Беспокойное бессмертие: 450 лет со дня рождения Уильяма Шекспира (Честертон, Грин) - страница 114

When you have done, repair to Crosby Place.
But, sirs, be sudden in the execution,
Withal obdurate. Do not hear him plead,
For Clarence is well spoken and perhaps
May move your hearts to pity if you mark him.

First Murderer

Tut, tut, my lord, we will not stand to prate;
Talkers are no good doers. Be assured
We come to use our hands and not our tongues.

Richard

Your eyes drop millstones, when fools’ eyes fall tears.
I like you, lads. About your business straight.
Go, go, dispatch.

Murderers

We will, my noble lord.


>Exeunt.

Scene 4

>Enter Clarence and Keeper.


Keeper

Why looks your grace so heavily today?


Clarence

Oh, I have passed a miserable night,
So full of fearful dreams, of ugly sights,
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.

Keeper

What was your dream, my lord? I pray you, tell me.


Clarence

Methoughts that I had broken from the Tower,
And was embarked to cross to Burgundy,
And, in my company my brother Gloucester,
Who from my cabin tempted me to walk
Upon the hatches. There we looked toward England
And cited up a thousand heavy times
During the wars of York and Lancaster
That had befallen 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.
O Lord, methought, what pain it was to drown,
What dreadful noise of waters in mine ears,
What sights of ugly death within mine eyes.
Methoughts I saw a thousand fearful wracks,
Ten thousand men that fishes gnawed upon,
Wedges of gold, great anchors, heaps of pearl,
Inestimable stones, unvalued jewels,
All scattered in the bottom of the sea.
Some lay in dead men’s skulls, and in the holes
Where eyes did once inhabit there were crept,
As ʼtwere in scorn of eyes, reflecting gems,
Which wooed the slimy bottom of the deep
And mocked the dead bones that lay scattered by.

Keeper

 Had you such leisure in the time of death
To gaze upon the secrets of the deep?

Clarence

 Methought I had, and often did I strive
To yield the ghost; but still the envious flood
Stopped in my soul and would not let it forth
To seek the empty, vast and wandering air,
But smothered it within my panting bulk,
Which almost burst to belch it in the sea.

Keeper

Awaked you not in this sore agony?


Clarence

 No, no, my dream was lengthened after life.
Oh, then began the tempest to my soul.
I passed, methought, the melancholy flood,
With that sour ferryman which poets write of,