Prov.

Come hither, Sirrah: Can you cut off a Man's Head?

Clown.
If the Man be a Batchelor, Sir, I can;
But if he be a marry'd Man, he's his Wife's Head,
And I can never cut off a Woman's Head.

Prov.

Come, Sir, leave me your Snatches, and yield me a direct Answer. To Morrow Morning are to die Claudio and Barnardine: Here is in our Prison a common Executioner, who in his Office lacks a Helper; if you will take it on you to assist him, it shall redeem you from your Gyves: If not, you shall have your full time of Imprisonment, and your Deliverance with an unpitied Whipping; for you have been a notorious Bawd.

Clown.

Sir, I have been an unlawful Bawd, time out of mind, but yet I will be content to be a lawful Hangman: I would be glad to receive some Instruction from my Fellow-Partner.

Prov.

What hoa, Abhorson! where's Abhorson there?

Abhor.

Do you call, Sir?

Prov.

Sirrah, here's a Fellow will help you to Morrow in your Execution: If you think it meet, compound with him by the Year, and let him abide here with you; if not, use him for the present, and dismiss him. He cannot plead his Estimation with you; he hath been a Bawd.

Abhor.

A Bawd, Sir? Fie upon him, he will discredit our Mystery.

Prov.

Go to, Sir; you weigh equally, a Feather will turn the Scale.

Clown.

Pray Sir, by your good Favour; for surely, Sir, a good Favour you have, but that you have a hanging Look; Do you call, Sir, your Occupation a Mystery?

Abhor.

Ay, Sir, a Mystery.

Clown.

Painting, Sir, I have heard say, is a Mystery; and your Whores, Sir, being Members of my Occupation, using painting, do prove my Occupation a Mystery: But what Mystery there should be in hanging, if I should be hang'd, I cannot imagine.

Abhor.

Sir, it is a Mystery.

Clown.

Proof.

Abhor.

Every true Man's Apparel fits your Thief.

Clown.

If it be too little for your Thief, your true Man thinks it big enough. If it be too big for your Thief, your Thief thinks it little enough: So every true Man's Apparel fits your Thief.

Prov.

Are you agreed?

Clown.

Sir, I will serve him: For I do find your Hangman is a more penitent Trade than your Bawd; he doth oftner ask Forgiveness.

Prov.

You, Sirrah, provide your Block and your Ax to Morrow, four a Clock.

Abhor.

Come on, Bawd, I will instruct thee in my Trade; follow.

Clown.

I do desire to learn, Sir; and I hope, if you have occasion to use me for your own turn, you shall find me yours: For truly, Sir, for your Kindness, I owe you a good turn.

Prov.
Call hither Barnardine and Claudio:
Th' one has my Pity; not a jot the other,
Being a Murtherer, tho' he were my Brother. Enter Claudio.
Look, here's the Warrant, Claudio, for thy Death;
'Tis now dead Midnight, and by eight to Morrow
Thou must be made Immortal. Where's Barnardine?

Claud.
As fast lock'd up in Sleep as guiltless Labour,
When it lyes starkly in the Traveller's Bones:
He will not wake.

Prov.
Who can do good on him?
Well, go, prepare your self. But hark, what Noise? [Knock within.

Heav'n give your Spirits Comfort: By and by;
I hope it is some Pardon, or Reprieve
For the most gentle Claudio. Welcome, Father. Enter Duke.

Duke.
The best and wholsom'st Spirits of the Night
Invellop you, good Provost: Who call'd here of late?

Prov.
None since the Curphew rung.

Duke.
Not Isabel?

Prov.
No.

Duke.
They will then, ere't be long.

Prov.
What Comfort is for Claudio?

Duke.
There's some in hope.

Prov.
It is a bitter Deputy.

Duke.
Not so, not so; his Life is parallel'd
Even with the Stroak and Line of his great Justice;
He doth with holy Abstinence subdue
That in himself which he spurs on his Power
To qualifie in others. Were he meal'd with that
Which he corrects, then were he tyrannous;
But this being so, he's just. Now are they come. [Knock again.
This is a gentle Provost, seldom when
The steeled Goaler is the Friend of Men.
How now? What Noise? That Spirit's possest with haste
That wounds th' unresisting Postern with these Strokes.

