« PreviousContinue »
On his own Person, after his successful Addreses.
My dukedom to a beggarly denier,
SCENE IV. Queen Margaret's Execration.
The worm of conscience still begnaw thy foul ;
(3) The slave of nalure.] She afterwards says,
Sin, death, and hell have set their marks upon bim.
Mr. Warburton observes, “ that the expression in the text is strong and noble, and alludes to an ancient custom of masters branding of their faves : by which it is infinuated, that his mis-tapen person was a mark that nature had set upon him to Itigmatize his ill conditions.” It has been long since observed that
Distortum vultum fequitur distortio morum.
Thou loathed issue of thy father's loins !
I was born fo high,
SCENE V. The Tower.
Clarence and Brakenbury.
(4) Rag, &c.] Richard speaking of Richmond and his followers in the last act of this play fays,
Lash hence these over-weaning rags of France,
These familh'd beggars weary of their lives, (5) See Merchant of Venice, p. 162. a. i1. and p. 141. preceding.
And cited up a thousand heavy times,
did once inhabit, there were crept,
such leisure in the time of death, To gaze upon the secrets of the deep?
Clar. Methought I had ; and often did I strive
Brak. Awak'd you not with this fad agony?
Clar. No, no, my dream was lengthen'd'after life. O then began the tempest to my soul : I pait, methought, the melancholy flood, With that grim ferry-man 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 cry'd aloud-What scourge for perjury Can this dark monarchy afford false Clarence ? And so he vanish'd. Then came wand'ring by A shadow like an angel, with bright hair,
Dabbled in blood, and he shriek'd out aloud
dream. Brak. No marvel, lord, that it affrighted you : I am afraid, methinks, to hear you tell it.
Clar. Ah! Brakenbury, I have done those things That now give evidence against my soul, For Edward's fake : and, fee, how he requites me! O God! if my deep prayers cannot appeale thee, But thou wilt be aveng'd on my misdeeds, Yet execute thy wrath on me alone ; O, fpare my guiltless wife, and my poor children!
Sorrow breaks seasons and repofing hours, Makes night morning, and the noon-tide night.
Greatness, its Cares.
(6) 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 endless cares; So that between their titles, and low name, There's nothing differs but the outward fame.
(6) See pages 60, 61, &c. and the notes foregoing.
SCENE V. The Murderers Account of Conscience.
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; a man cannot swear, but it checks hiin ; a man cannot lye with his neighbour's wife, but it detects him. 'Tis a blushing shame-fac'd spirit, that mutinies in a man's bosom; it fills one 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 dangerous thing; and every man that means
to live well, endeavours to trust to himself, and live with
Duchess of York on the Misfortunes of her Family.
Accursed and unquiet wrangling days !
Ah! that deceit should steal such gentle shape, And with a virtuous vizor hide deep vice!