Why looks your Grace so heavily today?
Why do you look so sad today?
What's got you looking so down?
hey, what's wrong? looking rough this morning
O, I have passed a miserable night,
So full of fearful dreams, of ugly sights,
That, as I am a Christian faithful man,
I would not spend another such a night
Though ’twere to buy a world of happy days,
So full of dismal terror was the time!
I had the most miserable night, so filled with terrifying dreams and horrible visions that—as God is my witness—I would never want to experience another night like it, not even if it cost me all the happiness in the world. The terror was absolute.
I just had the worst night of my life, man. Bad dreams, nasty stuff I never want to see again. Honestly? I'd give up years of good days to never live through another night like that. It was just pure horror.
worst night ever terrified out of my mind can't unsee that shit
What was your dream, my lord? I pray you tell me.
Tell me about the dream, please.
What was it about? Tell me.
tell me what happened
Methoughts that I had broken from the Tower,
And was embarked to cross to Burgundy;
And in my company my brother Gloucester,
Who from my cabin tempted me to walk
Upon the hatches. Thence we looked toward England,
And cited up a thousand heavy times,
During the wars of York and Lancaster,
That had befall’n us. As we paced along
Upon the giddy footing of the hatches,
Methought that Gloucester stumbled, and in falling,
Struck me, that thought to stay him, overboard
Into the tumbling billows of the main.
O Lord, methought what pain it was to drown,
What dreadful noise of waters in my ears;
What sights of ugly death within my eyes.
Methoughts I saw a thousand fearful wracks;
A thousand men that fishes gnawed upon;
Wedges of gold, great anchors, heaps of pearl,
Inestimable stones, unvalued jewels,
All scattered in the bottom of the sea.
Some lay in dead men’s skulls, and in the holes
Where eyes did once inhabit there were crept—
As ’twere in scorn of eyes—reflecting gems,
That wooed the slimy bottom of the deep,
And mocked the dead bones that lay scattered by.
I dreamed I had escaped from the Tower and was aboard a ship bound for Burgundy. My brother Gloucester was with me. He urged me to walk out on the deck with him, and as we stood there, looking back toward England and remembering all the terrible battles of the wars between York and Lancaster, Gloucester stumbled and fell. I tried to catch him, but the push threw me overboard into the raging sea. God, the pain of drowning—the terrible sound of the water roaring in my ears, the horrible sight of death all around me. I saw thousands of wrecks at the bottom of the ocean, thousands of drowned bodies picked clean by fish, treasure scattered everywhere—gold, pearls, jewels of unimaginable value—all lying in the skulls of dead men, and where their eyes used to be, jewels had grown, shiny stones mocking the dead bones scattered on the seafloor.
So I'm dreaming I broke out of the Tower, right? I'm on a ship heading to Burgundy, and Gloucester's with me. He wants to take a walk on deck, so we go out there and we're looking back at England, talking about all those crazy wars, and then he loses his footing and falls. I reach out to grab him but he knocks me overboard into this insane ocean. The drowning—oh man, the sound, the water in my ears, watching death all around me. Wrecks everywhere, bodies torn apart by fish, treasure scattered all over—gold, anchors, pearls, jewels you can't even put a price on. And here's the sick part: they're just lying in dead men's skulls, and where the eyes used to be, these glowing jewels are growing, mocking the dead bones.
I'm drowning flashes of dead bodies gold and jewels scattered in the eyes of corpses water everywhere
Had you such leisure in the time of death
To gaze upon these secrets of the deep?
Did you really have time while drowning to observe all those things on the ocean floor?
You seriously had time to sightsee the ocean floor while dying?
had time to check out the sea floor while drowning?
Methought I had; and often did I strive
To yield the ghost, but still the envious flood
Stopped in my soul, and would not let it forth
To find the empty, vast, and wand’ring air,
But smothered it within my panting bulk,
Who almost burst to belch it in the sea.
I did. And I kept trying to give up, to let my soul escape, but the cruel ocean wouldn't let it go. It suffocated my soul, kept it locked inside my body, and I was choking, gasping, nearly bursting just trying to expel it into the sea.
Yeah, I could see it all. And I kept trying to just let go, you know? Let my soul get out of there. But the water wouldn't allow it. It choked it off, trapped it inside me, and I'm there suffocating, my whole body about to explode trying to get it out.
couldn't die soul trapped choked, suffocating body bursting
Awaked you not in this sore agony?
Didn't you wake up from that agony?
Jesus, didn't you wake up?
didn't you wake from that
No, no, my dream was lengthened after life.
O, then began the tempest to my soul.
