Беспокойное бессмертие: 450 лет со дня рождения Уильяма Шекспира

Whom thou wert sworn to cherish and defend.

First Murderer

How canst thou urge God’s dreadful law to us
When thou hast broke it in such dear degree?

Clarence

Alas! For whose sake did I that ill deed?
For Edward, for my brother, for his sake.
He sends you not to murder me for this,
For in that sin he is as deep as I.
If God will be avengèd for the deed,
Oh, know you yet, he doth it publicly.
Take not the quarrel from his powerful arm.
He needs no indirect nor lawless course
To cut off those that have offended him.

First Murderer

Who made thee, then, a bloody minister
When gallant-springing brave Plantagenet,
That princely novice, was struck dead by thee?

Clarence

My brother’s love, the devil, and my rage.

First Murderer

Thy brother’s love, our duty, and thy faults
Provoke us hither now to slaughter thee.

Clarence

If you do love my brother, hate not me.
I am his brother, and I love him well.
If you be hired for meed, go back again,
And I will send you to my brother Gloucester,
Who shall reward you better for my life
Than Edward will for tidings of my death.

Second Murderer

You are deceived. Your brother Gloucester hates you.

Clarence

Oh, no, he loves me, and he holds me dear.
Go you to him from me.

First Murderer

Ay, so we will.

Clarence

Tell him, when that our princely father York
Blessed his three sons with his victorious arm,
He little thought of this divided friendship.
Bid Gloucester think of this, and he will weep.

First Murderer

Ay, millstones, as he lessoned us to weep.

Clarence

Oh, do not slander him, for he is kind.

First Murderer

Right, as snow in harvest.
Come, you deceive yourself,
ʼTis he that sent us to destroy you here.

Clarence

It cannot be, for he bewept my fortune,
He hugged me in his arms, and swore with sobs
That he would labour my delivery.

First Murderer

Why, so he doth, when he delivers you
From this earth’s thraldom to the joys of heaven.

Second Murderer

Make peace with God, for you must die, my lord.

Clarence

Have you that holy feeling in your souls,
To counsel me to make my peace with God,
And are you yet to your own souls so blind.
That you will war with God by murdering me?
O sirs, consider, they that set you on
To do this deed will hate you for the deed.

Second Murderer

What shall we do?

Clarence

                  Relent, and save your souls,
Which of you, if you were a prince’s son,
Being pent from liberty, as am I now,
If two such murderers as yourself came to you,
Would not entreat for life as you would beg,
Were you in my distress?

First Murderer

Relent? No. ʼTis cowardly and womanish.

Clarence