Escal.
My lord, I am more amaz'd at his dishonour,
Than at the strangeness of it.

Duke.
Come hither, Isabel;
Your Friar is now your prince: as I was then
Advertising, and holy^{9 note} to your business,
Not changing heart with habit, I am still
Attornied at your service.

Isab.
Oh, give me pardon,
That I, your vassal, have employ'd and pain'd
Your unknown sovereignty.

Duke.
You are pardon'd, Isabel:
And now, dear maid, be you as free to us.^{1 note}
Your brother's death, I know, sits at your heart:
And you may marvel, why I obscur'd myself,
Labouring to save his life; and would not rather
Make rash remonstrance of my hidden power,
Than let him be so lost. Oh, most kind maid,
It was the swift celerity of his death,
Which, I did think, with slower foot came on,
That brain'd my purpose:^{2 note}
but, peace be with him!

That life is better life, past fearing death,
Than that which lives to fear: make it your comfort;
So, happy is your brother.

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