Serj. Why 'tis a music, soldier. Heaven and earth are now in consort, when the thunder and the cannon play one to another. [Exit Serjeant.
Charl. I know not why I should be thus inclined
To sleep. I feel my disposition pressed
With a necessity of heaviness.
Soldier, if thou hast any better eyes,
I prithee wake me when the serjeant comes.
Sol. Sir, 'tis so dark and stormy that I shall
Scarce either see or hear him, ere he comes
Upon me.
Charl. I cannot force myself to wake.—[Sleeps.
Enter the Ghost of Montferrers.
Mont. Return to France, for thy old father's dead,
And thou by murder disinherited.
Attend with patience the success of things,
But leave revenge unto the King of kings. [Exit.
[Charlemont starts and wakes.
Charl. O my affrighted soul, what fearful dream
Was this that waked me? Dreams are but the raised
Impressions of premeditated things
By serious apprehension left upon
Our minds; or else the imaginary shapes
Of objects proper to the complexion, or
The dispositions of our bodies. These
Can neither of them be the cause why I
Should dream thus; for my mind has not been moved
With any one conception of a thought
To such a purpose; nor my nature wont
To trouble me with fantasies of terror.
It must be something that my Genius would
Inform me of. Now gracious Heaven forbid!
Oh! let my spirit be deprived of all
Foresight and knowledge, ere it understand
That vision acted, or divine that act
To come. Why should I think so? Left I not
My worthy father i' the kind regard
Of a most loving uncle? Soldier, saw'st
No apparition of a man?
Sol. You dream,
Sir. I saw nothing.
Charl. Tush! these idle dreams
Are fabulous. Our boyling fantasies
Like troubled waters falsify the shapes
Of things retained in them, and make 'em seem
Confounded when they are distinguished. So,
My actions daily conversant with war,
The argument of blood and death had left
Perhaps the imaginary presence of
Some bloody accident upon my mind,
Which, mixed confusedly with other thoughts,
Whereof the remembrance of my father might
Be one presented, all together seem
Incorporate, as if his body were
The owner of that blood, the subject of
That death, when he's at Paris and that blood
Shed here. It may be thus. I would not leave
The war, for reputation's sake, upon
An idle apprehension, a vain dream.
Enter the Ghost.
Sol. Stand! Stand, I say! No? Why then have at thee,
Sir. If you will not stand, I'll make you fall. [Fires.
Nor stand nor fall? Nay then, the devil's dam
Has broke her husband's head, for sure it is
A spirit.
I shot it through, and yet it will not fall. [Exit.
[The Ghost approaches Charlemont who fearfully avoids it.
Charl. O pardon me, my doubtful heart was slow
To credit that which I did fear to know. [Exeunt.