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Why looks your grace so heavily today?
Why does your grace look so sad today?
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!
Oh, I had a terrible night, Full of horrible visions, awful dreams, That, as I’m a loyal Christian, I wouldn’t go through another night like it, Even if it meant I could buy a world of happy days, It was so full of dreadful terror!
What was your dream? I long to hear you tell it.
What was your dream? I really want to hear 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 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.
I dreamed that I had escaped from the Tower, And was about to sail to Burgundy; And with me was my brother Gloucester; Who urged me to come up on deck with him, To walk on the ship’s hatches: from there, we looked toward England, And remembered all the terrible times, From the York and Lancaster wars That had happened to us. As we walked along The slippery deck, I thought Gloucester tripped, and, in falling, He knocked me into the sea, Into the crashing waves. Oh, Lord! I thought, how painful it would be to drown! The deafening sound of the water in my ears! The horrible sights of death before my eyes! I thought I saw a thousand wrecked ships; Ten thousand men being eaten by fish; Wedges of gold, huge anchors, piles of pearls, Priceless stones, and jewels, all scattered at the bottom of the sea: Some were lying in the skulls of dead men; and in those empty eye-sockets, Gems seemed to crawl, mocking the eyes that once were there, As if they were showing off to the slimy bottom of the sea, And mocking the scattered bones of the dead.
Had you such leisure in the time of death To gaze upon the secrets of the deep?
Were you really able to look at all those things while dying?
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.
I thought I could; and I kept trying to let go of my soul, But the jealous waves held it back, And wouldn’t let it go to drift in the empty, endless air; But it was smothered inside my gasping body, Which almost burst as it tried to force my soul back out into the sea.
Awaked you not with this sore agony?
Didn’t this horrible agony wake you up?
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.
Oh, no, my dream went on even after I died; Then my soul seemed to cross a dark river, With that grim ferryman the poets write about, To the land of eternal night. The first to greet me there was my great father-in-law, the famous Warwick; Who shouted, ‘What punishment for perjury Can this dark kingdom give false Clarence?’ And then he vanished. Then I saw a shadow like an angel, With bright hair soaked in blood; and he cried out loudly, ‘Clarence has come; false, fleeting, perjured Clarence, The one who stabbed me at Tewksbury; Seize him, Furies, take him to your torment!’ With that, I thought a legion of horrible demons Surrounded me, howling in my ears Such terrifying screams, that the very noise Made me wake up trembling, and for a while afterward I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was in hell, That’s how strongly the dream affected me.
No marvel, my lord, though it affrighted you; I promise, I am afraid to hear you tell it.
No wonder, my lord, that it frightened you; Honestly, I’m scared to even hear you tell it.
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.
Oh Brakenbury, I’ve done things, That now speak against my soul, For Edward’s sake; and look how he repays me! Oh God! if my deep prayers can’t calm you, But you want to punish me for my wrongs, Then pour out your wrath on me alone, Oh, spare my innocent wife and my poor children! I beg you, gentle keeper, stay by me; My soul is weighed down, and I would like to sleep.
I will, my lord: God give your grace good rest!
I will, my lord: God give your grace peaceful rest!
Sorrow breaks seasons and reposing hours, Makes the night morning, and the noon-tide night. Princes have but their tides for their glories, An outward honour for an inward toil; And, for unfelt imagination, They often feel a world of restless cares: So that, betwixt their tides and low names, There’s nothing differs but the outward fame.
Sorrow disturbs the seasons and the hours of rest, It makes night feel like morning, and noon feel like night. Princes only have fleeting glory, An outward honor for inner struggle; And, for those who can’t feel it, They often carry a world of restless worries: So that, between their fleeting fame and their lowly state, The only difference is the outward reputation.
Ho! who’s here?
Hey! Who’s there?
In God’s name what are you, and how came you hither?
In God’s name, who are you, and how did you get here?
I would speak with Clarence, and I came hither on my legs.
I want to speak with Clarence, and I walked here.
Yea, are you so brief?
Oh, is that all? Just a quick answer?
O sir, it is better to be brief than tedious. Show him our commission; talk no more.
Oh, sir, it’s better to be brief than to go on and on. Show him our order; don’t say anything more.
