King Richard III - 2

God grant we never may have need of you.
RICHARD.
Meantime, God grants that we have need of you.
Our brother is imprisoned by your means,
Myself disgraced, and the nobility
Held in contempt, while great promotions
Are daily given to ennoble those
That scarce some two days since were worth a noble.
QUEEN ELIZABETH.
By Him that raised me to this careful height
From that contented hap which I enjoyed,
I never did incense his Majesty
Against the Duke of Clarence, but have been
An earnest advocate to plead for him.
My lord, you do me shameful injury
Falsely to draw me in these vile suspects.
RICHARD.
You may deny that you were not the mean
Of my Lord Hastings’ late imprisonment.
RIVERS.
She may, my lord; for—
RICHARD.
She may, Lord Rivers; why, who knows not so?
She may do more, sir, than denying that.
She may help you to many fair preferments,
And then deny her aiding hand therein,
And lay those honours on your high desert.
What may she not? She may, ay, marry, may she—
RIVERS.
What, marry, may she?
RICHARD.
What, marry, may she? Marry with a king,
A bachelor, and a handsome stripling too.
Iwis your grandam had a worser match.
QUEEN ELIZABETH.
My lord of Gloucester, I have too long borne
Your blunt upbraidings and your bitter scoffs.
By heaven, I will acquaint his Majesty
Of those gross taunts that oft I have endured.
I had rather be a country servant-maid
Than a great queen with this condition,
To be so baited, scorned, and stormed at.
Enter old Queen Margaret behind.
Small joy have I in being England’s queen.
QUEEN MARGARET.
[_Aside._] And lessened be that small, God, I beseech Him!
Thy honour, state, and seat, is due to me.
RICHARD.
What, threat you me with telling of the King?
Tell him, and spare not. Look what I have said
I will avouch ’t in presence of the King;
I dare adventure to be sent to th’ Tower.
’Tis time to speak. My pains are quite forgot.
QUEEN MARGARET.
[_Aside._] Out, devil! I do remember them too well:
Thou killed’st my husband Henry in the Tower,
And Edward, my poor son, at Tewksbury.
RICHARD.
Ere you were queen, ay, or your husband king,
I was a pack-horse in his great affairs;
A weeder-out of his proud adversaries,
A liberal rewarder of his friends.
To royalize his blood, I spilt mine own.
QUEEN MARGARET.
[_Aside._] Ay, and much better blood than his or thine.
RICHARD.
In all which time, you and your husband Grey
Were factious for the house of Lancaster.
And, Rivers, so were you. Was not your husband
In Margaret’s battle at Saint Albans slain?
Let me put in your minds, if you forget,
What you have been ere this, and what you are;
Withal, what I have been, and what I am.
QUEEN MARGARET.
[_Aside._] A murd’rous villain, and so still thou art.
RICHARD.
Poor Clarence did forsake his father Warwick,
Ay, and forswore himself—which Jesu pardon!—
QUEEN MARGARET.
[_Aside._] Which God revenge!
RICHARD.
To fight on Edward’s party for the crown;
And for his meed, poor lord, he is mewed up.
I would to God my heart were flint, like Edward’s,
Or Edward’s soft and pitiful, like mine.
I am too childish-foolish for this world.
QUEEN MARGARET.
[_Aside._] Hie thee to hell for shame, and leave this world,
Thou cacodemon! There thy kingdom is.
RIVERS.
My lord of Gloucester, in those busy days
Which here you urge to prove us enemies,
We followed then our lord, our sovereign king.
So should we you, if you should be our king.
RICHARD.
If I should be! I had rather be a pedler.
Far be it from my heart, the thought thereof.
QUEEN ELIZABETH.
As little joy, my lord, as you suppose
You should enjoy, were you this country’s king,
As little joy you may suppose in me
That I enjoy, being the Queen thereof.
QUEEN MARGARET.
[_Aside._] As little joy enjoys the Queen thereof,
For I am she, and altogether joyless.
I can no longer hold me patient.
[_Coming forward._]
Hear me, you wrangling pirates, that fall out
In sharing that which you have pilled from me!
