Prov. But what likelihood is in that? Duke. Not a resemblance, but a certainty. Yet fince I fee you fearful, that neither my Coat, integrity, nor my perfuafion, can with ease attempt you, I will go further than I meant, to pluck all fears out of you. Look you, Sir, here is the hand and feal of the Duke; you know the Character, I doubt not; and the Signet is not strange to you. Prov. I know them both. Duke. The contents of this is the Return of the Duke; you shall anon over-read it at your pleafure; where you fhall find, within these two days he will be here. This is a thing, which Angelo knows not; for he this very day receives letters of ftrange tenor; perchance, of the Duke's death; perchance, of his entering into fome monaftery; but, by chance, nothing of what is writ. Look, the unfolding ftar calls up the fhepherd; put not your felf into amazement how thefe things hould be; all difficulties are but eafie, when they are known. Call your executioner, and off with Barnardine's head: I will give him a prefent fhrift, and advife him for a better place. Yet you are amaz'd, but this fhall abfolutely refolve you. Come away, it is al[Exe. moft clear dawn. Enter Clown. Clown. I am as well acquainted here, as I was in our house of profeffion; one would think, it were mistress Over-don's own houfe; for here be many of her old customers. First, here's young Mr. Rah; he's in for a commodity of brown pepper and old ginger, ninescore and seventeen pounds; of which he made five marks ready money: marry, then, ginger was not much in request for the old women were all dead. Then is there here one Mr. Caper, at the fuit of master ThreePile the mercer; for fome four fuits of peach-colour'd fattin, which now peaches him a beggar. Then have we here young Dizzy, and young Mr. Deep-vow, and Mr. Copper-fpur, and mafter Starve-Lacky the rapier and dagger-man, and young Drop-beire that kill'd lufty Pud ding, and Mr. Forthlight the tilter, and brave Mr. Shooty the great traveller, and wild Half-Canne that stabb'd Pots, and, I think, forty more; all great doers in our trade, and are now in for the Lord's fake. Enter Abhorfon. Abbor. Sirrah, bring Barnardine hither. Clown. Mafter Barnardine, you must rife and be hang'd, master Barnardine. Abbor. What, hoa, Barnardine! Barnar. [Within.] A pox o' your throats; who makes that noife there? what are you? Clown. Your friend, Sir, the hangman: you must be fo good, Sir, to rife, and be put to death. Barnar. [Within] Away, you rogue, away; fleepy. I am Abbor. Tell him, he must awake, and that quickly too. Clown. Pray, mafter Barnardine, awake 'till you are executed, and fleep afterwards. Abhor. Go in to him, and fetch him out. Clown. He is coming, Sir, he is coming; I hear the ftraw ruftle. Enter Barnardine. Abbor. Is the ax upon the block, firrah? Barnar. How now, Abhorfon? what's the news with you? Abbor. Truly, Sir, I would defire you to clap into your prayers: for, look you, the Warrant's come. you, Barnar. You rogue, I have been drinking all night, I am not fitted for't. Clown. Oh, the better, Sir; for he that drinks all night, and is hang'd betimes in the morning, may fleep the founder all the next day. Enter Duke. Abhor. Look you, Sir, here comes your ghoftly fa ther; do we jeft now, think you? Bb 4 Duke. Duke. Sir, induced by my charity, and hearing how haftily you are to depart, I am come to advife you, comfort you, and pray with you. Barnar. Friar, not I: I have been drinking hard all night, and I will have more time to prepare me, or they shall beat out my brains with billets: I will not confent to die this day, that's certain. Duke. Oh, Sir, you muft; and therefore, I beseech you, look forward on the journey you fhall go. Barnar. I fwear, I will not die to day for any man's perfuafion, Duke. But hear you, Barnar. Not a word: if you have any thing to fay to me, come to my Ward; for thence will not I to day. [Exit. Enter Provoft. Duke. Unfit to live, or die: oh gravel heart! Prov. Now, Sir, how do you find the prifoner? Prov. Here in the prison, father, There dy'd this morning of a cruel fever A man of Claudio's years; his beard, and head, This Reprobate, 'till he were well inclin'd; Of Ragezine, more like to Claudio? Duke. O, 'tis an accident, that heav'n provides: And fent according to Command; while I Prov. This fhall be done, good father, presently: But Barnardine muft die this afternoon: To fave me from the danger that might come, Duke. Duke. Let this be done;" Put them in fecret Holds, both Barnardine and Claudio: Your fafety manifefted. Prov. I am your free dependant.' Duke. Quick, dispatch, and fend the Now will I write letters to Angelo, head to An [Exit Prov. (The Provost, he fhall bear them;) whofe contents. And that, by great injunctions, I am bound To meet me at the confecrated Fount, Enter Provost. Prov. Here is the head, I'll carry it my felf. Duke. Convenient is it: make a fwift Return; For I would commune with you of fuch things, That want no ears but yours. Prov. I'll make all speed. Ifab. [Within.] Peace, hoa, be here! [Exit. Duke. The tongue of Ifabel. She comes to know, If yet her brother's Pardon be come hither: But I will keep her ign'rant of her good, To make her heav'nly comforts of defpair, Enter Ifabel. Ifab. Hoa, by your leave. Duke. Good morning to you, fair and gracious daughter. Ifab. The better, giv'n me by fo holy a man: Hath yet the Deputy fent my brother's Pardon? Duke. He hath releas'd him, Ifabel, from the world; His head is off, and fent to Angelo. Ifab. Nay, but it is not fo. Duke. Duke. It is no other. Shew your wifdom, daughter, in your clofest patience. Duke. This nor hurts him, nor profits you a jot: The Duke comes home to morrow; dry your eyes; Gives me this inftance: already he hath carry'd Notice to Efcalus and Angelo, Who do prepare to meet him at the gates, There to give up their Pow'r. If you can, pace your wisdom In that good path that I would with it go, And you shall have your bofom on this wretch, Ifab. I'm directed by you. Duke. This letter then to Friar Peter give; Her Caufe and yours And shall be abfent. Wend you with this letter: Lucio. Good even; Enter Lucio. Friar, where's the Provoft? Duke. Not within, Sir. |