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Talkers are no good doers: be assured
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We come to use our hands and not our tongues.
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GLOUCESTER:
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Your eyes drop millstones, when fools' eyes drop tears:
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I like you, lads; about your business straight;
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Go, go, dispatch.
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First Murderer:
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We will, my noble lord.
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BRAKENBURY:
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Why looks your grace so heavily today?
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CLARENCE:
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O, I have pass'd a miserable night,
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So full of ugly sights, of ghastly dreams,
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That, as I am a Christian faithful man,
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I would not spend another such a night,
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Though 'twere to buy a world of happy days,
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So full of dismal terror was the time!
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BRAKENBURY:
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What was your dream? I long to hear you tell it.
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CLARENCE:
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Methoughts that I had broken from the Tower,
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And was embark'd to cross to Burgundy;
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And, in my company, my brother Gloucester;
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Who from my cabin tempted me to walk
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Upon the hatches: thence we looked toward England,
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And cited up a thousand fearful times,
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During the wars of York and Lancaster
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That had befall'n us. As we paced along
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Upon the giddy footing of the hatches,
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Methought that Gloucester stumbled; and, in falling,
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Struck me, that thought to stay him, overboard,
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Into the tumbling billows of the main.
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Lord, Lord! methought, what pain it was to drown!
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What dreadful noise of waters in mine ears!
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What ugly sights of death within mine eyes!
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Methought I saw a thousand fearful wrecks;
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Ten thousand men that fishes gnaw'd upon;
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Wedges of gold, great anchors, heaps of pearl,
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Inestimable stones, unvalued jewels,
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All scatter'd in the bottom of the sea:
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Some lay in dead men's skulls; and, in those holes
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Where eyes did once inhabit, there were crept,
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As 'twere in scorn of eyes, reflecting gems,
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Which woo'd the slimy bottom of the deep,
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And mock'd the dead bones that lay scatter'd by.
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BRAKENBURY:
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Had you such leisure in the time of death
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To gaze upon the secrets of the deep?
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CLARENCE:
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Methought I had; and often did I strive
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To yield the ghost: but still the envious flood
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Kept in my soul, and would not let it forth
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To seek the empty, vast and wandering air;
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But smother'd it within my panting bulk,
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Which almost burst to belch it in the sea.
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BRAKENBURY:
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Awaked you not with this sore agony?
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CLARENCE:
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O, no, my dream was lengthen'd after life;
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O, then began the tempest to my soul,
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Who pass'd, methought, the melancholy flood,
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With that grim ferryman which poets write of,
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Unto the kingdom of perpetual night.
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The first that there did greet my stranger soul,
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Was my great father-in-law, renowned Warwick;
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Who cried aloud, 'What scourge for perjury
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Can this dark monarchy afford false Clarence?'
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And so he vanish'd: then came wandering by
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A shadow like an angel, with bright hair
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Dabbled in blood; and he squeak'd out aloud,
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'Clarence is come; false, fleeting, perjured Clarence,
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That stabb'd me in the field by Tewksbury;
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Seize on him, Furies, take him to your torments!'
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With that, methoughts, a legion of foul fiends
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Environ'd me about, and howled in mine ears
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Such hideous cries, that with the very noise
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I trembling waked, and for a season after
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Could not believe but that I was in hell,
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Such terrible impression made the dream.
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BRAKENBURY:
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No marvel, my lord, though it affrighted you;
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I promise, I am afraid to hear you tell it.
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CLARENCE:
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O Brakenbury, I have done those things,
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Which now bear evidence against my soul,
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For Edward's sake; and see how he requites me!
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O God! if my deep prayers cannot appease thee,
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But thou wilt be avenged on my misdeeds,
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