Which of you trembles not that looks on me?
If not, that I am Queen, you bow like subjects,
Yet that, by you deposed, you quake like rebels.
Ah, gentle villain, do not turn away.
RICHARD.
Foul wrinkled witch, what mak’st thou in my sight?
QUEEN MARGARET.
But repetition of what thou hast marred.
That will I make before I let thee go.
RICHARD.
Wert thou not banished on pain of death?
QUEEN MARGARET.
I was, but I do find more pain in banishment
Than death can yield me here by my abode.
A husband and a son thou ow’st to me;
And thou a kingdom; all of you, allegiance.
This sorrow that I have by right is yours;
And all the pleasures you usurp are mine.
RICHARD.
The curse my noble father laid on thee
When thou didst crown his warlike brows with paper,
And with thy scorns drew’st rivers from his eyes,
And then to dry them, gav’st the Duke a clout
Steeped in the faultless blood of pretty Rutland—
His curses then, from bitterness of soul
Denounced against thee, are all fall’n upon thee,
And God, not we, hath plagued thy bloody deed.
QUEEN ELIZABETH.
So just is God, to right the innocent.
HASTINGS.
O, ’twas the foulest deed to slay that babe,
And the most merciless that e’er was heard of.
RIVERS.
Tyrants themselves wept when it was reported.
DORSET.
No man but prophesied revenge for it.
BUCKINGHAM.
Northumberland, then present, wept to see it.
QUEEN MARGARET.
What, were you snarling all before I came,
Ready to catch each other by the throat,
And turn you all your hatred now on me?
Did York’s dread curse prevail so much with heaven
That Henry’s death, my lovely Edward’s death,
Their kingdom’s loss, my woeful banishment,
Should all but answer for that peevish brat?
Can curses pierce the clouds and enter heaven?
Why then, give way, dull clouds, to my quick curses!
Though not by war, by surfeit die your King,
As ours by murder, to make him a king.
Edward thy son, that now is Prince of Wales,
For Edward our son, that was Prince of Wales,
Die in his youth by like untimely violence.
Thyself a queen, for me that was a queen,
Outlive thy glory, like my wretched self.
Long mayst thou live to wail thy children’s death,
And see another, as I see thee now,
Decked in thy rights, as thou art stalled in mine;
Long die thy happy days before thy death,
And, after many lengthened hours of grief,
Die neither mother, wife, nor England’s Queen.
Rivers and Dorset, you were standers-by,
And so wast thou, Lord Hastings, when my son
Was stabbed with bloody daggers. God, I pray Him,
That none of you may live his natural age,
But by some unlooked accident cut off.
RICHARD.
Have done thy charm, thou hateful withered hag.
QUEEN MARGARET.
And leave out thee? Stay, dog, for thou shalt hear me.
If heaven have any grievous plague in store
Exceeding those that I can wish upon thee,
O, let them keep it till thy sins be ripe,
And then hurl down their indignation
On thee, the troubler of the poor world’s peace.
The worm of conscience still begnaw thy soul;
Thy friends suspect for traitors while thou liv’st,
And take deep traitors for thy dearest friends;
No sleep close up that deadly eye of thine,
Unless it be while some tormenting dream
Affrights thee with a hell of ugly devils.
Thou elvish-marked, abortive, rooting hog,
Thou that wast sealed in thy nativity
The slave of nature and the son of hell;
Thou slander of thy heavy mother’s womb,
Thou loathed issue of thy father’s loins,
Thou rag of honour, thou detested—
RICHARD.
Margaret.
QUEEN MARGARET.
Richard!
RICHARD.
Ha?
QUEEN MARGARET.
I call thee not.
RICHARD.
I cry thee mercy then, for I did think
That thou hadst called me all these bitter names.
QUEEN MARGARET.
Why, so I did, but looked for no reply.
O, let me make the period to my curse!
RICHARD.
’Tis done by me, and ends in “Margaret”.
QUEEN ELIZABETH.
Thus have you breathed your curse against yourself.
QUEEN MARGARET.
Poor painted queen, vain flourish of my fortune,
Why strew’st thou sugar on that bottled spider,
Whose deadly web ensnareth thee about?
