Читать книгу Richard III - Уильям Шекспир, William Szekspir, the Simon Studio - Страница 4

Keep. Why lookes your Grace so heauily to day

   Cla. O, I haue past a miserable night,

So full of fearefull Dreames, of vgly sights,

That as I am a Christian faithfull man,

I would not spend another such a night

Though 'twere to buy a world of happy daies:

So full of dismall terror was the time

   Keep. What was your dream my Lord, I pray you tel me

  Cla. Me thoughts that I had broken from the Tower,

And was embark'd to crosse to Burgundy,

And in my company my Brother Glouster,

Who from my Cabin tempted me to walke,

Vpon the Hatches: There we look'd toward England,

And cited vp a thousand heauy times,

During the warres of Yorke and Lancaster

That had befalne vs. As we pac'd along

Vpon the giddy footing of the Hatches,

Me thought that Glouster stumbled, and in falling

Strooke me (that thought to stay him) ouer-boord,

Into the tumbling billowes of the maine.

O Lord, me thought what paine it was to drowne,

What dreadfull noise of water in mine eares,

What sights of vgly death within mine eyes.

Me thoughts, I saw a thousand fearfull wrackes:

A thousand men that Fishes gnaw'd vpon:

Wedges of Gold, great Anchors, heapes of Pearle,

Inestimable Stones, vnvalewed Iewels,

All scattred in the bottome of the Sea,

Some lay in dead-mens Sculles, and in the holes

Where eyes did once inhabit, there were crept

(As 'twere in scorne of eyes) reflecting Gemmes,

That woo'd the slimy bottome of the deepe,

And mock'd the dead bones that lay scattred by

   Keep. Had you such leysure in the time of death

To gaze vpon these secrets of the deepe?

  Cla. Me thought I had, and often did I striue

To yeeld the Ghost: but still the enuious Flood

Stop'd in my soule, and would not let it forth

To find the empty, vast, and wand'ring ayre:

But smother'd it within my panting bulke,

Who almost burst, to belch it in the Sea

   Keep. Awak'd you not in this sore Agony?

  Clar. No, no, my Dreame was lengthen'd after life.

O then, began the Tempest to my Soule.

I past (me thought) the Melancholly Flood,

With that sowre Ferry-man which Poets write of,

Vnto the Kingdome of perpetuall Night.

The first that there did greet my Stranger-soule,

Was my great Father-in-Law, renowned Warwicke,

Who spake alowd: What scourge for Periurie,

Can this darke Monarchy affoord false Clarence?

And so he vanish'd. Then came wand'ring by,

A Shadow like an Angell, with bright hayre

Dabbel'd in blood, and he shriek'd out alowd

Clarence is come, false, fleeting, periur'd Clarence,

That stabb'd me in the field by Tewkesbury:

Seize on him Furies, take him vnto Torment.

With that (me thought) a Legion of foule Fiends

Inuiron'd me, and howled in mine eares

Such hiddeous cries, that with the very Noise,

I (trembling) wak'd, and for a season after,

Could not beleeue, but that I was in Hell,

Such terrible Impression made my Dreame

   Keep. No maruell Lord, though it affrighted you,

I am affraid (me thinkes) to heare you tell it

   Cla. Ah Keeper, Keeper, I haue done these things

(That now giue euidence against my Soule)

For Edwards sake, and see how he requits mee.

O God! if my deepe prayres cannot appease thee,

But thou wilt be aueng'd on my misdeeds,

Yet execute thy wrath in me alone:

O spare my guiltlesse Wife, and my poore children.

Keeper, I prythee sit by me a-while,

My Soule is heauy, and I faine would sleepe

   Keep. I will my Lord, God giue your Grace good rest.

  Bra. Sorrow breakes Seasons, and reposing houres,

Makes the Night Morning, and the Noon-tide night:

Princes haue but their Titles for their Glories,

An outward Honor, for an inward Toyle,

And for vnfelt Imaginations

They often feele a world of restlesse Cares:

So that betweene their Titles, and low Name,

There's nothing differs, but the outward fame.

  1.Mur. Ho, who's heere?

  Bra. What would'st thou Fellow? And how camm'st

thou hither

   2.Mur. I would speak with Clarence, and I came hither

on my Legges

   Bra. What so breefe?

  1. 'Tis better (Sir) then to be tedious:

Let him see our Commission, and talke no more.

Reads

  Bra. I am in this, commanded to deliuer

The Noble Duke of Clarence to your hands.

I will not reason what is meant heereby,

Because I will be guiltlesse from the meaning.

There lies the Duke asleepe, and there the Keyes.

Ile to the King, and signifie to him,

That thus I haue resign'd to you my charge.

  1 You may sir, 'tis a point of wisedome:

Far you well

2 What, shall we stab him as he sleepes

   1 No: hee'l say 'twas done cowardly, when he wakes

  2 Why he shall neuer wake, vntill the great Iudgement

day

1 Why then hee'l say, we stab'd him sleeping

2 The vrging of that word Iudgement, hath bred a kinde of remorse in me

   1 What? art thou affraid?

  2 Not to kill him, hauing a Warrant,

But to be damn'd for killing him, from the which

No Warrant can defend me

1 I thought thou had'st bin resolute

2 So I am, to let him liue

1 Ile backe to the Duke of Glouster, and tell him so

2 Nay, I prythee stay a little: I hope this passionate humor of mine, will change, It was wont to hold me but while one tels twenty

   1 How do'st thou feele thy selfe now?

  2 Some certaine dregges of conscience are yet within

mee

1 Remember our Reward, when the deed's done

2 Come, he dies: I had forgot the Reward

1 Where's thy conscience now

2 O, in the Duke of Glousters purse

   1 When hee opens his purse to giue vs our Reward,

thy Conscience flyes out

   2 'Tis no matter, let it goe: There's few or none will

entertaine it

   1 'Tis euen now at my elbow, perswading me not to

kill the Duke

   2 Take the diuell in thy minde, and beleeue him not:

He would insinuate with thee but to make thee sigh

1 I am strong fram'd, he cannot preuaile with me

2 O excellent deuice; and make a sop of him

1 Soft, he wakes

2 Strike

1 No, wee'l reason with him

Cla. Where art thou Keeper? Giue me a cup of wine

2 You shall haue Wine enough my Lord anon

Cla. In Gods name, what art thou? 1 A man, as you are

Cla. But not as I am Royall

1 Nor you as we are, Loyall

Cla. Thy voice is Thunder, but thy looks are humble

1 My voice is now the Kings, my lookes mine owne

   Cla. How darkly, and how deadly dost thou speake?

Your eyes do menace me: why looke you pale?