SCENE VI.--_A Camp.
_Enter_ CHARLEMONT _in arms, a_ Musketeer, _and a_ Serjeant.
_Charl._ Serjeant, what hour o' the night is't?
_Serj._ About one.
_Charl._ I would you would relieve me, for I am So heavy that I shall ha' much ado To stand out my perdu. [_Thunder and lightning._
_Serj._ I'll e'en but walk The round, sir, and then presently return.
_Sol._ For God's sake, serjeant, relieve me. Above five hours together in so foul a stormy night as this!
_Serj._ Why 'tis a music, soldier. Heaven and earth are now in consort, when the thunder and the cannon play one to another. [_Exit_ Serjeant.
_Charl._ I know not why I should be thus inclined To sleep. I feel my disposition pressed With a necessity of heaviness. Soldier, if thou hast any better eyes, I prithee wake me when the serjeant comes.
_Sol._ Sir, 'tis so dark and stormy that I shall Scarce either see or hear him, ere he comes Upon me.
_Charl._ I cannot force myself to wake.--[_Sleeps._
_Enter the_ Ghost _of_ MONTFERRERS.
_Mont._ Return to France, for thy old father's dead, And thou by murder disinherited. Attend with patience the success of things, But leave revenge unto the King of kings. [_Exit._ [CHARLEMONT _starts and wakes._
_Charl._ O my affrighted soul, what fearful dream Was this that waked me? Dreams are but the raised Impressions of premeditated things By serious apprehension left upon Our minds; or else the imaginary shapes Of objects proper to the complexion, or The dispositions of our bodies. These Can neither of them be the cause why I Should dream thus; for my mind has not been moved With any one conception of a thought To such a purpose; nor my nature wont To trouble me with fantasies of terror. It must be something that my Genius would Inform me of. Now gracious Heaven forbid! Oh! let my spirit be deprived of all Foresight and knowledge, ere it understand That vision acted, or divine that act To come. Why should I think so? Left I not My worthy father i' the kind regard Of a most loving uncle? Soldier, saw'st No apparition of a man?
_Sol._ You dream, Sir. I saw nothing.
_Charl._ Tush! these idle dreams Are fabulous. Our boyling fantasies Like troubled waters falsify the shapes Of things retained in them, and make 'em seem Confounded when they are distinguished. So, My actions daily conversant with war, The argument of blood and death had left Perhaps the imaginary presence of Some bloody accident upon my mind, Which, mixed confusedly with other thoughts, Whereof the remembrance of my father might Be one presented, all together seem Incorporate, as if his body were The owner of that blood, the subject of That death, when he's at Paris and that blood Shed here. It may be thus. I would not leave The war, for reputation's sake, upon An idle apprehension, a vain dream.
_Enter the_ Ghost.
_Sol._ Stand! Stand, I say! No? Why then have at thee, Sir. If you will not stand, I'll make you fall. [_Fires._ Nor stand nor fall? Nay then, the devil's dam Has broke her husband's head, for sure it is A spirit. I shot it through, and yet it will not fall. [_Exit._ [_The_ Ghost _approaches_ CHARLEMONT _who fearfully avoids it._
_Charl._ O pardon me, my doubtful heart was slow To credit that which I did fear to know. [_Exeunt._
ACT THE THIRD.