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 the 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.
’Tis better, sir, than to be tedious. Let him see our commission, and talk no more.
[Brakenbury reads the commission.]
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 of the meaning.
There lies the Duke asleep, and there the keys.
I’ll to the King and signify to him
That thus I have resigned to you my charge.