Prov.
There he must stay until the Officer
Arise to let him in; he is call'd up.

Duke.
Have you no Countermand for Claudio yet?
But he must die to Morrow?

Prov.
None, Sir, none.

Duke.
As near the Dawning, Provost, as it is,
You shall hear more e'er Morning.

Prov.
Happily:
You something know; yet I believe there comes
No Countermand; no such Example have we:
Besides, upon the very siege of Justice,
Lord Angelo hath to the publick Ear
Profest the contrary. Enter a Messenger.

Duke.
This is his Lord's Man.

Prov.
And here comes Claudio's Pardon.

Mess.
My Lord hath sent you this Note,
And by me this further Charge,
That you swerve not from the smallest Article of it,
Neither in Time, Matter, or other Circumstance.
Good Morrow; for, as I take it, it is almost Day.

Prov.
I shall obey him. [Exit Messen.

Duke.
This is his Pardon, purchas'd by such Sin
For which the Pardoner himself is in:
Hence hath Offence his quick Celerity,
When it is born in high Authority;
When Vice makes Mercy, Mercy's so extended,
That for the Fault's love, is th' Offender friended.
Now, Sir, what News?

Prov.
I told you:
Lord Angelo, be-like, thinking me remiss
In mine Office, awakens me
With this unwonted putting on, methinks strangely,
For he hath not us'd it before.

Duke.

Pray let's hear.

Provost reads the Letter.

Whatsoever you may hear to the contrary, let Claudio be executed by four of the Clock, and in the Afternoon Barnardine: For my better Satisfaction, let me have Claudio's Head sent me by five. Let this be duly performed, with a Thought that more depends on it than we must yet deliver. Thus fail not to do your Office, as you will answer it at your Peril.

What say you to this, Sir?

Duke.

What is that Barnardine, who is to be executed in th' Afternoon?

Prov.
A Bohemian born; but here nurst up and bred,
One that is a Prisoner nine Years old.

Duke.

How came it, that the absent Duke had not either deliver'd him to his Liberty, or executed him? I have heard it was ever his manner to do so.

Prov.
His Friends still wrought Reprieves for him;
And indeed his Fact, 'till now in the Government of Lord
Angelo, came not to an undoubtful Proof.

Duke.
It is now apparent?

Prov.
Most manifest, and not deny'd by himself.

Duke.
Hath he born himself penitently in Prison?
How seems he to be touch'd?

Prov.

A Man that apprehends Death no more dreadfully, but as a drunken Sleep, careless, wreakless, and fearless of what's past, present, or to come; insensible of Mortality, and desperately mortal.

Duke.

He wants Advice.

Prov.

He will hear none; he hath evermore had the liberty of the Prison: Give him leave to escape hence, he would not: Drunk many times a Day, if not many Days entirely drunk. We have very oft awak'd him, as if to carry him to Execution, and shew'd him a seeming Warrant for it; it hath not mov'd him at all.

Duke.

More of him anon. There is written in your Brow, Provost, Honesty and Constancy; if I read it not truly, my ancient Skill beguiles me; but in the boldness of my cunning, I will lay my self in Hazard. Claudio, whom here you have Warrant to execute, is no greater Forfeit to the Law than Angelo, who hath sentenc'd him. To make you understand this in a manifested Effect, I crave but four Days Respite; for the which you are to do me both a present and a dangerous Courtesie.

Prov.

Pray, Sir, in what?

Duke.

In the delaying Death.

Prov.

Alack! how may I do it? Having the Hour limited, and an express Command, under Penalty, to deliver his Head in the view of Angelo, I may make my Case as Claudio's, to cross this in the smallest.

Duke.
By the Vow of mine Order, I warrant you,
If my Instructions may be your Guide:
Let this Barnardine be this Morning executed,
And his Head born to Angelo.

Prov.
Angelo hath seen them both,
And will discover the Favour.

Duke.