Fool, fool; thou whet’st a knife to kill thyself.
The day will come that thou shalt wish for me
To help thee curse this poisonous bunch-backed toad.
HASTINGS.
False-boding woman, end thy frantic curse,
Lest to thy harm thou move our patience.
QUEEN MARGARET.
Foul shame upon you, you have all moved mine.
RIVERS.
Were you well served, you would be taught your duty.
QUEEN MARGARET.
To serve me well, you all should do me duty:
Teach me to be your queen, and you my subjects.
O, serve me well, and teach yourselves that duty!
DORSET.
Dispute not with her; she is lunatic.
QUEEN MARGARET.
Peace, Master Marquess, you are malapert.
Your fire-new stamp of honour is scarce current.
O, that your young nobility could judge
What ’twere to lose it and be miserable!
They that stand high have many blasts to shake them,
And if they fall they dash themselves to pieces.
RICHARD.
Good counsel, marry. Learn it, learn it, Marquess.
DORSET.
It touches you, my lord, as much as me.
RICHARD.
Ay, and much more; but I was born so high.
Our aery buildeth in the cedar’s top,
And dallies with the wind, and scorns the sun.
QUEEN MARGARET.
And turns the sun to shade, alas, alas!
Witness my son, now in the shade of death,
Whose bright out-shining beams thy cloudy wrath
Hath in eternal darkness folded up.
Your aery buildeth in our aery’s nest.
O God, that seest it, do not suffer it!
As it is won with blood, lost be it so.
BUCKINGHAM.
Peace, peace, for shame, if not for charity.
QUEEN MARGARET.
Urge neither charity nor shame to me.
Uncharitably with me have you dealt,
And shamefully my hopes by you are butchered.
My charity is outrage, life my shame,
And in that shame still live my sorrow’s rage.
BUCKINGHAM.
Have done, have done.
QUEEN MARGARET.
O princely Buckingham, I’ll kiss thy hand
In sign 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 compass of my curse.
BUCKINGHAM.
Nor no one here, for curses never pass
The lips of those that breathe them in the air.
QUEEN MARGARET.
I will not think but they ascend the sky,
And there awake God’s gentle sleeping peace.
O Buckingham, take heed of yonder dog!
Look when he fawns, he bites; and when he bites,
His venom tooth will rankle to the death.
Have not to do with him; beware of him;
Sin, death, and hell have set their marks on him,
And all their ministers attend on him.
RICHARD.
What doth she say, my lord of Buckingham?
BUCKINGHAM.
Nothing that I respect, my gracious lord.
QUEEN MARGARET.
What, dost thou scorn me for my gentle counsel,
And soothe the devil that I warn thee from?
O, but remember this another day,
When he shall split thy very heart with sorrow,
And say, poor Margaret was a prophetess.
Live each of you the subjects to his hate,
And he to yours, and all of you to God’s!
[_Exit._]
BUCKINGHAM.
My hair doth stand on end to hear her curses.
RIVERS.
And so doth mine. I muse why she’s at liberty.
RICHARD.
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.
RICHARD.
Yet 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 franked up to fatting for his pains.
God pardon them that are the cause thereof.
RIVERS.
A virtuous and a Christian-like conclusion,
To pray for them that have done scathe to us.
RICHARD.
So do I ever—(_Speaks to himself_) 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 gracious lords.
QUEEN ELIZABETH.
Catesby, I come. Lords, will you go with me?
RIVERS.
We wait upon your Grace.
[_Exeunt all but Richard._]
RICHARD.
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 cast in darkness,
I do beweep to many simple gulls,
Namely, to Derby, Hastings, Buckingham;
And tell them ’tis 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, Dorset, 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 odd old ends stol’n forth 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 thing?
FIRST MURDERER.
We are, my lord, and come to have the warrant,
That we may be admitted where he is.
RICHARD.
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.
SECOND MURDERER.
Tut, tut, my lord, we will not stand to prate.
Talkers are no good doers. Be assured
We go to use our hands, and not our tongues.
RICHARD.
