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Беспокойное бессмертие: 450 лет со дня рождения Уильяма Шекспира

Казавчинская Тамара Яковлевна

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Фантастика и фэнтези

Детективы и триллеры

Проза

Любовные романы

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Детские

Поэзия и драматургия

Старинная литература

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оксана2018-11-27

Вообще, я больше люблю новинки литератур

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Professor2018-11-27

Очень понравилась книга. Рекомендую!

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Vera.Li2016-02-21

Миленько и простенько, без всяких интриг

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ст.ст.2018-05-15

И что это было?

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Наталья222018-11-27

Сюжет захватывающий. Все-таки читать кни

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Беспокойное бессмертие: 450 лет со дня рождения Уильяма Шекспира - Казавчинская Тамара Яковлевна - Страница 45

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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.