Isab.
Hoa, by your leave.—

Duke.
Good morning to you, fair and gracious daughter.

Isab.
The better, giv'n 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 head is off, and sent to Angelo.

Isab.
Nay, but it is not so.

Duke.
It is no other.
Shew your wisdom, daughter, in your closest patience.

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

Duke.
You shall not be admited to his sight.

Isab.
Unhappy Claudio! wretched Isabel!
Injurious world! most damned Angelo!

Duke.
This nor hurts him, nor profits you a jot:
Forbear it therefore, give your cause to heav'n:
Mark, what I say; which you shall surely find
By ev'ry syllable a faithful verity.
The Duke comes home to-morrow; 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 pow'r. 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 gen'ral honour.

Isab.
I'm 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?

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