صور الصفحة
PDF
النشر الإلكتروني

So cowardly and but for thefe vile guns,
He would himself have been a foldier.

CHA P. XXII.

CLARENCE'S DREAM.
CLARENCE AND BRAKENBURY.

BRAK. HY looks your Grace fo heavily to-day?

WH

CLAR. O, I have pafs'd a miferable night,

So full of ugly fights, of ghafly dreams,

That as I am a Chriftian faithful man,

I would not fpend another fuch a night,
Though 'twere to buy a world of happy days;

So full of dismal terror was the time.

BRAK. What was your dream, my Lord? I pray you

tell me.

CLAR. Methought that I had broken from the tow'r, And was imbark'd to cross to Burgundy,

And in my company my brother Glo'fter;

Who from my cabin tempted me to walk

Upon the hatches. Thence we look'd tow'rd England, And cited up a thoufand heavy times,

During the wars of York and Lancaster,

That had befall'n us. As we pafs'd along

Upon the giddy footing of the hatches,

Methought that Glo'fter ftumbled, and in falling

Struck me (that fought to ftay him) over-board,

Into the tumbling billows of the main.

Lord, Lord, methought, what pain it was to drown! What dreadful noife of waters in my ears! What fights of ugly death within mine eyes! I thought I faw a thousand fearful wrecks;

[blocks in formation]
[ocr errors]

A thousand men,

that fishes gnaw'd upon;

Wedges of gold, great anchors, heaps of pearl,
Ineftimable ftones, unvalued jewels;

Some lay in dead men's fculls; and in those holes
Where eyes did once inhabit, there were crept,
As 'twere in fcorn of eyes, reflecting gems,

That woo'd the flimy bottom of the deep,
And mock'd the dead bones that lay fcatter'd by.
BRAK. Had you fuch leisure in the time of death,
To gaze upon the fecrets of the deep?

CLAR. Methought I had; and often did I ftrive
To yield the ghoft; but ftill the envious flood
Kept in my foul, and would not let it forth
To find the empty, vaft, and wand'ring air;
But fmother'd it within my panting bulk,
Which almoft burft to belch it in the fea.

BRAK. Awak'd you not with this fore

agony?

CLAR. No, no; my dream was lengthen'd after life;

O then began the tempeft to my foul:

I pafs'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 ftranger-foul,
Was my great father-in-law, renowned Warwick,
Who cry'd aloud" What fcourge for perjury
Can this dark monarchy afford falfe Clarence ?"
And fo he vanifh'd. Then came wand'ring by
A fhadow like an angel, with bright hair
Dabbled in blood, and he shriek'd out aloud-

Clarence is come, falfe, fleeting, perjured Clarence,

That ftabb'd me in the field by Tewksbury;
Seize on him, furies, take him to your torments !".

With that, methought, a legion of foul fiends
Inviron'd me, and howled in mine ears
Such hideous cries, that with the very noife
I trembling wak'd; and for a season after
Could not believe but that I was in hell:
Such terrible impreffion made my 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 foul,

For Edward's fake; and fee how he requites me!
O God! if my deep prayers cannot appeafe thee,
But thou wilt be aveng'd on my misdeeds,

Yet execute thy wrath on me alone:

O fpare my guiltlefs wife, and my poor children!
I pr'ythee, Brakenbury, ftay by me:

My foul is heavy, and I fain would sleep.

CHA P. XXIII.

QUEEN

SHAKESPEAR.

M A B.

[ocr errors]

THEN I fee Queen Mab hath been with you.

She is the fancy's midwife, and the comes

In fhape no bigger than an agate-stone

On the fore-finger of an alderman;
Drawn with a team of little atomies,

Athwart men's nofes as they lie afleep:

Her waggon spokes made of long spinners' legs;
The cover of the wings of grafshoppers;
The traces of the smallest spider's web;

The collars of the moonshine's watery beams;

[blocks in formation]

Her whip of cricket's bone; the lafh of film;
Her waggoner a fmall grey-coated gnat,
Not half fo big as a round little worm,
Prick'd from the lazy finger of a maid.
Her chariot is an empty hazel-nut,
Made by the joiner fquirrel, or old grub,
Time out of mind the fairies' coach-makers.
And in this ftate fhe gallops, night by night,
Through lovers' brains, and then they dream of love:
Cn courtiers' knees, that dream on curtfies ftrait :
O'er lawyers' fingers, who ftrait dream on fees:
O'er ladies' lips, who straight on kisses dream;
Sometimes fhe gallops o'er a courtier's nofe,
And then dreams he of fmelling out a fuit:
And fometimes comes fhe with a tithe-pig's tail,
Tickling the parfon as he lies afleep;
Then dreams he of another benefice.

Sometimes the driveth o'er a foldier's neck,
And then he dreams of cutting foreign throats,
Of breaches, ambufcadoes, Spanish blades,
Of healths five fathom deep; and then anon
Drums in his ears, at which he starts and wakes ;
And being thus frighted, fwears a prayer or two,
And fleeps again.

CHAP.

SHAKESPEAR.

XXIV.

APOTHECARY.

DO remember an apothecary,

I'

And hereabouts he dwells, whom late I noted In tatter'd weeds, with overwhelming brows,

Culling

Culling of fimples; meagre were his looks;
Sharp Mifery had worn him to the bones:
And in his needy fhop a tortoife hung,
An alligator ftuff'd, and other skins

Of ill-fhap'd fishes; and about his fhelves
A beggarly account of empty boxes;

Green earthen pots, bladders, and musty seeds,
Remnants of packthread, and old cakes of rofes
Were thinly fcatter'd to make up a fhow:
Noting this penury, to myself I said,
An' if a man did need a poifon now,
Whofe fale is present death in Mantua,

Here lives a caitiff wretch would fell it him.

Oh, this fame thought did but fore-run my need,

And this fame needy man must fell it me.

As I remember, this fhould be the house.

SHAKESPEAR.

CHA P.

XXV.

ODE TO EVENING.

Faught of oaten ftop, or paftoral fong,
May hope, chafte Eve, to footh thy modeft ear,
Like thy own folemn fprings,

Thy fprings, and dying gales,

O Nymph referv'd, while now the bright hair'd fun
Sits on yon western tent, whose cloudy skirts
With brede ethereal wove,

O'erhang his wavy bed:

Now air is hufh'd, fave where the weak-eyed bat,
With short shrill fhrieks flits by on leathern wing,

« السابقةمتابعة »