Cates. Madam, his Maiesty doth call for you,

      And for your Grace, and yours my gracious Lord

      Qu. Catesby I come, Lords will you go with mee

      Riu. We wait vpon your Grace.

        Rich. I do the wrong, and first begin to brawle.

      The secret Mischeefes that I set abroach,

      I lay vnto the greeuous charge of others.

      Clarence, who I indeede haue cast in darknesse,

      I do beweepe to many simple Gulles,

      Namely to Derby, Hastings, Buckingham,

      And tell them 'tis the Queene, and her Allies,

      That stirre the King against the Duke my Brother.

      Now they beleeue it, and withall whet me

      To be reueng'd on Riuers, Dorset, Grey.

      But then I sigh, and with a peece of Scripture,

      Tell them that God bids vs do good for euill:

      And thus I cloath my naked Villanie

      With odde old ends, stolne forth of holy Writ,

      And seeme a Saint, when most I play the deuill.

      But soft, heere come my Executioners,

      How now my hardy stout resolued Mates,

      Are you now going to dispatch this thing?

        Vil. We are my Lord, and come to haue the Warrant,

      That we may be admitted where he is

         Ric. Well thought vpon, I haue it heare about me:

      When you haue done, repayre to Crosby place;

      But sirs be sodaine in the execution,

      Withall obdurate, do not heare him pleade;

      For Clarence is well spoken, and perhappes

      May moue your hearts to pitty, if you marke him

         Vil. Tut, tut, my Lord, we will not stand to prate,

      Talkers are no good dooers, be assur'd:

      We go to vse our hands, and not our tongues

         Rich. Your eyes drop Mill-stones, when Fooles eyes

      fall Teares:

      I like you Lads, about your businesse straight.

      Go, go, dispatch

      Vil. We will my Noble Lord.

      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