Lord, tho' it affrighted you,
I am afraid, methinks, to hear you tell it.

Clar. Ah Keeper, Keeper, I have done these 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.
Keeper, I prithee fet by me a while,

My Soul is heavy, and I fain would sleep.

Keep. I will, my Lord, God give your Grace good rest.
Enter Brakenbury the Lieutenant.

Brak. Sorrow breaks Seafons 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 reflefs Cares:
So that between their Titles and low Name,
There's nothing differs but the outward Fame.
Enter twe Villains.

1 Vil. Ho; who's here?

Brak. What would'ft thou, Fellow? And how cam'ft thou hither?

2 Vil. I would fpeak with Clarence, and I came hither on my Legs.

Brak. What, fo brief?

1 Vil. 'Tis better, Sir, than to be tedious:

Let him fee our Commiffion, and talk no more.

Brak

Brack. 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 from the meaning.
There lies the Duke asleep, and there the Keys.
Il to the King, and fignifie 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?

[Reads.

[Exit.

1 Vil. No; he'll fay 'twas done cowardly, when he wakes. 2 Vil. Why he fhall never wake, until the great Judg ment Day.

1 Vil. Why then he'll fay we ftabb'd him sleeping.

2 Vil. The urging of that word Judgment, hath bred a kind of Remorfe in me.

1 Vil. What? art thou afraid 2.

2 Vil. Not to kill him, having a Warrant.

But to be damn'd for killing him, from the which
No warrant can defend me.

1 Vil. I thought thou hadst been resolute.

2 Vil. So I am, to let him live.

1-Vil. I'll back to the Duke of Glo'ster, and tell him fo 2 Vil. Nay, prithee ftay a little:

I hope this paffionate Humour of mine will change;
It was wont to hold me but while one tells twenty.
I vil. How doft thou feel thy felf now?

2 Vil. Some certain dregs of Confcience are yet within me. I Vil. Remember the Reward, when the Deed's dones 2-Vil. Come he dies: I had forgot the Reward.

1 Vil. Where's thy Confcience now?

2 Vil. O, in the Duke of Glofter's Purse.

1 Vil. When he opens his Purfe to give us our Reward, thy Confcience flies out.

2 Vil. 'Tis no matter, let it go; there's few or none will entertain it.

1 Vil. What if it come to thee again?

2 Vil. I'll not meddle with it, it makes a Man a Coward A Man cannot steal, but it accuseth him; a Man cannot fwear, but it checks. him; a Man cannot lie with his

B 4

Neigh

Neighbour's Wife, but it detects him. 'Tis a blushing fhame-fac'd Spirit, that mutinies in a Man's Bofom: It fills a Man full of Obftacles. It made me once reftore a Purse of Gold, that, by chance, I found. It beggars any Man that keeps it. It is turn'd out of Towns and Cities for a dangerous thing, and every Man that means to live well, endeavours to trust himself, and live without it.

1 Vil. Tis even now at my Elbow, perfuading me not to kill the Duke.

2 Vil. Take the Devil in thy mind, and believe him not: He would infinuate with thee but to make thee figh.

1 Vil. I am ftrong fram'd, he cannot prevail with me. 2 Vil. Spoke like a tall Man, that refpects thy Reputation. Come, fhall we fall to work?

1 Vil. Take him on the Coflard, with the Hilt of thy Sword, and then throw him into the Malmfie-butt in the next Room.

2 Vil. O excellent Device, and make a Sop of him. 1 Vil. Soft, he wakes.

2 Vil. Strike.

1 Vil. No, we'll reafon with him.

Clar. Where art thou, Keeper? Give me a Cup of Wine. 2 Vil. You fhall have Wine enough, my Lord, anon. Clar. In God's Name what art thou?

1 Vil. A Man, as you are.

Clar. But not as I am, Royal.

1 Vil. Nor you as we are, Loyal.

Clar. Thy Voice is thunder, but thy Looks are humble. 1 Vil. My Voice is now the King's, my Looks mine own. Clar. How darkly, and how deadly doft thou speak? Your Eyes do menace me: Why look you pale? Who fent you hither? wherefore do you come? 2 Vil. To, to, to

Clar. To Murther me?