Your eyes drop millstones when fools’ eyes fall tears.
I like you, lads. About your business straight.
Go, go, dispatch.
BOTH MURDERERS.
We will, my noble lord.
[_Exeunt._]
SCENE IV. London. A Room in the Tower
Enter Clarence and Keeper.
KEEPER.
Why looks your Grace so heavily today?
CLARENCE.
O, I have passed a miserable night,
So full of fearful dreams, of ugly sights,
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!
KEEPER.
What was your dream, my lord? I pray you tell me.
CLARENCE.
Methoughts that I had broken from the Tower,
And was embarked 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 England,
And cited up a thousand heavy 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.
O Lord, methought what pain it was to drown,
What dreadful noise of waters in my ears;
What sights of ugly death within my eyes.
Methoughts I saw a thousand fearful wracks;
A thousand men that fishes gnawed upon;
Wedges of gold, great anchors, heaps of pearl,
Inestimable stones, unvalued jewels,
All scattered in the bottom of the sea.
Some lay in dead men’s skulls, and in the holes
Where eyes did once inhabit there were crept—
As ’twere in scorn of eyes—reflecting gems,
That wooed the slimy bottom of the deep,
And mocked the dead bones that lay scattered by.
KEEPER.
Had you such leisure in the time of death
To gaze upon these secrets of the deep?
CLARENCE.
Methought I had; and often did I strive
To yield the ghost, but still the envious flood
Stopped in my soul, and would not let it forth
To find the empty, vast, and wand’ring air,
But smothered it within my panting bulk,
Who almost burst to belch it in the sea.
KEEPER.
Awaked you not in this sore agony?
CLARENCE.
No, no, my dream was lengthened after life.
O, then began the tempest to my soul.
I passed, methought, the melancholy flood,
With that sour 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 spake aloud, “What scourge for perjury
Can this dark monarchy afford false Clarence?”
And so he vanished. Then came wand’ring by
A shadow like an angel, with bright hair
Dabbled in blood; and he shrieked out aloud
“Clarence is come—false, fleeting, perjured Clarence,
That stabbed me in the field by Tewksbury!
Seize on him, Furies! Take him unto torment!”
With that, methoughts, a legion of foul fiends
Environed me, 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 my dream.
KEEPER.
No marvel, lord, though it affrighted you;
I am afraid, methinks, to hear you tell it.
CLARENCE.
Ah, Keeper, Keeper, I have done these things,
That now give 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!
Keeper, I prithee sit by me awhile.
My soul is heavy, and I fain would sleep.
KEEPER.
I will, my lord; God give your Grace good rest.
[_Clarence reposes himself on a chair._]
Enter Brakenbury the Lieutenant.
BRAKENBURY.
Sorrow breaks seasons and reposing hours,
Makes the night morning, and the noontide 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 restless cares,
So that between their titles and low name,
There’s nothing differs but the outward fame.
Enter the two Murderers.
FIRST MURDERER.
Ho, who’s here?
BRAKENBURY.
What wouldst thou, fellow? And how cam’st thou hither?
SECOND MURDERER.
I would speak with Clarence, and I came hither on my legs.
BRAKENBURY.
What, so brief?
FIRST MURDERER.
’Tis better, sir, than to be tedious. Let him see our commission, and
talk no more.
[_Brakenbury reads the commission._]
BRAKENBURY.
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 of the meaning.
There lies the Duke asleep, and there the keys.
I’ll to the King and signify to him
That thus I have resigned to you my charge.
FIRST MURDERER.
You may, sir; ’tis a point of wisdom. Fare you well.
[_Exeunt Brakenbury and the Keeper._]
SECOND MURDERER.
What, shall I stab him as he sleeps?
FIRST MURDERER.
No. He’ll say ’twas done cowardly, when he wakes.
SECOND MURDERER.
Why, he shall never wake until the great Judgement Day.
FIRST MURDERER.
Why, then he’ll say we stabbed him sleeping.
SECOND MURDERER.
The urging of that word “judgement” hath bred a kind of remorse in me.
FIRST MURDERER.
What, art thou afraid?
SECOND MURDERER.