I passed, methought, the melancholy flood,
With that sour ferryman which poets write of,
Unto the kingdom of perpetual night.
The first that there did greet my stranger-soul
Was my great father-in-law, renowned Warwick,
Who spake aloud, “What scourge for perjury
Can this dark monarchy afford false Clarence?”
And so he vanished. Then came wand’ring by
A shadow like an angel, with bright hair
Dabbled in blood; and he shrieked out aloud
“Clarence is come—false, fleeting, perjured Clarence,
That stabbed me in the field by Tewksbury!
Seize on him, Furies! Take him unto torment!”
With that, methoughts, a legion of foul fiends
Environed me, and howled in mine ears
Such hideous cries that with the very noise
I trembling waked, and for a season after
Could not believe but that I was in hell,
Such terrible impression made my dream.
No. The nightmare just kept going after I 'died.' Then the real torment started. I crossed what I thought was the river of the dead—the one the old poets write about, with that bitter ferryman—and entered a kingdom of eternal darkness. The first ghost that appeared to me was Warwick, my great father-in-law, and he demanded: 'What punishment does this dark realm have for someone as false as Clarence?' And he vanished. Then came another figure like an angel, bright-haired but covered in blood. He shrieked at me: 'Clarence—you're here, you liar, you traitor. You stabbed me on the field at Tewksbury! Seize him, Furies! Torture him!' And then a whole army of demons surrounded me, howling so hideously that the noise itself woke me up screaming. Even after I woke up, I couldn't believe I was alive. I was sure I was still in hell.
No, that's the thing—the nightmare went on. Even after I drowned. Then comes the real horror. I'm crossing this river—you know, the one the poets talk about where dead people go—and I'm heading into this eternal dark kingdom. Warwick shows up—my wife's father—and he's asking like: 'What kind of hell-punishment is bad enough for a perjurer like you?' Then this other thing appears, looks like an angel but he's covered in blood, and he starts screaming: 'Clarence, you're a liar and a backstabber. You killed me at Tewksbury! Get him, demons! Torture him!' And I've got this whole mob of demons surrounding me, shrieking so loud the sound itself wakes me up. But for a second after I wake up, I'm still convinced I'm in hell. That's how real it felt.
woke up but still thinking I'm in hell warwick, ghosts, demons shrieking I can still hear them
No marvel, lord, though it affrighted you;
I am afraid, methinks, to hear you tell it.
No surprise it terrified you. Just hearing you describe it is making me afraid too.
Of course that scared you. Honestly, listening to you tell it is creeping me out.
ofc that scared u just hearing about it scares me too
Ah, Keeper, Keeper, I have done these things,
That now give evidence against my soul,
For Edward’s sake, and see how he requites me.
O God, if my deep prayers cannot appease Thee,
But Thou wilt be avenged on my misdeeds,
Yet execute Thy wrath in me alone;
O, spare my guiltless wife and my poor children!
Keeper, I prithee sit by me awhile.
My soul is heavy, and I fain would sleep.
Keeper, Keeper, I've done terrible things—things that my own conscience condemns me for. I did them for Edward's sake, and look how he repays me. God, if my prayers can't save me, if you're determined to punish my sins, then do it to me alone. Spare my innocent wife and my children. Please, sit with me for a while. My spirit is heavy and I want to sleep.
Look, I messed up. Badly. I did some awful things for Edward, and now look—he's letting this happen to me. If God's going to get revenge for that, fine, do it to me. But my wife didn't do anything. My kids didn't do anything. Please, just sit with me a minute, okay? I'm exhausted and I need to sleep.
I deserve this but not my family please stay with me I need to sleep
I will, my lord; God give your Grace good rest.
I will, my lord. May God grant you peace.
Of course. Sleep well.
stay safe rest easy
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.
Grief disrupts the normal order of time and sleep. For princes, every external honor hides internal exhaustion. They have titles but no peace. Between their grand names and the exhausted men who carry those names, the only real difference is what the public sees.
Sorrow messes with everything—night becomes day, day becomes night. You've got these princes with all these fancy titles, but really? They're just worn out. The only thing between the title and the misery is that people can't see the misery from the outside.
even kings can't sleep titles hide the pain public sees glory private world is hell
Ho, who’s here?
Who's there?
Uh, hello?
yo who's that
What wouldst thou, fellow? And how cam’st thou hither?
What do you want, fellow? How did you get here?
What do you need, and how'd you get in here?
who are you what do you want
I would speak with Clarence, and I came hither on my legs.
I need to speak with Clarence. I got here on foot.