Oh, Death's a great Disguiser, and you may add to it; shave the Head, and tie the Beard, and say, it was the Desire of the Penitent to be so barb'd before his Death; you know the Course is common. If any thing fall to you upon this, more than Thanks and good Fortune; by the Saint whom I profess. I will plead against it with my Life.

Prov.

Pardon me, good Father; it is against my Oath.

Duke.

Were you sworn to the Duke, or to the Deputy?

Prov.

To him, and to his Substitutes.

Duke.

You will think you have made no Offence, if the Duke avouch the Justice of your Dealing?

Prov.

But what likelihood is in that?

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 you. Look you, Sir, here is the Hand and Seal 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 find 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 Tenor, perchance of the Duke's Death, perchance entring into some Monastery, but by chance nothing of what is writ. Look, th' unfolding Star calls up the Shepherd; put not your self into amazement how these things should be; all Difficulties are but easie 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 is almost clear Dawn.

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 Mr. 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 Mr. Caper, at the Suit of Master Three-Pile, the Mercer, for some four Suits of Peach-colour'd Sattin, which now peaches him a Beggar. Then have we here young Dizy, and young Mr. Deep-vow, and Mr. Copper-spure, and Master

Starve-Lacky, the Rapier and Dagger Man, and young Dropheire, that kill'd lusty Pudding, and Mr. Forth-light, 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 for the Lord's sake.

Abhor.

Sirrah, bring Barnardine hither.

Clown.

Master Barnardine, you must rise and be hang'd, Master Barnardine.

Abhor.

What hoa, Barnardine!

Barnar.

A Pox o'your Throats; who makes that noise there? What are you?

Clown.
Your Friend, Sir, the Hangman:
You must be so good, Sir, to rise, and be put to Death.

Barnar.
Away, you Rogue, away, I am sleepy.

Abhor.
Tell him he must awake,
And that quickly too.

Clown.

Pray, Master Barnardine, awake 'till you are exeted, and sleep afterwards.

Abhor.

Go in to him, and fetch him out.

Clown.

He is coming, Sir, he is coming; I hear his Straw russle.

Abhor.

Is the Ax upon the Block, Sirrah?

Clown.

Very ready, Sir.

Barnar.
How now, Abhorson?
What's the News with you?

Abhor.

Truly, Sir, 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.

Oh, the better, Sir; for he that drinks all Night, and is hang'd betimes in the Morning, may sleep the sounder all the next Day.

Abhor.

Look you, Sir, here comes your ghostly Father; Do we jest now, think you?

Duke.

Sir, induced by my Charity, and hearing how hastily you are to depart, I am come to advise you, comfort you, and pray with 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.

Oh, Sir, you must; and therefore I beseech you look forward on the Journey you shall 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: Oh gravel Heart!
After him, Fellows: Bring him to the Block.

Prov.
Now, Sir, how do you find the Prisoner?

Duke.
A Creature unprepar'd, unmeet for Death;
And to transport him in the Mind he is,
Were damnable.

Prov.
Here in the Prison, Father,
There dy'd this Morning of a cruel Fever,
One Rogozine, a most notorious Pirate,
A Man of Claudio's Years; his Beard and Head
Just of his Colour. What if we do omit
This Reprobate, 'till he were well enclin'd,
And satisfie the Deputy with the Visage
Of Rogozine, more like to Claudio?

Duke.
Oh, 'tis an Accident that Heav'n provides:
Dispatch it presently; the Hour draws on
Prefixt by Angelo: See this be done,
And sent according to Command, whiles I
Persuade this rude Wretch willingly to die.

Prov.
This shall be done, good Father, presently.
But Barnardine must die this Afternoon:
And how shall we continue Claudio,
To save me from the Danger that might come,
If he were known alive?

Duke.
Let this be done;
Put them in secret holds, both Barnardine and Claudio:

E'er twice the Sun hath made his Journal greeting
To yond Generation, you shall find
Your Safety manifested.

Prov.
I am your free Dependant. [Exit.

