Sup. 'Sfoot, how now, brother?
Amb. Your grace doth please to speak beside your spleen;
I would it were so happy.
Duke. Why, go, release him.
Sup. O my good lord! I know the fault's too weighty
And full of general loathing: too inhuman,
Rather by all men's voices worthy death.
Duke. 'Tis true too, here, then, receive this signet.
Doom shall pass;
Direct it to the judges; he shall die
Ere many days. Make haste.
Amb. All speed that may be.
We could have wish'd his burden not so sore:
We knew your grace did but delay before. [Exeunt.
Duke. Here's envy[66] with a poor thin cover o'er't;
Like scarlet hid in lawn, easily spied through.
This their ambition by the mother's side
Is dangerous, and for safety must be purg'd,
I will prevent their envies; sure it was
But some mistaken fury in our son,
Which these aspiring boys would climb upon:
He shall be releas'd suddenly.
Enter Nobles.
1st Noble. Good morning to your grace.