PROVOST.
Pray you do.
[Exit Servant.]
I’ll know
His pleasure, may be he will relent. Alas,
He hath but as offended in a dream;
All sects, all ages, smack of this vice, and he
To die for ’t!
Enter Angelo.
ANGELO.
Now, what’s the matter, Provost?
PROVOST.
Is it your will Claudio shall die tomorrow?
ANGELO.
Did not I tell thee yea? Hadst thou not order?
Why dost thou ask again?
PROVOST.
Lest I might be too rash.
Under your good correction, I have seen
When, after execution, judgement hath
Repented o’er his doom.
ANGELO.
Go to; let that be mine.
Do you your office, or give up your place,
And you shall well be spared.
PROVOST.
I crave your honour’s pardon.
What shall be done, sir, with the groaning Juliet?
She’s very near her hour.