I want to talk to Clarence. I walked.
here to see clarence went through the door
What, so brief?
That's it?
That's all you've got to say?
that's really it
’Tis better, sir, than to be tedious. Let him see our commission, and
talk no more.
Better to be brief than long-winded. Show him the warrant and be done talking.
Look, it's better to keep it short. Just show him the commission and stop wasting time.
stop talking show the warrant move on
Act 1 Scene 4 is one of the most technically accomplished scenes in all of Shakespeare, and its achievement is structural. It has three completely different emotional registers — lyric poetry, low comedy, tragic rhetoric — and each one makes the final murder harder to bear.
Movement one is the dream speech: pure poetry, intimate and strange, the most beautiful thing Clarence ever says. Shakespeare gives him this extraordinary speech not to make us feel bad that he dies, but to make us know him as a complete human being before he's destroyed. The undersea imagery — wedges of gold, gems in dead men's skulls, 'As 'twere in scorn of eyes' — is the work of a great poet at full stretch.
Movement two is the murderers' conscience debate: comic prose, the logic of hired killers negotiating around a moral obstacle. Shakespeare needs this movement because if the scene went straight from the dream to the murder, the emotional weight would be too much. The comedy is also doing serious work — it's an extended parody of moral philosophy, showing how ethical reasoning can be systematically dismantled by self-interest.
Movement three is Clarence waking: a rhetorical set piece, structured argument against argument. Clarence has the better argument (divine law against royal command; he hasn't been tried; the murderers' souls are at stake) but he loses because argument has no traction against resolved violence. And then, at the end, the most agonizing irony: he names his murderer as his protector.
The structure is designed to exhaust the audience's defenses. By the time the killing comes, you've been through too much to feel anything simple.
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.
I've been ordered to hand over the Duke of Clarence to you. I'm not asking myself what this means, because that way I won't be responsible for the meaning. There he is asleep, and there are the keys. I'm going to tell the King that I've given you custody of him and I'm done.
Okay, I've got orders to give you the Duke of Clarence. I'm not going to ask what it means, so I don't have to be responsible for it. Look, he's asleep over there. Take the keys. I'm going to go tell the King I handed him over and I'm out of it.
i have orders i won't ask why not my responsibility take him i'm leaving
You may, sir; ’tis a point of wisdom. Fare you well.
That makes sense, sir—it's wise thinking. Take care.
Smart move. See you.
smart move good luck
What, shall I stab him as he sleeps?
Should I stab him while he's sleeping?
So should I just stab him while he's out?
kill him while he's asleep
No. He’ll say ’twas done cowardly, when he wakes.
No. He'll say we were cowards when he wakes up.
Nah. He'll think we're cowards when he wakes.
no he'd call us cowards
Why, he shall never wake until the great Judgement Day.
Why, he'll never wake up until Judgment Day.
But he's never gonna wake up again, period.
he won't wake up ever
Why, then he’ll say we stabbed him sleeping.
Then he'll claim we stabbed him while he was asleep.
Then he's gonna say we stabbed him sleeping.
then he'll say we got him while he slept
The urging of that word “judgement” hath bred a kind of remorse in me.
That word 'judgment' has started to make me feel guilty.
That word 'judgment' is getting to me. I'm feeling something I didn't expect.
judgment scared me conscience kicked in
What, art thou afraid?
Are you losing your nerve?
You getting scared?
you scared
Not to kill him, having a warrant, but to be damned for killing him,
from the which no warrant can defend me.
I can handle killing him because we have a warrant—but I can't handle being damned for it. A warrant won't save me from God's judgment.
It's not about the killing. The warrant covers that. It's about getting damned for it. No piece of paper is gonna protect me from hell.
warrant protects the deed but not my soul god sees everything no paper covers that
I thought thou hadst been resolute.
I thought you were tough.
I thought you had guts.
thought you were solid
So I am—to let him live.
I am—resolute to let him live.
I do. I'm solid about keeping him alive.
i am resolute to keep him alive
I’ll back to the Duke of Gloucester and tell him so.
Then I'll go back to the Duke of Gloucester and tell him you're backing out.
Fine. I'll go tell Richard you're chickening out.
i'm telling richard you won't do it
Nay, I prithee stay a little. I hope this passionate humour will
change. It was wont to hold me but while one tells twenty.
No, wait. I hope this guilty feeling will pass. It usually only lasts as long as it takes me to count to twenty.
No, hold up. Maybe this feeling will go away. It always does—I just need like a minute.
don't go this feeling will fade i just need time
How dost thou feel thyself now?
How are you feeling now?
