I passed, methought, the melancholy flood,
With that grim 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 cried aloud- "What scourge for perjury
Can this dark monarchy afford false Clarence?"
And so he vanished.

6.

Then came wandering 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 Tewkesbury; Seize on him, furies! take him to your torments !" With that, methought a legion of foul fiends Environed me, and howled into 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.

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