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. Here are the keys, there sits the duke asleep: I’ll to the king; and signify to him That thus I have resign’d my charge to you.
I’m ordered here to hand over The noble Duke of Clarence to you: I won’t question the reason behind this, Because I don’t want to be involved in it. Here are the keys, there’s the duke asleep: I’ll go to the king and tell him That I’ve given over my responsibility to you.
Do so, it is a point of wisdom: fare you well.
Go ahead, that’s wise. Goodbye.
What, shall we stab him as he sleeps?
So, should we stab him while he’s sleeping?
No; then he will say ’twas done cowardly, when he wakes.
No; if we do that, he’ll say we did it like cowards when he wakes.
When he wakes! why, fool, he shall never wake till the judgment-day.
When he wakes! Fool, he won’t wake until the day of judgment.
Why, then he will say we stabbed him sleeping.
Well, then he’ll just say we stabbed him while he was asleep.
The urging of that word ’judgment’ hath bred a kind of remorse in me.
The thought of that word ‘judgment’ is making me feel a bit guilty.
What, art thou afraid?
What, are you scared?
Not to kill him, having a warrant for it; but to be damned for killing him, from which no warrant can defend us.
We’re not here to kill him because we have permission to do it; but we’re afraid of being damned for killing him, something no permission can protect us from.
I thought thou hadst been resolute.
I thought you were determined.
So I am, to let him live.
I am, to let him live.
Back to the Duke of Gloucester, tell him so.
Go back to the Duke of Gloucester and tell him that.
I pray thee, stay a while: I hope my holy humour will change; ’twas wont to hold me but while one would tell twenty.
Please, wait a moment: I hope my mood will change; it used to last only as long as it took to tell twenty.
How dost thou feel thyself now?
How do you feel now?
’Faith, some certain dregs of conscience are yet within me.
Honestly, some lingering guilt is still inside me.
Remember our reward, when the deed is done.
Remember the reward we’ll get once the job is done.
’Zounds, he dies: I had forgot the reward.
Damn it, he dies: I had forgotten about the reward.
Where is thy conscience now?
Where’s your conscience now?
In the Duke of Gloucester’s purse.
In the Duke of Gloucester’s wallet.
So when he opens his purse to give us our reward, thy conscience flies out.
So when he opens his wallet to give us our reward, your conscience will fly out.
Let it go; there’s few or none will entertain it.
Let it go; hardly anyone would want it anyway.
How if it come to thee again?
What if it comes back to you?
I’ll not meddle with it: it is a dangerous thing: it makes a man a coward: a man cannot steal, but it accuseth him; he cannot swear, but it cheques him; he cannot lie with his neighbour’s wife, but it detects him: ’tis a blushing shamefast spirit that mutinies in a man’s bosom; it fills one full of obstacles: it made me once restore a purse of gold that I found; it beggars any man that keeps it: it is turned out of all towns and cities for a dangerous thing; and every man that means to live well endeavours to trust to himself and to live without it.
I won’t deal with it: it’s a dangerous thing. It makes a man a coward. A man can’t steal without it accusing him; he can’t swear without it bothering him; he can’t sleep with his neighbor’s wife without it catching him out. It’s a shameful, guilty spirit that rebels in a man’s heart; it fills a person with obstacles. It once made me return a purse of gold I found. It ruins anyone who holds onto it. It’s kicked out of every town and city for being so dangerous. Anyone who wants to live well tries to rely on themselves and live without it.
’Zounds, it is even now at my elbow, persuading me not to kill the duke.
Damn it, it’s right here beside me, telling me not to kill the duke.
Take the devil in thy mind, and relieve him not: he would insinuate with thee but to make thee sigh.
Think about the devil, and don’t listen to him: he only wants to make you upset.
Tut, I am strong-framed, he cannot prevail with me, I warrant thee.
Nonsense, I’m strong, he can’t trick me, I’m sure of it.
Spoke like a tail fellow that respects his reputation. Come, shall we to this gear?
You sound like a man who cares about his reputation. Come on, are we ready to do this?
Take him over the costard with the hilts of thy sword, and then we will chop him in the malmsey-butt in the next room.
Hit him on the head with the hilt of your sword, and then we’ll finish him off in the wine barrel in the next room.
