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Hath in eternal Darkness folded up.
Your airy buildeth in our airies Neft;
O God, that feeft it, do not fuffer it,
As it is won with Blood, loft be it fo.

Buck. Peace, peace for fhame, if not for Charity.
Q. Mar. Urge neither Charity nor Shame to me;
Uncharitably with me have you deal,

And fhamefully my hopes, by you, are butcher'd.
My Charity is Outrage, Life my Shame,

And in that Shame, ftill live my Sorrow's rage.
Buck. Have done, have done.

Q. Mar. O Princely Buckingham, I'll kiss thy Hand,
In fign of League and Amity with thee:

Now fair befall thee and thy Noble House;
Thy Garments are not spotted with our Blood;
Nor thou within the compafs of my Curle.

Buck, Nor no one here; for Curfes never pafs
The Lips of those that breathe them in the Air.
Q. Mar. I will not think but they afcend the Sky,
And there awake God's gentle fleeping Peace.
O Buckingham, take care of yonder Dog;

Look when he fawns he bites; and when he bites,
His venom Tooth will rankle to the Death;

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Have not to do with him, beware of him,

Sin, Death and Hell have fet their marks on him,
And all their Minifters attend on his.

Glo. What doth fhe fay, my Lord of Buckingham?
Buck, Nothing that I refpect, my gracious Lord.
Q. Mar. What, doft thou fcorn me

For my gentle Counsel?

And footh the Devil that I warn thee from?

O but remember this another Day;

When he shall split thy very Heart with Sorrow;
And fay poor Margaret was a Prophetef.

Live each of you the Subject to his hate,

And he to yours, and all of you to God's.


Buck. My Hair doth ftand an end to hear her Curfes. Riv. And fo doth mine: I mufe why she's at Liberty. Glo. I cannot blame her, by God's holy Mother,

She hath had too much wrong, and I repent

My part thereof, that I have done to her.


Dorf. I never did her any, to my knowledge.
Glo. Yet you have all the vantage of her wrong:
I was too hot, to do fome body good,
That is too cold in thinking of it now:
Marry, as for Clarence, he is well repay'd;
He is frank'd up to fatting for his pains,
God pardon them that are the cause thereof.

Riv. A virtuous and a Christian-like conclufion,
To pray for them that have done fcathe to us.
Glo. So do I ever, being well advis'd.
For had I curft now, I had curft my felf.

Enter Catesby.


Catef. Madam, his Majefty doth call for you, And for your Grace, and yours, my gracious Lord. Queen. Catesby, I come; Lords, will you go with me? Riv. We wait upon your Grace,

[Exeunt all but Gloucefter.
Glo. I do the wrong, and firft begin to brawl.
The fecret Mifchief that I fet a-broach,
I lay unto the grievous Charge of others.
Clarence, whom I indeed have caft in Darkness,
I. do beweep to many fimple Gulls,
Namely to Derby, Haftings, Buckingham,
And tell them, 'tis the Queen and her Allies
That ftir the King against the Duke my Brother.
Now they believe it, and withal whet me
To be reveng'd on Rivers, Dorfet, Gray.
But then I figh, and with a piece of Scripture,
Tell them that God bids us do good for evil:
And thus I cloath my naked Villany

With odd old Ends, ftoln forth of Holy Writ,
And seem a Saint, when moft I play the Devil,
Enter two Villains.

But foft, here come my Executioners:

How now my hardy ftout refolved Mates,

Are you now going to difpatch this thing?

Vil. We are, my Lord, and come to have the warrant,

That we may be admitted, where he is.

Glo. Well thought upon, I have it here about me: When you have done, repair to Crosby Place.

But, Sirs, be fudden in the Execution,

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Withal obdurate, do not hear him plead;

For Clarence is well-fpoken, and, perhaps,
May move your Hearts to pity, if you mark him.

Vil. Tut, tut, my Lord, we will not ftand to prate,
Talkers are no good doers; be affur'd,

We go to use our Hands, and not our Tongues.

