Richard III

to God’s! Exit. Hastings My hair doth stand on end to hear her curses. Rivers And so doth mine: I muse why she’s at liberty. Gloucester

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.

Queen Elizabeth I never did her any, to my knowledge. Gloucester

But you have all the vantage of her wrong.
I was too hot to do somebody good,
That is too cold in thinking of it now.
Marry, as for Clarence, he is well repaid;
He is frank’d up to fatting for his pains:
God pardon them that are the cause of it!

Rivers

A virtuous and a Christian-like conclusion,
To pray for them that have done scathe to us.

Gloucester

So do I ever: aside being well advised.
For had I cursed now, I had cursed myself.

Enter Catesby. Catesby

Madam, his majesty doth call for you;
And for your grace; and you, my noble lords.

Queen Elizabeth Catesby, we come. Lords, will you go with us? Rivers Madam, we will attend your grace. Exeunt all but Gloucester. Gloucester

I do the wrong, and first begin to brawl.
The secret mischiefs that I set abroach
I lay unto the grievous charge of others.
Clarence, whom I, indeed, have laid in darkness,
I do beweep to many simple gulls;
Namely, to Hastings, Derby, Buckingham;
And say it is the queen and her allies
That stir the king against the duke my brother.
Now, they believe it; and withal whet me
To be revenged on Rivers, Vaughan, Grey:
But then I sigh; and, with a piece of scripture,
Tell them that God bids us do good for evil:
And thus I clothe my naked villany
With old odd ends stolen out of holy writ;
And seem a saint, when most I play the devil.

Enter two Murderers.

But, soft! here come my executioners.
How now, my hardy, stout resolved mates!
Are you now going to dispatch this deed?

First Murderer

We are, my lord; and come to have the warrant,
That we may be admitted where he is.

Gloucester

Well thought upon; I have it here about me. Gives the warrant.
When you have done, repair to Crosby Place.
But, sirs, be sudden in the execution,
Withal obdurate, do not hear him plead;
For Clarence is well-spoken, and perhaps
May move your hearts to pity, if you mark him.

First Murderer

Tush!
Fear not, my lord, we will not stand to prate;
Talkers are no good doers: be assured
We come to use our hands and not our tongues.

Gloucester

Your eyes drop millstones, when fools’ eyes drop tears:
I like you, lads; about your business straight;
Go, go, dispatch.

First Murderer We will, my noble lord. Exeunt.

Scene IV

London. The Tower.

	Enter Clarence and Brakenbury.
Brakenbury	Why looks your grace so heavily to-day?
Clarence	O, I have pass’d a miserable night, So full of ugly sights, of ghastly dreams, That, as I am a Christian faithful man, I would not spend another such a night, Though ’twere to buy a world of happy days, So full of dismal terror was the time!
Brakenbury	What was your dream? I long to hear you tell it.
Clarence	Methoughts that I had broken from the Tower, And was embark’d to cross to Burgundy; And, in my company, my brother Gloucester; Who from my cabin tempted me to walk Upon the hatches: thence we look’d toward England, And cited up a thousand fearful times, During the wars of York and Lancaster That had befall’n us. As we paced along Upon the giddy footing of the hatches, Methought that Gloucester 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 ugly sights of death within mine eyes! Methought I saw a thousand fearful wrecks; Ten 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 Where eyes did once inhabit, there were crept, As ’twere in scorn of eyes, reflecting gems, Which woo’d the slimy bottom of the deep, And mock’d the dead bones that lay scatter’d by.
Brakenbury	Had you such leisure in the time of death To gaze upon the secrets of the deep?
Clarence	Methought I had; and often 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 wandering air; But smother’d it within my panting bulk, Which almost burst to belch it in the sea.
Brakenbury	Awaked you not with this sore agony?
Clarence	O, no, my dream was lengthen’d after life; O, then began the tempest to my soul, Who 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 cried aloud, “What scourge for perjury Can this dark monarchy afford false Clarence?” And so he vanish’d: then came wandering by A shadow like an angel, with bright hair Dabbled in blood; and he squeak’d out aloud, “Clarence is come; false, fleeting, perjured Clarence, That stabb’d me in the field by Tewksbury; Seize on him, Furies, take him to your torments!” With that, methoughts, a legion of foul fiends Environ’d me about, and howled in mine ears Such hideous cries, that with the very noise I trembling waked, and for a season after Could not believe but that I was in hell, Such terrible impression made the dream.
Brakenbury	No marvel, my lord, though it affrighted you; I promise you, I am afraid to hear you tell it.
Clarence	O Brakenbury, I have done those things, Which now bear 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 avenged on my misdeeds, Yet execute thy wrath in me alone, O, spare my guiltless wife and my poor children! I pray thee, gentle keeper, stay by me; My soul is heavy, and I fain would sleep.
Brakenbury	I will, my lord: God give your grace good rest! Clarence sleeps. Sorrow breaks seasons and reposing hours, Makes the night morning, and the noon-tide