You good yet?
you okay yet
Faith, some certain dregs of conscience are yet within me.
Honestly? Some pieces of guilt are still stuck in me.
Honestly? I've still got some conscience left.
still got guilt in me can't shake it
Remember our reward, when the deed’s done.
Remember the money we get when it's done.
Just remember what you're getting paid for this.
remember the money think about that
Zounds, he dies! I had forgot the reward.
Oh God, he dies! I forgot about the reward!
Oh, right! He's gotta die! I forgot we get paid!
oh shit the money he dies let's do it
Where’s thy conscience now?
Where is your conscience now?
Where's your conscience gone?
where's ur conscience
O, in the Duke of Gloucester’s purse.
It's in the Duke of Gloucester's wallet.
It's in Richard's pocket.
in richard's wallet
George, Duke of Clarence — older brother of both Edward IV and Richard, Duke of Gloucester — was attainted and executed in February 1478. He was undeniably put to death, probably in the Tower of London. He was genuinely troublesome: he had switched sides during the Wars of the Roses more than once, as Clarence's dream-accusers note; he quarreled publicly with Edward; he was suspected of plotting to seize the throne.
The malmsey butt story — that he was drowned in a barrel of sweet wine — appears in Italian historian Dominic Mancini's account written around 1483, barely five years after the event. Whether it's literally true is impossible to say. It might be: death by drowning in a private space would leave no obvious marks and could be passed off as natural causes. It might be legend: the story is so perfectly ironic (a prince drowned in luxury) that it feels constructed.
Shakespeare takes it as fact and leans into the irony hard. 'Make a sop of him' — bread soaked in wine — is the murderer's joke. 'You shall have wine enough, my lord, anon' is the Second Murderer's terrible promise to Clarence. Whether it happened this way or not, Shakespeare understood that the malmsey butt story captures something true about the period: the casual, private violence of aristocratic politics, where a prince could simply disappear and no one would ask questions publicly.
So, when he opens his purse to give us our reward, thy conscience flies
out.
Right. When he opens his wallet to give us our reward, your conscience will fly out.
Exactly. Once Richard pays us, your conscience disappears.
when he pays your conscience vanishes
’Tis no matter; let it go. There’s few or none will entertain it.
No problem. Let it go. Nobody wants it anyway.
Fine. Nobody's gonna hire it. Nobody cares.
don't care no one wants it let it go
What if it come to thee again?
What happens if your conscience comes back to bother you again?
What if your conscience shows up again?
what if it comes back
I’ll not meddle with it; it makes a man coward. A man cannot steal but
it accuseth him; a man cannot swear but it checks him; a man cannot lie
with his neighbour’s wife but it detects him. ’Tis a blushing
shamefaced spirit that mutinies in a man’s bosom. It fills a man full
of obstacles. It made me once restore a purse of gold that by chance I
found. It beggars any man that keeps it. It is turned out of towns and
cities for a dangerous thing; and every man that means to live well
endeavours to trust to himself and live without it.
I won't touch it. Conscience makes you weak. A man can't steal without it accusing him. A man can't swear an oath without it stopping him. A man can't cheat on his neighbor's wife without it exposing him. It's a blushing, shameful spirit that causes mutiny in a man's heart. It fills a man with obstacles. It once made me return a purse of gold I found by accident. It ruins any man who keeps it. It's been kicked out of all towns and cities as dangerous. Every man who wants to live well depends on himself and lives without it.
I won't mess with it. Conscience is a weakness. You can't steal without it calling you out. You can't break an oath without it stopping you. You can't sleep with your neighbor's wife without it exposing you. It's this shy, embarrassed spirit that causes fighting inside you. It stops you doing anything. It once made me give back gold I found. It destroys any man who has it. They throw it out of towns because it's too dangerous. Every man who's successful trusts himself and has nothing to do with it.
conscience = weakness tells you everything's wrong stops you from everything kills your life that's why real men have none
Zounds, ’tis even now at my elbow, persuading me not to kill the Duke.
For God's sake, my own conscience is right here at my elbow now, trying to talk me out of killing the Duke!
Damn it, my own conscience is pestering me right now, telling me not to kill him.
even i'm getting second thoughts don't kill him my conscience says
Take the devil in thy mind, and believe him not. He would insinuate
with thee but to make thee sigh.
Treat your conscience like the devil in your head and ignore it. It's only trying to upset you.
Look, treat it like the devil talking to you. Don't listen. It just wants to make you sad.
ignore it it's bullshit just wants to mess with you
I am strong-framed; he cannot prevail with me.
I'm too strong-minded for it to get to me.
