SCENE III.—The Churchyard.
Enter Charlemont.—Borachio dogging him. The clock strikes twelve.
Charl. Twelve.
Bor. 'Tis a good hour: 'twill strike one anon.
Charl. How fit a place for contemplation is this dead of night, among the dwellings of the dead.—This grave—Perhaps the inhabitant was in his lifetime the possessor of his own desires. Yet in the midst of all his greatness and his wealth he was less rich and less contented than in this poor piece of earth lower and lesser than a cottage. For here he neither wants nor cares. Now that his body savours of corruption
He enjoys a sweeter rest than e'er he did
Amongst the sweetest pleasures of this life,
For here there's nothing troubles him.—And there
—In that grave lies another. He, perhaps,
Was in his life as full of misery
As this of happiness. And here's an end
Of both. Now both their states are equal. O
That man with so much labour should aspire
To worldly height, when in the humble earth
The world's condition's at the best, or scorn
Inferior men, since to be lower than
A worm is to be higher than a king.
Bor. Then fall and rise.
[Discharges the pistol, which misses fire.
Charl. What villain's hand was that?
Save thee, or thou shalt perish. [They fight.
Bor. Zounds! unsaved
I think. [Falls.
Charl. What? Have I killed him? Whatsoe'er thou beest,
I would thy hand had prospered. For I was
Unfit to live and well prepared to die.
What shall I do? Accuse myself? Submit
Me to the law? And that will quickly end
This violent increase of misery.
But 'tis a murder to be accessory
To mine own death. I will not. I will take
This opportunity to 'scape. It may
Be Heaven reserves me to some better end. [Exit.
Enter Languebeau Snuffe and Soquette.
Soqu. Nay, good sir, I dare not. In good sooth I come of a generation both by father and mother that were all as fruitful as costermongers' wives.
Lang. Tush! then a tympany[170] is the greatest danger can be feared. Their fruitfulness turns but to a certain kind of phlegmatic windy disease.
Soqu. I must put my understanding to your trust, sir. I would be loth to be deceived.