Enter Ambitioso and Supervacuo, with Officers.
Amb. Officers, here's the duke's signet, your firm warrant,
Brings the command of present death along with it
Unto our brother, the duke's son; we are sorry
That we are so unnaturally employed
In such an unkind office, fitter far
For enemies than brothers.
Sup. But, you know,
The duke's command must be obeyed.
1st Off. It must and shall, my lord. This morning, then—
So suddenly?
Amb. Ay, alas! poor, good soul!
He must breakfast betimes; the executioner
Stands ready to put forth his cowardly valour.
2nd Off. Already?
Sup. Already, i' faith. O sir, destruction hies,
And that is least imprudent,[215] soonest dies.
1st Off. Troth, you say true. My lord, we take our leaves:
Our office shall be sound; we'll not delay
The third part of a minute.
Amb. Therein you show
Yourselves good men and upright. Officers,
Pray, let him die as private as he may;
Do him that favour; for the gaping people
Will but trouble him at his prayers,
And make him curse and swear, and so die black.
Will you be so far kind?
1st Off. It shall be done, my lord.
Amb. Why, we do thank you; if we live to be—
You shall have a better office.
2nd Off. Your good lordship—
Sup. Commend us to the scaffold in our tears,
1st Off. We'll weep, and do your commendations.
Amb. Fine fools in office! [Exeunt Officers.
Sup. Things fall out so fit!
Amb. So happily! come, brother! ere next clock,
His head will be made serve a bigger block.[216] [Exeunt.
SCENE III.—Inside a Prison.
Enter the Duchess' Youngest Son and Keeper.
Y. Son. Keeper!
Keep. My lord.
Y. Son. No news lately from our brothers?
Are they unmindful of us?
Keep. My lord, a messenger came newly in,
And brought this from 'em.
Y. Son. Nothing but paper-comforts?
I looked for my delivery before this,
Had they been worth their oaths.—Prythee, be from us.
[Exit Keeper.
Now what say you, forsooth? speak out, I pray.
[Reads the letter.] "Brother, be of good cheer";
'Slud, it begins like a whore with good cheer.
"Thou shalt not be long a prisoner."
Not six-and-thirty years, like a bankrupt—I think so.
"We have thought upon a device to get thee out by a trick."
By a trick! pox o' your trick, an' it be so long a playing.
"And so rest comforted,—be merry, and expect it suddenly!"
Be merry! hang merry, draw and quarter merry; I'll be mad. Is't not strange that a man should lie-in a whole month for a woman? Well, we shall see how sudden our brothers will be in their promise. I must expect still a trick: I shall not be long a prisoner. How now, what news?
Re-enter Keeper.
Keep. Bad news, my lord; I am discharged of you.
Y. Son. Slave! call'st thou that bad news? I thank you, brothers.
Keep. My lord, 'twill prove so. Here come the officers,
Into whose hands I must commit you.
Y. Son. Ha, officers! what? why?
Enter Officers.
1st Off. You must pardon us, my lord:
Our office must be sound: here is our warrant,
The signet from the duke; you must straight suffer.
Y. Son. Suffer! I'll suffer you to begone; I'll suffer you
To come no more; what would you have me suffer?
2nd Off. My lord, those words were better changed to prayers.
The time's but brief with you: prepare to die.
Y. Son. Sure, 'tis not so!
3rd Off. It is too true, my lord.
Y. Son. I tell you 'tis not; for the duke my father
Deferred me till next sitting; and I look,
E'en every minute, threescore times an hour,
For a release, a trick wrought by my brothers.
1st Off. A trick, my lord! if you expect such comfort,
Your hope's as fruitless as a barren woman:
Your brothers were the unhappy messengers
That brought this powerful token for your death.
Y. Son. My brothers? no, no.
2nd Off. 'Tis most true, my lord.
Y. Son. My brothers to bring a warrant for my death!
How strange this shows!
3rd Off. There's no delaying time.
Y. Son. Desire 'em hither: call 'em up—my brothers!
They shall deny it to your faces.
1st Off. My lord,
They're far enough by this; at least at court;
And this most strict command they left behind 'em.
When grief swam in their eyes, they showed like brothers,
Brimful of heavy sorrow—but the duke
"Must have his pleasure."
Y. Son. His pleasure!
1st Off. These were the last words, which my memory bears,
"Commend us to the scaffold in our tears."
Y. Son. Pox dry their tears! what should I do with tears?
I hate 'em worse than any citizen's son
Can hate salt water. Here came a letter now,
New-bleeding from their pens, scarce stinted yet:
Would I'd been torn in pieces when I tore it:
Look, you officious whoresons, words of comfort,
"Not long a prisoner."
1st Off. It says true in that, sir; for you must suffer presently.
Y. Son. A villainous Duns[217] upon the letter, knavish exposition!
Look you then here, sir: "we'll get thee out by a trick," says he.