I'm tough. It can't break me.
i'm strong can't break me
Spoke like a tall man that respects thy reputation. Come, shall we fall
to work?
That's the right attitude. Now let's get to work.
That's what I'm talking about. Come on, let's do this.
good let's go let's do it
Take him on the costard with the hilts of thy sword, and then throw him
in the malmsey-butt in the next room.
Hit him on the head with the hilt of your sword, then throw him in the malmsey barrel in the next room.
Smack him on the head with your sword handle, then dump him in that barrel of wine in the other room.
hit his head with your sword throw him in the wine barrel
O excellent device—and make a sop of him.
Perfect plan—and we'll make a sop of him.
Genius—we'll bread-soak him in wine.
nice soak him in wine like bread
Soft, he wakes.
Wait, he's waking up.
He's coming to.
he's waking up
Strike!
Strike!
Kill him!
do it NOW
No, we’ll reason with him.
No, let's first try to persuade him with words.
No, let's talk to him first.
nah let's talk first
Where art thou, keeper? Give me a cup of wine.
Where's the keeper? Get me a cup of wine.
Keeper? Can I get some wine?
keeper i need wine please
You shall have wine enough, my lord, anon.
You'll have plenty of wine soon, my lord.
Don't worry, you'll get your wine.
plenty of wine coming soon
In God’s name, what art thou?
In God's name, who are you?
Who are you? What's this?
who the hell are you
A man, as you are.
A man, like you are.
Just a man, like you.
just a man
But not as I am, royal.
But you're not royal the way I am.
But you're not a prince like I am.
but ur not royal like me
Nor you as we are, loyal.
And you're not loyal the way we are.
And you two aren't loyal like we are.
and u aren't loyal like us
Thy voice is thunder, but thy looks are humble.
Your voice sounds like thunder, but you look gentle.
You sound harsh but you look meek.
you sound dangerous but look soft
My voice is now the King’s, my looks mine own.
My voice belongs to the King now. My face is my own.
My voice is the King's. My expression is mine.
i speak for the king my face is mine
The Second Murderer is a small character who gets an unusually large amount of psychological attention. Shakespeare uses him to stage a complete arc of moral failure in miniature — and it's not the arc you expect.
He begins with a flicker of genuine conscience: hearing the word 'judgment' triggers remorse. But the scene immediately reveals that this conscience is unreliable, brief ('while one tells twenty'), and highly susceptible to financial motivation. When the First Murderer mentions the reward, the conscience evaporates instantly — 'Zounds, he dies! I had forgot the reward.' He then delivers the play's most cynical speech about conscience (chunk 1-4-046), arguing that it's a social liability and a psychological obstacle. He's not even wrong, within his framework.
Then, in the confrontation with Clarence, something genuinely shifts. Clarence's eloquence reaches him. He hesitates. He asks 'What shall we do?' He cannot complete the sentence announcing the murder. He invites Clarence to relent. When the First Murderer acts, the Second Murderer refuses the fee and invokes Pilate.
But none of this stopped the murder. His conscience worked perfectly in retrospect and almost-perfectly in the moment — but almost is not good enough. Shakespeare is making a point that conscience without action is not virtue, it's just private discomfort. The Second Murderer is more sympathetic than the First, but the outcome is exactly the same: Clarence is dead. Remorse that arrives after the event changes nothing.
How darkly and how deadly dost thou speak!
Your eyes do menace me; why look you pale?
Who sent you hither? Wherefore do you come?
You speak so darkly and so deadly! Your eyes threaten me. Why do you look so pale? Who sent you here? Why did you come?
The way you talk—it's dark, it's deadly. Your eyes are threatening me. Why are you pale? Who sent you? What do you want?
your voice is death your eyes are threats why pale who sent you why
To, to, to—
To, to, to...
To... to...
to... to...
To murder me?
To murder me?
To kill me?
to kill me
Ay, ay.
Yes, yes.
Yes, yes.
yes yes
You scarcely have the hearts to tell me so,
And therefore cannot have the hearts to do it.
Wherein, my friends, have I offended you?
You can barely say it, so you can't have the courage to do it. My friends, what have I done to you?
You can barely even say the words, so you don't have the guts to do it. Friends, what did I ever do to you?
you can't even say it how will you do it what did i do to you
Offended us you have not, but the King.
You haven't offended us—you've offended the King.
You didn't offend us. The King is offended.
you didn't offend us the king is angry
I shall be reconciled to him again.
I'll make peace with him again.
I can fix it with him.
i can make it right with the king
Never, my lord; therefore prepare to die.
