Беспокойное бессмертие: 450 лет со дня рождения Уильяма Шекспира

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,
 
Unto the kingdom of perpetual night.
 
The first that there did greet my stranger-soul
 
Was my great father-in-law, renownèd Warwick,
 
Who spake aloud, ʼWhat scourge for perjury
 
Can this dark monarchy afford false Clarence?’
 
And so he vanished. Then came wandering by
 
A shadow like an angel, with bright hair
 
Dabbled in blood, and he shrieked out aloud,
 
ʼClarence is come: false, fleeting, perjured Clarence,
 
That stabbed me in the field by Tewksbury.
 
Seize on him, furies, take him unto torment.’
 
With that, methought, a legion of foul fiends
 
Environed me, and howlèd in mine ears
 
Such hideous cries that with the very noise
 
I trembling waked, and for a season after
 
Could not believe but that I was in hell,
 
Such terrible impression made my dream.
 
 
Keeper
 
 
 No marvel, lord, though it affrighted you.
 
I am afraid, methinks, to hear you tell it.
 
 
Clarence
 
 
Ah keeper, keeper, I have done these things
 
Which now bear evidence against my soul
 
For Edward’s sake, and see how he requites me.
 
O God, if my deep prayers cannot appease thee,
 
But thou wilt be avenged on my misdeeds,
 
Yet execute thy wrath in me alone.
 
Oh, spare my guiltless wife and my poor children.
 
Keeper, I prithee sit by me awhile.
 
My soul is heavy, and I fain would sleep.
 
 
Keeper
I will, my lord. God give your grace good rest.
Enter Brakenbury, the Lieutenant.
Brakenbury
 
 
Sorrow breaks seasons and reposing hours,
 
Makes the night morning, and the noontide night.
 
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 restless cares;
 
So that between their titles and low name
 
There’s nothing differs but the outward fame.
 
 
Enter two Murderers.
First Murderer
Ho, who’s here?
Brakenbury
What wouldst thou, fellow? And how cam’st thou hither?
Second Murderer
I would speak with Clarence, and I came hither on my legs.
Brakenbury
What, so brief?
First Murderer
 
 
ʼTis better, sir, than to be tedious.
 
Let him see our commission, and talk no more.
 
 
Brakenbury reads.
Brakenbury
 
 
I am in this commanded to deliver
 
The noble Duke of Clarence to your hands.
 
I will not reason what is meant hereby,
 
Because I will be guiltless from the meaning.
 
There lies the duke asleep, and there the keys.
 
I’ll to the king and signify him
 
That thus I have resigned to you my charge.
 
 
First Murderer
You may, sir, ʼtis a point of wisdom. Fare you well.
Exeunt Brakenbury and Keeper.
Second Murderer
What, shall we stab him as he sleeps?
First Murderer
No. He’ll say ʼtwas done cowardly, when he wakes.
Second Murderer
Why, he shall never wake until the great judgement day.
First Murderer
Why, then he’ll say we stabbed him sleeping.
Second Murderer
The urging of that word judgment hath bred a kind of remorse in me.