Glo. Your Eyes drop Mill-ftones, when Fools Eyes fall

I like you Lads, about your business straight.

Go, go, difpatch.

Vil. We will, my Noble Lord.




Enter Clarence and Keeper.

Keep. Why looks your Grace fo heavily to day?
Clar OI have paft a miferable Night,
So full of fearful Dreams of ugly Sights,
That, as I am a Chriftian faithful Man,
I would not fpend another fuch a Night,
Though 'twere to buy a world of happy Days:
So full of difinal Terror was the time.

Keep. What was your Dream, my Lord, I pray you tell me.
Clar. Methoughts that I had broken from the Tower,
And was embark'd to crofs to Burgundy,

And in my Company my Brother Glofter,

Who from my Cabin tempted me to walk

Upon the Hatches. There we look'd toward England,
And cited up a thoufand heavy Times,
During the Wars of York and Lancaster,
That had befil'o us. As he pac'd along
Upon the giddy footing of the Hatches,
Methought that Glofter ftumbled, and in falling
Struck me, that thought to ftay him, over-board,
Into the tumbling Billows of the Main.

O Lord, methought, what pain it was tɔ drown!
What, dreadful Noife of Waters in mine Ears!
W ar fights of ugly Death within mine Eyes!
Methoughts, I faw a thousand fearful Wracks;
A thoufand Men that Fishes gnaw'd upon:
Wedges of Gold, great Anchors, heaps of Pearl,


Ineftimable Stones, unvalued Jewels

All fcatter'd in the bottom of the Sea:

Some lay in dead Mens Skulls, and in the holes
Where Eyes did once inhabit, there were crept,
As 'twere in fcorn of Eyes, ref.&ing Gems,
That woo'd the flimy bottom of the Deep,
And mock'd the dead Bones that lay fcatter'd by.
Keep. Had you fuch leifure in the time of Death,
To gaze upon the Secrets of the Deep?

Clar. Methough I had, and often did I ftrive
To yield the Ghoft; but ftill the envious Flood
Stop'd in my Soul, and would not let it forth
To find the empty, vaft, and wand'ring Air;
But fmother'd it within my panting Bulk,
Who almost burst to belch it in the Sea.

Keep. Awak'd you not in this fore Agony?
Clar. No, no, my Dream was lengthen'd after Life.
O then began the Tempeft to my Soul:

I paft, methought, the melancholy Flood,
With that four Ferry-man which Poets writes of,
Unto the Kingdom of perpetual Night.

The first that there did greet my Stranger-foul,
Was my great Father-in-Law, renowned Warwick,
Who fpake aloudWhat Scourge for Perjury
Can this dark Monarchy afford falfe Clarence?
And fo he vanish'd. Then came wand'ring by,
A Shadow like an Angel, with bright Hair
Dabbl❜d in Blood, and he fhriek'd out aloud.
Clarence is come, falfe, fleeting, perjur'd Clarence,
That ftabb'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,
I, trembling, wak'd; and for a feafon after
Could not believe but that I was in Hell:
Such terrible Impreffions 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 appeale thee,
But thou wilt be aveng'd on my Mifdeeds,
Yet execute thy Wrath on me alone:

O fpare my guiltless Wife, and my poor Children.
Keeper, I prithee fit by me a-while,

My Soul is heavy, and I fain would fleep.

Keep. I will, my Lord, God give your Grace good reft. 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 reftless Cares:
So that between their Titles and low Name,
There's nothing differs but the outward Fame.
Enter two Villains.

1 Vil. Ho, who's here?

Brak. What would't thou, Fellow? And how cam'st thou hither?

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

Brak. What, fo brief?

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

Let him fee our Commiffion, and talk no more.
Brak. I am in this commanded, to deliver
The Noble Duke of Clarence to your Hands.

I will not reafon what is meant hereby,
Because I will be guiltless from the meaning.
There lyes the Duke afleep, and there the Keys.
I'll 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?

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 fleeping.

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

1 Vil.

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