Never, my lord. So get ready to die.
Never gonna happen, my lord. Time to prepare for death.
never time to die
Are you drawn forth among a world of men
To slay the innocent? What is my offence?
Where is the evidence that doth accuse me?
What lawful quest have given their verdict up
Unto the frowning judge? Or who pronounced
The bitter sentence of poor Clarence’ death?
Before I be convict by course of law,
To threaten me with death is most unlawful.
I charge you, as you hope to have redemption,
By Christ’s dear blood shed for our grievous sins,
That you depart, and lay no hands on me.
The deed you undertake is damnable.
Are you sent to kill innocent people? What's my crime? Where's the evidence against me? Which jury has convicted me? Which judge pronounced this sentence of death? Before I'm condemned by law, threatening me with death is unlawful. I beg you by Christ's blood, by the suffering He endured for our sins, leave me alone. What you're planning to do is damnable.
Are you hired to go around murdering innocent people? What did I do wrong? Where's your evidence? What jury found me guilty? What judge sentenced me to death? You can't just kill me before a trial. It's illegal. I'm begging you—by Christ's blood, by everything He suffered—don't do this. Let me go. What you're planning is a sin.
what crime where's the evidence who convicted me which judge this is illegal let me go
What we will do, we do upon command.
We're simply doing what we've been ordered to do.
We're just following orders.
just following orders
And he that hath commanded is our King.
And the King is the one who gave us those orders.
And it's the King who commanded it.
the king told us to
Erroneous vassals! The great King of kings
Hath in the table of his law commanded
That thou shalt do no murder. Will you then
Spurn at His edict and fulfil a man’s?
Take heed, for He holds vengeance in His hand
To hurl upon their heads that break His law.
You're wrong! The King of all kings—God—wrote in His law that you shall not kill. Will you reject God's law and obey a man's? Know that God holds vengeance and will punish those who break His law.
You're backwards! The King of everything—God—wrote in the Bible: don't kill. You're choosing a man's order over God's law? God will punish you for breaking His commandments.
god says don't kill the bible is clear god will punish you for breaking his law
And that same vengeance doth He hurl on thee
For false forswearing, and for murder too.
Thou didst receive the sacrament to fight
In quarrel of the house of Lancaster.
God does punish you—for breaking your oath and for the murders you committed. You swore to fight for Lancaster, remember?
God is punishing you right now—for breaking your oath and for the people you killed. You swore to fight for Lancaster.
god's already punishing you for your oath-breaking for your murders
And like a traitor to the name of God
Didst break that vow, and with thy treacherous blade
Unrippedst the bowels of thy sovereign’s son.
And like a traitor to God's name, you broke that vow and stabbed the King's son to death.
Like a traitor to God, you broke that oath and butchered the King's son.
you traitor you broke your vow you killed the prince
Whom thou wast sworn to cherish and defend.
A man you were sworn to protect.
The one you promised to defend.
the one you promised to protect
How canst thou urge God’s dreadful law to us,
When thou hast broke it in such dear degree?
So how can you lecture us about God's law when you broke it so seriously?
So how are you gonna preach God's law to us when you've already broken it so badly?
you're lecturing us about god's law when you broke it badly
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 avenged for the deed,
O, know you yet He doth it publicly;
Take not the quarrel from His powerful arm;
He needs no indirect or lawless course
To cut off those that have offended Him.
Ah, but I did that terrible thing for Edward—for my brother. He wouldn't send you to kill me for something he's equally guilty of. If God's going to punish this, He'll do it openly, not through hired murderers. Don't take vengeance into your own hands. God doesn't need illegal means to punish wrongdoers.
But I did that for Edward—my brother. He wouldn't send you to kill me for something he's just as guilty of. If God's going to punish us, He'll do it openly, not through secret murder. Don't steal God's justice. He doesn't need you to do His work.
i did it for edward he's guilty too let god punish don't take justice into your hands
Who made thee then a bloody minister
When gallant-springing, brave Plantagenet,
That princely novice, was struck dead by thee?
Who made you a murderer when you killed that noble young prince at Tewksbury?
Who turned you into a killer when you murdered that young prince at Tewksbury?
you killed that young prince at tewksbury you're no saint
My brother’s love, the devil, and my rage.
My love for my brother, the devil's temptation, and my own fury.
My love for my brother, the devil, and my rage.
brother devil my rage
Thy brother’s love, our duty, and thy faults,
Provoke us hither now to slaughter thee.
Your brother's love, our duty, and your own faults drive us to slaughter you now.