Not to kill him, having a warrant, but to be damned for killing him,
from the which no warrant can defend me.
FIRST MURDERER.
I thought thou hadst been resolute.
SECOND MURDERER.
So I am—to let him live.
FIRST MURDERER.
I’ll back to the Duke of Gloucester and tell him so.
SECOND MURDERER.
Nay, I prithee stay a little. I hope this passionate humour will
change. It was wont to hold me but while one tells twenty.
FIRST MURDERER.
How dost thou feel thyself now?
SECOND MURDERER.
Faith, some certain dregs of conscience are yet within me.
FIRST MURDERER.
Remember our reward, when the deed’s done.
SECOND MURDERER.
Zounds, he dies! I had forgot the reward.
FIRST MURDERER.
Where’s thy conscience now?
SECOND MURDERER.
O, in the Duke of Gloucester’s purse.
FIRST MURDERER.
So, when he opens his purse to give us our reward, thy conscience flies
out.
SECOND MURDERER.
’Tis no matter; let it go. There’s few or none will entertain it.
FIRST MURDERER.
What if it come to thee again?
SECOND MURDERER.
I’ll not meddle with it; it makes a man coward. A man cannot steal but
it accuseth him; a man cannot swear but it checks him; a man cannot lie
with his neighbour’s wife but it detects him. ’Tis a blushing
shamefaced spirit that mutinies in a man’s bosom. It fills a man full
of obstacles. It made me once restore a purse of gold that by chance I
found. It beggars any man that keeps it. It is turned out of towns and
cities for a dangerous thing; and every man that means to live well
endeavours to trust to himself and live without it.
FIRST MURDERER.
Zounds, ’tis even now at my elbow, persuading me not to kill the Duke.
SECOND MURDERER.
Take the devil in thy mind, and believe him not. He would insinuate
with thee but to make thee sigh.
FIRST MURDERER.
I am strong-framed; he cannot prevail with me.
SECOND MURDERER.
Spoke like a tall man that respects thy reputation. Come, shall we fall
to work?
FIRST MURDERER.
Take him on the costard with the hilts of thy sword, and then throw him
in the malmsey-butt in the next room.
SECOND MURDERER.
O excellent device—and make a sop of him.
FIRST MURDERER.
Soft, he wakes.
SECOND MURDERER.
Strike!
FIRST MURDERER.
No, we’ll reason with him.
CLARENCE.
Where art thou, keeper? Give me a cup of wine.
SECOND MURDERER.
You shall have wine enough, my lord, anon.
CLARENCE.
In God’s name, what art thou?
FIRST MURDERER.
A man, as you are.
CLARENCE.
But not as I am, royal.
SECOND MURDERER.
Nor you as we are, loyal.
CLARENCE.
Thy voice is thunder, but thy looks are humble.
FIRST MURDERER.
My voice is now the King’s, my looks mine own.
CLARENCE.
How darkly and how deadly dost thou speak!
Your eyes do menace me; why look you pale?
Who sent you hither? Wherefore do you come?
SECOND MURDERER.
To, to, to—
CLARENCE.
To murder me?
BOTH MURDERERS.
Ay, ay.
CLARENCE.
You scarcely have the hearts to tell me so,
And therefore cannot have the hearts to do it.
Wherein, my friends, have I offended you?
FIRST MURDERER.
Offended us you have not, but the King.
CLARENCE.
I shall be reconciled to him again.
SECOND MURDERER.
Never, my lord; therefore prepare to die.
CLARENCE.
Are you drawn forth among a world of men
To slay the innocent? What is my offence?
Where is the evidence that doth accuse me?
What lawful quest have given their verdict up
Unto the frowning judge? Or who pronounced
The bitter sentence of poor Clarence’ death?
Before I be convict by course of law,
To threaten me with death is most unlawful.
I charge you, as you hope to have redemption,
By Christ’s dear blood shed for our grievous sins,
That you depart, and lay no hands on me.
The deed you undertake is damnable.
FIRST MURDERER.
What we will do, we do upon command.
SECOND MURDERER.
And he that hath commanded is our King.
CLARENCE.