Duke.
Quick, dispatch, and send the Head to Angelo.
Now will I write Letters to Angelo,
The Provost he shall bear them, whose Contents
Shall witness to him I am near at home;
And that by great Injunctions I am bound
To enter publickly: Him I'll desire
To meet me at the consecrated Fount.
A League below the City; and from thence,
By cold Gradation, and well-ballanc'd Form,
We shall proceed with Angelo. Enter Provost.

Prov.
Here is the Head, I'll carry it my self.

Duke.
Convenient is it: Make a swift Return;
For I would commune with you of such things
That want no Ear but yours.

Prov.
I'll make all speed. [Exit. Isabel within.

Isab.
Peace hoa, be here.

Duke.
The Tongue of Isabel. She's come to know,
If yet her Brother's Pardon be come hither:
But I will keep her ignorant of her Good,
To make her heav'nly Comforts of Despair,
When it is least expected. Enter Isabel.

Isab.
Hoa, by your Leave.

Duke.
Good Morning to you, fair and gracious Daughter.

Isab.
The better given me by so holy a Man:
Hath yet the Deputy sent my Brother's Pardon?

Duke.
He hath releas'd him, Isabel, from the World;
His Hand is off, and sent to Angelo.

Isa.
Nay, but it is not so.

Duke.
It is no other.
Shew your Wisdom, Daughter, in your close Patience.

Isab.
Oh, I will to him, and pluck out his Eyes.

Duke.
You shall not be admitted to his sight.

Isab.
Unhappy Claudio, wretched Isabel!
Injurious World, most damned Angelo!

Duke.
This hurts not him, nor profits you a jot:
Forbear it therefore, give your Cause to Heav'n:
Mark what I say, which you shall find
By every Syllable a faithful Verity.
The Duke comes home to Morrow; nay, dry your Eyes;
One of our Convent, and his Confessor,
Gives me this Instance: Already he hath carry'd
Notice to Escalus and Angelo,
Who do prepare to meet him at the Gates,
There to give up their Power. If you can, pace your Wisdom
In that good Path that I would wish it go,
And you shall have your Bosom on this Wretch,
Grace of the Duke, Revenges to your Heart,
And general Honour.

Isab.
I am directed by you.

Duke.
This Letter then to Friar Peter give;
'Tis that he sent me of the Duke's Return:
Say, by this Token, I desire his Company
At Mariana's House to Night. Her Cause, and yours,
I'll perfect him withal, and he shall bring you
Before the Duke; and to the Head of Angelo
Accuse him home and home. For my poor self,
I am combined by a sacred Vow,
And shall be absent. Wend you with this Letter:
Command these fretting Waters from your Eyes
With a light Heart; trust not my holy Order
If I pervert your Course. Who's here? Enter Lucio.

Lucio.
Good Even;
Friar, where's the Provost?

Duke.

Not within, Sir.

Lucio.

Oh pretty Isabella, I am pale at mine Heart to see thine Eyes so red; thou must be patient; I am fain to dine and sup with Water and Bran; I dare not for my Head fill my Belly: One fruitful Meal would set me to't. But, they say, the Duke will be here to Morrow. By my Troth, Isabel, I lov'd thy Brother: If the old fantastical Duke of dark Corners had been at Home, he had lived.

Duke.

Sir, the Duke is marvellous little beholden to your Reports; but the best is, he lives not in them.

Lucio.

Friar, thou knowest not the Duke so well as I do; he's a better Woodman than thou tak'st him for.

Duke.
Well; you'll answer this one Day. Fare ye well.

Lucio.
Nay, tarry, I'll go along with thee:
I can tell thee pretty Tales of the Duke.

Duke.

You have told me too many of him already, Sir, if they be true; if not, none were enough.

Lucio.

I was once before him for getting a Wench with Child.

Duke.

Did you such a thing?

Lucio.
Yes, marry did I; but I was fain to forswear it;
They would else have marry'd me to the rotten Medler.

Duke.

Sir, your Company is fairer than honest: Rest you well.

Lucio.
By my Troth, I'll go with thee to the Lane's end:
If bawdy Talk offend you, we'll have very little of it; nay,
Friar, I am a kind of Bur, I shall stick. [Exeunt.

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