Love for your brother, our duty, and your crimes—that's what brings us to kill you.
your brother's orders our duty your sins that's why you die
If you do love my brother, hate not me.
I am his brother, and I love him well.
If you are 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.
If you love my brother, don't hate me. I'm his brother and I love him. If you've been hired for money, change your minds. I'll send you to Gloucester, who'll pay you better for my life than Edward will for the news of my death.
If you love Edward, don't hate me. I'm his brother—I love him. If money's the issue, forget it. Go to Richard instead. He'll pay you way more to keep me alive than Edward pays for news of my death.
you love edward so don't hate me come to richard he'll pay more for my life
Scene 1-4 contains one of the most explicit staging of what Hannah Arendt would later call the 'banality of evil' — the way institutional structures allow ordinary people to participate in atrocities by distributing moral responsibility until it disappears.
Brakenbury: 'I will not reason what is meant hereby, because I will be guiltless of the meaning.' He's not lying — he genuinely will not ask what his action means, because the asking would force him to take responsibility. Strategic ignorance as moral hygiene.
The First Murderer: 'What we will do, we do upon command. / And he that hath commanded is our King.' The classic chain-of-command defense. The king's authority supersedes personal moral judgment.
The Second Murderer: 'Not to kill him, having a warrant, but to be damned for killing him, from the which no warrant can defend me.' He understands the flaw in this logic — earthly warrants don't cover heavenly jurisdiction. He's the only one who sees through the bureaucratic shield, and even he fails to act on it.
Shakespeare wrote this in 1592-93. The organizational structure he's describing — institutional authority as a moral laundering machine — is not unique to the fifteenth century. Richard uses paperwork (warrants, commissions) to create legal cover for actions that are simply murder. The question of where personal responsibility lies when institutions command atrocities is as live in 2025 as it was in 1485.
You are deceived. Your brother Gloucester hates you.
You're mistaken. Your brother Gloucester hates you.
You're wrong. Richard hates you.
richard hates you not loves you
O no, he loves me, and he holds me dear.
Go you to him from me.
No, he loves me and holds me dear. Go tell him from me.
No. He loves me. He cares about me. Go tell him what I said.
no he loves me go tell him i said so
Ay, so we will.
Yes, we will.
Sure, we will.
yeah sure
Tell him when that our princely father York
Blessed his three sons with his victorious arm,
And charged us from his soul to love each other,
He little thought of this divided friendship.
Bid Gloucester think of this, and he will weep.
Tell him when our father York blessed all three of his sons with his victorious arm and charged us from his heart to love each other, he never imagined this. Tell Gloucester to think about that, and he'll weep.
Tell him our father York blessed us three sons with his sword and made us swear to love each other from the heart. He never saw this coming. Tell Richard that. It'll make him cry.
father york blessed us all made us swear to love each other tell him he'll weep
Ay, millstones, as he lessoned us to weep.
Yes—tears as heavy as millstones, just like Richard taught us to cry.
Tears like millstones—right, because Richard's so emotional.
sure richard will cry likemillstones
O, do not slander him, for he is kind.
Don't slander him. He's kind.
Don't talk about him like that. He's good.
don't insult him he's kind
Right, as snow in harvest. Come, you deceive yourself.
’Tis he that sends us to destroy you here.
As kind as snow in the middle of harvest. Stop deceiving yourself. Richard sent us to destroy you.
As kind as snow in summer. Stop lying to yourself. Richard ordered us to kill you.
kind as snow in summer richard ordered this
It cannot be, for he bewept my fortune,
And hugged me in his arms, and swore with sobs
That he would labour my delivery.
It can't be. He wept for me and hugged me and swore with tears that he'd work for my release.
No. He cried for me. He held me. He swore he'd set me free.
he cried he held me he swore he'd free me
Why, so he doth, when he delivers you
From this earth’s thraldom to the joys of heaven.
Oh yes, he'll deliver you—from this world's misery to heaven's joy.
He will deliver you. From this world into paradise.
he'll free you from life into heaven
Make peace with God, for you must die, my lord.
Make your peace with God, because you're about to die.
You need to make peace with God—you're gonna die.
make peace w god u gonna die
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 murd’ring me?
O sirs, consider: they that set you on
To do this deed will hate you for the deed.
You tell me to make peace with God while you war against Him by murdering me? Think about it—the men who hired you to do this will hate you for doing it.
You're telling me to get right with God while you're committing murder against His will? Think about it—whoever hired you to do this will turn on you afterward.
you tell me to pray while murdering me the ones who hired you will betray you
What shall we do?
What should we do?
What do we do?
what do we do now
Relent, and save your souls.