O excellent devise! make a sop of him.
Great idea! Let’s drown him in wine.
Hark! he stirs: shall I strike?
Listen! He’s moving: should I strike now?
No, first let’s reason with him.
No, let’s talk to him first.
Where art thou, keeper? give me a cup of wine.
Where are you, keeper? Give me a cup of wine.
You shall have wine enough, my lord, anon.
You’ll have all the wine you want, my lord, in a minute.
In God’s name, what art thou?
Who are you? What are you?
A man, as you are.
A man, just like you.
But not, as I am, royal.
But not, like me, royal.
Nor you, as we are, loyal.
And you’re not, like us, loyal.
Thy voice is thunder, but thy looks are humble.
Your voice sounds like thunder, but your face is humble.
My voice is now the king’s, my looks mine own.
My voice is now like the king’s, my face is my own.
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?
You speak so darkly and dangerously! Your eyes are threatening me: why do you look so pale? Who sent you here? Why have you come?
To, to, to--
To, to, to--
To murder me?
To kill me?
Ay, ay.
Yes, yes.
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?
You hardly have the guts to say that to me, And so you can’t have the guts to actually do it. Where, my friends, have I wronged you?
Offended us you have not, but the king.
You haven’t wronged us, but you’ve wronged the king.
I shall be reconciled to him again.
I’ll make up with him again.
Never, my lord; therefore prepare to die.
Never, my lord; so get ready to die.
Are you call’d forth from out a world of men To slay the innocent? What is my offence? Where are the evidence that do 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.
Are you called out from the world of men To kill an innocent person? What have I done wrong? Where’s the evidence against me? What legal process has passed judgment on me To the harsh judge? Or who declared The cruel sentence of poor Clarence’s death? Before I’m convicted by law, To threaten me with death is totally illegal. I swear to you, as you hope for salvation Through Christ’s blood shed for our sins, That you leave me alone and don’t lay a hand on me. The act you’re about to commit is damnable.
What we will do, we do upon command.
What we’re doing, we’re doing because we were ordered to.
And he that hath commanded is the king.
And the one who ordered us is the king.
Erroneous vassal! the great King of kings Hath in the tables of his law commanded That thou shalt do no murder: and wilt thou, then, Spurn at his edict and fulfil a man’s? Take heed; for he holds vengeance in his hands, To hurl upon their heads that break his law.
You misguided servant! The great King of kings Has commanded in his law That you shall not kill: and will you then, Disobey his command and do a man’s? Be careful; because he holds vengeance in his hands, To bring it down on the heads of those who break his law.
And that same vengeance doth he hurl on thee, For false forswearing and for murder too: Thou didst receive the holy sacrament, To fight in quarrel of the house of Lancaster.
And that very vengeance will come for you, For your false oaths and for murder too: You received the holy sacrament, To fight for the house of Lancaster.
And, like a traitor to the name of God, Didst break that vow; and with thy treacherous blade Unrip’dst the bowels of thy sovereign’s son.
And, like a traitor to God’s name, You broke that vow; and with your treacherous knife You ripped open the guts of your king’s son.
Whom thou wert sworn to cherish and defend.
Whom you swore to protect and defend.
How canst thou urge God’s dreadful law to us, When thou hast broke it in so dear degree?
How can you use God’s awful law against us, When you’ve broken it so seriously yourself?
Alas! for whose sake did I that ill deed? For Edward, for my brother, for his sake: Why, sirs, He sends ye not to murder me for this For in this sin he is as deep as I. If God will be revenged for this deed. O, know you yet, he doth it publicly, Take not the quarrel from his powerful arm; He needs no indirect nor lawless course To cut off those that have offended him.
Alas! For whose sake did I commit that terrible deed? For Edward, for my brother, for his sake: Why, gentlemen, He didn’t send you to kill me for this. For in this sin, he’s as guilty as I am. If God will punish this act, Oh, don’t you know yet, He’ll do it openly, Don’t take the matter into your own hands; He doesn’t need any underhanded or illegal ways To get rid of those who’ve wronged him.
Who made thee, then, a bloody minister, When gallant-springing brave Plantagenet, That princely novice, was struck dead by thee?