Both. Ay, ay.

Clar. You fcarcely have the Hearts to tell me fo! And therefore cannot have the Hearts to do it. Wherein, my Friends, have I offended you?

1 Vil. Offended us you have not, but the King, Clar. I fhall be reconcil'd to him again,

2 Vil. Never, my Lord, therefore prepare to die.
Clar. Are you drawn forth among a World of Men,
To flay the innocent? What's my Offence?
Where is the Evidence that doth accufe me?
What lawful Queft have given their Verdict up
Unto the frowning Judge? Or who pronounc'd
The bitter Sentence of poor Clarence' Death?
Before I be convict by courfe of Law,

To threaten me with Death, is most unlawful.
1 charge you, as you hope for any goodness,
That you depart, and lay no Hands on me:
The deed you undertake is damnable.

1 Vil. What we will do, we do upon command.
2 Vil. And he that hath commanded, is our King.
Clar. Erroneous Vaffals, the great King of Kings
Hath in the Table of his Law commanded,
That Thou shalt do no Murther; Will you then
Spurn at his Edict, and fulfil a Man's?

Take heed, for he holds Vengeance in his Hand
To hurl upon their Heads that break his Law.

2 Vil. And that fame Vengeance doth he hurl on thee For falfe forfwearing, and for Murther too:

Thou didst receive the Sacrament, to fight

In quarrel of the Houfe of Lancafter.

i Vil. And like a Traitor to the name of God, Didft break that Vow, and with thy treacherous blade, Unrip'dft the Bowels of thy Soveraign's Sou.

2 Vil. Whom thou waft fworn to cherish and defend. 1 Vil. How canft thou urge God's dreadful Law to us, When thou haft broke it in fuch high degree?

Clar. Alas! for whofe fake did I that ill deed?
For Edward, for my Brother, for his fake.

He fends you not to murther me for this:
For in that fin he is as deep as I.

If God will be avenged for the deed,
O know you yet, he doth it publickly,
Take not the quarrel from his powerful Arm:
He needs no indirect, or lawless course,
To cut off thofe that have offended him.

a Vil. Who made thee then a bloody Minifter,

B 5

When

When gallant fpringing brave Plantagenet,

That Princely Novice, was ftruck dead by thee?
Clar My Brother's Love, the Devil, and my Rage.
1 Vil. Thy Brother's Love, our Duty, and thy Faults,
Provoke us, hither now, to flaughter thee.

Clar. If you do love my Brother, hate not me:
I am his Brother, and I love him well.
If you are hir'd for meed, go back again,
And I will send you to my Brother Glofter.
Who fhall reward you better for my Life,
Then Edward will for tidings of my. Death..

2 Vil. You are deceiv'd, your Brother Glo'fter hates you Clar. Oh no, he loves me, and he holds me dear: Go you to him from me..

1 Vil. Ay, fo we will.

Clar. Tell him, when that our princely Father York, Bleft his three Sons with his victorious Arm, He little thought of this divided Friendship: Bid Glofter think on this, and he will weep. 1 Vil. Ay, Milftones; as he leffon'd us to weep Clar. O do not flander him, for he is kind. I Vil. Right, as Snow in Harveft:

Come, you deceive your felf,

Tis he that fends us co deftroy you here..

Clar. It cannot be, for he bewept my Fortune,. And hugg'd me in his Arms, and fwore with fobs, That he would labour my Delivery..

1 Vil. Why fo he doth, when he delivers you From this Earth's thraldom, to the Joys of Heav'n.

2 Vil. Make peace with God, for you muft die, my Lord, Clar. Have you that holy feeling in your Souls, To counfel me to make my peace with God, And are you yet to your own Souls fo blind, That you will War with God, by murd'ring me? O Sirs, confider, they that fet you on To do this deed, will hate you for the deed. 2 Vil. What fhall we do?

Clar. Relent, and fave your Souls:

Which of you, if you were a Prince's Son,

Being pent from Liberty, as I am now,

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