Unfold the evil which is here wrapt up
In countenance!—Heaven shield your Grace from woe.
As I, thus wrong’d, hence unbelieved go!
120 Duke. I know you’ld fain be gone.—An officer!
To prison with her!—Shall we thus permit
A blasting and a scandalous breath to fall
On him so near us? This [needs] must be a practice.
Who knew of [your] intent and coming hither?
V. 1
125 Isab. One that I would were here, Friar Lodowick.
Duke. A ghostly father, belike. Who knows that Lodowick?