Who made you a bloody executioner, When brave Plantagenet, full of life and honor, That noble young prince, was killed by your hand?
My brother’s love, the devil, and my rage.
My brother’s love, the devil, and my anger.
Thy brother’s love, our duty, and thy fault, Provoke us hither now to slaughter thee.
Your brother’s love, our duty, and your mistake, Are what brought us here to kill you now.
Oh, if you love my brother, hate not me; I am his brother, and I love him well. If you be 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.
Oh, if you love my brother, don’t hate me; I’m his brother, and I love him deeply. If you’re being paid for this, go back, And I’ll send you to my brother Gloucester, Who will reward you more for my life Than Edward will for the news of my death.
You are deceived, your brother Gloucester hates you.
You’re wrong, your brother Gloucester hates you.
O, no, he loves me, and he holds me dear: Go you to him from me.
Oh no, he loves me, and he holds me dear: Go to him for me.
Ay, so we will.
Yes, we will.
Tell him, when that our princely father York Bless’d 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.
Tell him, when our noble father York Blessed his three sons with his victorious arms, And told us with all his heart to love each other, He never imagined this kind of broken loyalty: Ask Gloucester to think of this, and he will cry.
Ay, millstones; as be lesson’d us to weep.
Yes, just like the grinding of millstones; that’s how we were taught to cry.
O, do not slander him, for he is kind.
Oh, don’t insult him, he is kind.
Right, As snow in harvest. Thou deceivest thyself: ’Tis he that sent us hither now to slaughter thee.
Right, Like snow in summer. You’re fooling yourself: It’s he who sent us here to kill you.
It cannot be; for when I parted with him, He hugg’d me in his arms, and swore, with sobs, That he would labour my delivery.
That’s impossible; when I last saw him, He hugged me and swore, with tears, That he would work to set me free.
Why, so he doth, now he delivers thee From this world’s thraldom to the joys of heaven.
Well, he is setting you free now, From the chains of this world to the joys of heaven.
Make peace with God, for you must die, my lord.
Make peace with God, for you must die, my lord.
Hast thou that holy feeling in thy soul, To counsel me to make my peace with God, And art thou yet to thy own soul so blind, That thou wilt war with God by murdering me? Ah, sirs, consider, he that set you on To do this deed will hate you for the deed.
Do you have that holy feeling in your soul, To tell me to make peace with God, And are you so blind to your own soul, That you would fight against God by killing me? Ah, sirs, think about it, the one who made you do This will hate you for carrying it out.
What shall we do?
What should we do?
Relent, and save your souls.
Show some mercy, and save your souls.
Relent! ’tis cowardly and womanish.
Show mercy! That’s cowardly and weak.
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? 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, As you would beg, were you in my distress A begging prince what beggar pities not?
Not showing mercy is brutal, savage, and evil. Which of you, if you were the son of a prince, Locked away from freedom, like I am now, And if two murderers like you came to you, Wouldn’t beg for your life? My friend, I can see some pity in your face: Oh, if your eyes aren’t just flattering me, Come to my side, and beg for me, As you would if you were in my situation A prince begging—who wouldn’t pity a beggar?
Look behind you, my lord.
Look behind you, my lord.
Take that, and that: if all this will not do,
Take that, and that: if all of this doesn’t work,
I’ll drown you in the malmsey-butt within.
I’ll drown you in the wine barrel inside.
A bloody deed, and desperately dispatch’d! How fain, like Pilate, would I wash my hands Of this most grievous guilty murder done!
A bloody act, and done with no hesitation! How much I wish, like Pilate, I could wash my hands Of this terrible and guilty murder!
How now! what mean’st thou, that thou help’st me not? By heavens, the duke shall know how slack thou art!
What’s going on? Why aren’t you helping me? By heaven, the duke will know how lazy you are!
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.
I wish he knew that I saved his brother! Take the payment, and tell him what I’ve said; For I regret that the duke is dead.
So do not I: go, coward as thou art. Now must I hide his body in some hole, Until the duke take order for his burial: And when I have my meed, I must away; For this will out, and here I must not stay.
So do I not: go, coward that you are. Now I have to hide his body somewhere, Until the duke arranges for his burial: And when I get my reward, I must leave; For this secret will come out, and I can’t stay here.