Jun. My brothers? no, no.
2d Officer. 'Tis most true, my lord.
Jun. My brothers to bring a warrant for my death!
How strange this shows!
3d Officer. There's no delaying time.
Jun. Desire 'em hither: call 'em up—my brothers!
They shall deny it to your faces.
1st Officer. 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 show'd like brothers,
Brimful of heavy sorrow—but the duke
Must have his pleasure.
Jun. His pleasure!
1st Officer. These were the last words, which my memory bears,
Commend us to the scaffold in our tears.
Jun. 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[70] yet:
Would I'd been torn in pieces when I tore it:
Look, you officious whoresons, words of comfort,
Not long a prisoner.
1st Officer. It says true in that, sir; for you must suffer presently.