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Duke. Not a resemblance, but a certainty. Yet since I see you fearful, that neither my coat, integrity, nor my persuasion, can with ease attempt you, I will go further than I meant, to pluck all fears out of
Look you, fir, 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.
shall anon over-read it at your pleasure; where you shall 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 strange tenour, perchance, of the duke's death, perchance, of his entring into some monastery, but, by chance, nothing of what is here writ. Look, the unfolding star calls up the shepherd; put not yourself into amazement how these things should be; all difficulties are but easy when they are known. Call your executioner, and off with Barnardine’s head: I will give him a present shrift, and advise him for a better place. Yet you are amaz’d, but this shall absolutely resolve you. Come away; it it almoft clear dawn.
[Exeunt. SCENE VIII.
Enter Clown. Clown. I am as well acquainted here, as I was in our house of profession; one would think, it were mistress Over-don's own house; for here be many of her old customers. First, here's young master Rash; 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 master Caper, at the fuit of master Three-Pile the mercer, for some four suits of peach-colour'd satin, which now peaches him a beggar. Then have we here young Dizzy, and young master Deep-vow, and master Copper-Spur, and master Starve-Lacky the rapier and dagger-man, and young Drop-beire that kill'd lusty Pudding, and master Froth-light the tilter, and brave master
Shoo-tye the great traveller, and wild Half-Canne that stabb’d
Clown. Master Barnardine, you must rise and be hang’d, master
Clown. Your friend, sir, the hangman: you must be so good, fir, to rise, and be put to death.
Barnar. Away, you rogue, away; I am sleepy.
Clown. Pray, mafter Barnardine, awake’till you are executed, and Neep afterwards.
Abhor. Go in to him, and fetch him out.
Abbor. Truly, fir, I would desire you to clap into your prayers: for, look you, the warrant's come.
Barnar. You rogue, I have been drinking all night, I am not fitted for't.
Clown. O, the better, fir; for he that drinks all night, and is hang’d betimes in the morning, may sleep the founder all the next day.
Y y 2
are to depart, I am come to advise you, comfort you,
Barnar. Friar, not I: I have been drinking hard all night, and will have more time to prepare me, or they shall beat out my brains with billets ; I will not consent to die this day, that's certain.
Duke. O, sir, you must; and therefore, I beseech you, look forward on the journey you
go. Barnar. I swear, I will not die to day for any man's persuasion. Duke. But hear you.
Barnar. Not a word: if you have any thing to say to me, come to my ward; for thence will not I to-day.
Duke. Unfit to live, or die: o gravel heart !
Prov. After him, fellows: bring him to the block.
Duke. A creature unprepar'd, unmeet for death;
Prov. Here in the prison, father,
Duke. 0, 'tis an accident that heav'n provides :
Prov. This shall be done, good father, presently.
But Barnardine must die this afternoon:
Duke. Let this be done;
Prov. I am your free dependant.
Duke. Quick, quick, and send the head to Angelo. [Exit. Prov.
Duke. Convenient is it: make a swift return;
[Exit. SCENE x.
Isabel within. Isab. Peace, hoa, be here !
Duke. The tongue of Isabel. 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 comfort of despair, When it is least expected.
Enter Enter Isabel.
Isab. By your leave.
Isab. The better giv'n me by so holy a man:
Duke. He hath releas’d him, Isabel, from the world; His head is off, and sent to Angelo.
Isab. Nay, but it is not so.
Duke. It is no other.
Isab. O, I will to him, and pluck out his eyes.
Isab. Unhappy Claudio ! wretched Isabel?
Duke. This hurts not him, nor profits you a jot:
you shall have your bosom on this wretch, Grace of the duke, revenges to your heart, And gen’ral honour.
Ifab. I'm directed by you.
Duke. This letter then to friar Peter give;