Erroneous vassals! The great King of kings
Hath in the table of his law commanded
That thou shalt do no murder. 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.
SECOND MURDERER.
And that same vengeance doth He hurl on thee
For false forswearing, and for murder too.
Thou didst receive the sacrament to fight
In quarrel of the house of Lancaster.
FIRST MURDERER.
And like a traitor to the name of God
Didst break that vow, and with thy treacherous blade
Unrippedst the bowels of thy sovereign’s son.
SECOND MURDERER.
Whom thou wast sworn to cherish and defend.
FIRST MURDERER.
How canst thou urge God’s dreadful law to us,
When thou hast broke it in such dear degree?
CLARENCE.
Alas, for whose sake did I that ill deed?
For Edward, for my brother, for his sake.
He sends you not to murder me for this,
For in that sin he is as deep as I.
If God will be avenged for the deed,
O, know you yet He doth it publicly;
Take not the quarrel from His powerful arm;
He needs no indirect or lawless course
To cut off those that have offended Him.
FIRST MURDERER.
Who made thee then a bloody minister
When gallant-springing, brave Plantagenet,
That princely novice, was struck dead by thee?
CLARENCE.
My brother’s love, the devil, and my rage.
FIRST MURDERER.
Thy brother’s love, our duty, and thy faults,
Provoke us hither now to slaughter thee.
CLARENCE.
If you do love my brother, hate not me.
I am his brother, and I love him well.
If you are hired for meed, go back again,
And I will send you to my brother Gloucester,
Who shall reward you better for my life
Than Edward will for tidings of my death.
SECOND MURDERER.
You are deceived. Your brother Gloucester hates you.
CLARENCE.
O no, he loves me, and he holds me dear.
Go you to him from me.
FIRST MURDERER.
Ay, so we will.
CLARENCE.
Tell him when that our princely father York
Blessed his three sons with his victorious arm,
And charged us from his soul to love each other,
He little thought of this divided friendship.
Bid Gloucester think of this, and he will weep.
FIRST MURDERER.
Ay, millstones, as he lessoned us to weep.
CLARENCE.
O, do not slander him, for he is kind.
FIRST MURDERER.
Right, as snow in harvest. Come, you deceive yourself.
’Tis he that sends us to destroy you here.
CLARENCE.
It cannot be, for he bewept my fortune,
And hugged me in his arms, and swore with sobs
That he would labour my delivery.
FIRST MURDERER.
Why, so he doth, when he delivers you
From this earth’s thraldom to the joys of heaven.
SECOND MURDERER.
Make peace with God, for you must die, my lord.
CLARENCE.
Have you that holy feeling in your souls
To counsel me to make my peace with God,
And are you yet to your own souls so blind
That you will war with God by murd’ring me?
O sirs, consider: they that set you on
To do this deed will hate you for the deed.
SECOND MURDERER.
What shall we do?
CLARENCE.
Relent, and save your souls.
FIRST MURDERER.
Relent? No, ’tis cowardly and womanish.
CLARENCE.
Not to relent is beastly, savage, devilish.
Which of you—if you were a prince’s son,
Being pent from liberty, as I am now—
If two such murderers as yourselves came to you,
Would not entreat for life? Ay, you would beg,
Were you in my distress.
My friend, I spy some pity in thy looks.
O, if thine eye be not a flatterer,
Come thou on my side, and entreat for me;
A begging prince what beggar pities not?
SECOND MURDERER.
Look behind you, my lord.
FIRST MURDERER.
Take that, and that! [_Stabs him._] If all this will not do,
I’ll drown you in the malmsey-butt within.
[_Exit with the body._]
SECOND MURDERER.
A bloody deed, and desperately dispatched.
How fain, like Pilate, would I wash my hands
Of this most grievous murder.
Enter First Murderer.
FIRST MURDERER.
How now? What mean’st thou that thou help’st me not?
By heavens, the Duke shall know how slack you have been.
SECOND MURDERER.
I would he knew that I had saved his brother.
Take thou the fee, and tell him what I say,
For I repent me that the Duke is slain.
[_Exit._]
FIRST MURDERER.