Page:Richard III (1927) Yale.djvu/47

Richard the Third, I. iv 

Brak. Sorrow breaks seasons and reposing hours,

Makes the night morning, and the noon-tide 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.

1. Mur. Ho! who's here?

Brak. What wouldst thou, fellow? and how cam'st thou hither?

2. Mur. I would speak with Clarence, and

I came hither on my legs.

Brak. What! so brief?

1. Mur. 'Tis better, sir, than to be tedious.—

Let him see our commission, and talk no more.

[Brakenbury] Reads.

Brak. 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 to him

That thus I have resign'd to you my charge.

1. Mur. You may, sir; 'tis a point of wis-

dom: fare you well.

2. Mur. What! shall we stab him as he

sleeps?

1. Mur. No; he'll say 'twas done cowardly,

when he wakes.

 80 unfelt imaginations: i.e. what they imagine they might do but are unable to realize