Back down and save your souls.
Stand down and save yourselves.
stop save yourselves
Relent? No, ’tis cowardly and womanish.
Back down? That's cowardly and unmanly.
Mercy? That's weakness.
that's cowardly
Not to relent is beastly, savage, devilish.
Which of you—if you were a prince’s son,
Being pent from liberty, as I am now—
If two such murderers as yourselves came to you,
Would not entreat for life? Ay, you would beg,
Were you in my distress.
My friend, I spy some pity in thy looks.
O, if thine eye be not a flatterer,
Come thou on my side, and entreat for me;
A begging prince what beggar pities not?
Not to back down is bestial, savage, devilish. If you were a prince's son locked up as I am now, and two murderers like you came for you, wouldn't you beg for your life? You would. You'd be on your knees. My friend, I see some pity in your eyes. If your eyes are honest, stand with me. Help me. A begging prince—who wouldn't pity him?
To show no mercy is animal, savage, evil. If you were a prince locked in a cell like me, and two killers showed up, you'd beg for your life. You know you would. My friend, I see something in your face—mercy. If I'm reading you right, help me. Speak for me. A prince begging for his life—how could anyone refuse that?
mercy isn't weakness it's humanity i see pity in your eyes please help me begging
Look behind you, my lord.
Turn around and look behind you, my lord.
Check behind you.
look behind u
Take that, and that! [_Stabs him._] If all this will not do,
I’ll drown you in the malmsey-butt within.
Take that, and that! (Stabs him.) If this isn't enough, I'll drown you in the malmsey barrel next door.
Here! And here! (Stabs him.) If that doesn't work, I'll drown you in that wine barrel over there.
take that and that (stabs him) now the barrel of wine
A bloody deed, and desperately dispatched.
How fain, like Pilate, would I wash my hands
Of this most grievous murder.
A bloody deed, violently done. Like Pilate, I wish I could wash my hands of this terrible murder.
God, what a bloodbath. I wish I could wash my hands of it like Pilate did.
blood grievous murder wish i could wash it away like pilate
How now? What mean’st thou that thou help’st me not?
By heavens, the Duke shall know how slack you have been.
What's wrong? Why didn't you help me? By God, the Duke will hear how lazy you've been.
What are you doing? Why didn't you help? Richard's gonna know how useless you are.
why didn't you help me richard will know
I would he knew that I had saved his brother.
Take thou the fee, and tell him what I say,
For I repent me that the Duke is slain.
I wish he knew that I had saved his brother. You take the payment and tell him what I say—that I regret the Duke is dead.
I wish he knew I tried to save his brother. You take the money and tell him what I'm saying—I feel bad that we killed the Duke.
i tried to save him he should know i didn't want this i regret it
So do not I. Go, coward as thou art.
Well, I’ll go hide the body in some hole
Till that the Duke give order for his burial.
And when I have my meed, I will away,
For this will out, and then I must not stay.
I don't regret anything. Get out, coward. Well, I'll hide the body in a hole until the Duke orders the burial. Once I get my payment, I'm leaving. This will come out eventually, and I won't be here when it does.
I don't feel bad. Get out of here, coward. I'll stash the body somewhere until Richard decides what to do with it. Once I get paid, I'm gone. This is gonna come out, and I'm not sticking around.
i don't care i'll hide him get paid and run this will out and i'll be gone
The Reckoning
The engine of this scene is the cruelest dramatic irony in the play: Clarence, desperate to survive, keeps invoking his brother Richard as his best hope — 'I will send you to my brother Gloucester, who shall reward you better for my life.' He cannot conceive that Richard is the architect of his murder. Every appeal to brotherhood twists the knife. Shakespeare surrounds this tragedy with two framing movements that make it hit harder: first the dream speech, one of the most beautiful passages he ever wrote, which shows us Clarence's soul before we watch it destroyed; then the murderers' conscience debate, which is low comedy but is actually a precise philosophical argument about whether institutional authority can override personal morality. The answer the play gives is no — which is why the Second Murderer ends the scene washing his hands like Pilate.
If this happened today…
The murderers' exchange — 'What we will do, we do upon command' / 'And he that hath commanded is our King' — is the Nuremberg defense delivered as punch lines. It's still the go-to justification for people who do terrible things inside bureaucratic chains of command: I was just following orders, I had a warrant, I'm not responsible for the meaning of what I was told to do. Brakenbury literally says it out loud: 'I will not reason what is meant hereby, because I will be guiltless of the meaning.' The attempt to outsource moral responsibility to whoever's above you in the org chart is as common in 2025 as it was in 1485.