Classic Poem

[SCENE VI.]

Enter C HARIEMONT in Armes, a M USQUETIER , and a S ERIEANT . Charl .

Serjeant, what houre o' the night is 't? Ser .

About one. Charl .

I would you would relieue me, for I am
So heauie that I shall ha' much adoe
To stand out my perdu. Ser .

I'll e'en but walke
The round, Sir, and then presently returne. Soul .

For God's sake, Serjeant, relieue me. Aboue fiue houres together in so foule a stormy night as this! Ser .

Why 'tis a musique, Souldier. Heauen and earth are now in consort, when the Thunder and the Canon play one to another.

Exit Serjeant . Charl .

I know not why I should be thus inclin'd
To sleepe. I feele my disposition press'd
With a necessitie of heauines,
Souldier, if thou hast any better eyes,
I prithee wake mee when the Serjeant comes. Soul .

Sir, 'tis so darke and stormy that I shall
Scarce either see or heare him, ere hee comes
Upon mee. Charl .

I cannot force my selfe to wake. —

Enter the Ghost of M ONIFERRERS . Mont .

Returne to France, for thy old Father's dead,
And thou by murther disinherited.
Attend with patience the successe of things,
But leaue reuenge unto the King of kings.

C HARIEMONT starts and wakes . Charl .

O my affrighted soule, what fearefull dreame
Was this that wak'd mee? Dreames are but the rais'd
Impressions of premeditated things
By serious apprehension left upon
Our mindes, or else th' imaginary shapes
Of obiects proper to th' complexion, or
The dispositions of our bodyes. These
Can neither of them be the cause why I
Should dreame thus; for my mind has not been mou'd
With any one conception of a thought
To such a purpose; nor my nature wont
To trouble me with phantasies of terror.
It must be something that my Genius would
Informe me of. Now gratious heauen forbid!
Oh! let my Spirit be depriu'd of all
Fore-sight and knowledge, ere it understand
That vision acted, or diuine that act
To come. Why should I thinke so? Left I not
My worthy Father i' the kind regard
Of a most louing Uncle? Souldier, saw'st
No apparition of a man? Soul .

You dreame,
Sir, I sawe nothing. Charl .
Tush! these idle dreames
Are fabulous. Our boyling phantasies
Like troubled waters falsifie the shapes
Of things retain'd in them, and make 'em seeme
Confounded when they are distinguish'd. So,
My actions daily conuersant with warre,
The argument of bloud and death had left
Perhaps th' imaginary presence of
Some bloudy accident upon my minde,
Which, mix'd confusedly with other thoughts,
Whereof th' remembrance of my Father might
Be one presented, all together seeme
Incorporate, as if his body were
The owner of that bloud, the subiect of
That death, when hee's at Paris and that bloud
Shed here. It may be thus. I would not leaue
The warre, for reputation's sake, upon
An idle apprehension, a vaine dreame.

Enter the Ghost. Soul .

Stand. Stand I say. No? why then haue at thee,
Sir, If you will not stand, Ile make you fall fires.
Nor stand nor fall? Nay then, the Diuel's damme
Has broke her husband's head, for sure it is
A Spirit.
I shot it through, and yet it will not fall.

The Ghost approaches C HARIEMONT .

Hee fearefully auoids it. Char .

O pardon me, my doubtfull heart was slow
To credit that which I did feare to know.