Act 1 - Scene 4
London. The Tower.
Enter CLARENCE and BRAKENBURY
Why looks your grace so heavily today?
O, I have pass'd a miserable night,
So full of ugly sights, of ghastly dreams,
That, as I am a Christian
I would not spend another such a night,
Though 'twere to buy a world of happy days,
of dismal terror was the time!
What was your dream? I long to hear you tell it.
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 looked toward
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,
Struck me, that thought to stay him, overboard,
Into the tumbling billows of the main.
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
Wedges of gold, great anchors, heaps of pearl,
Inestimable stones, unvalued jewels,
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,
mock'd the dead bones that lay scatter'd by.
Had you such leisure in the time of death
To gaze upon the secrets of the deep?
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,
almost burst to belch it in the sea.
Awaked you not with this sore agony?
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.
first that there did greet my stranger soul,
Was my great father-in-law, renowned Warwick;
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,
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
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