ANGELO.
Good night.
This deed unshapes me quite, makes me unpregnant
And dull to all proceedings. A deflowered maid;
And by an eminent body that enforced
The law against it! But that her tender shame
Will not proclaim against her maiden loss,
How might she tongue me! Yet reason dares her no,
For my authority bears so credent bulk
That no particular scandal once can touch
But it confounds the breather. He should have lived,
Save that his riotous youth, with dangerous sense,
Might in the times to come have ta’en revenge
By so receiving a dishonoured life
With ransom of such shame. Would yet he had lived.
Alack, when once our grace we have forgot,
Nothing goes right; we would, and we would not.
[Exit.]
SCENE V. Fields without the town.
Enter Duke, in his own habit, and Friar Peter.
DUKE.
These letters at fit time deliver me.
The Provost knows our purpose and our plot.
The matter being afoot, keep your instruction
And hold you ever to our special drift,
Though sometimes you do blench from this to that
As cause doth minister. Go call at Flavius’ house,
And tell him where I stay. Give the like notice
To Valencius, Rowland, and to Crassus,
And bid them bring the trumpets to the gate.
But send me Flavius first.
FRIAR PETER.
It shall be speeded well.
[Exit Friar Peter.]
Enter Varrius.
DUKE.
I thank thee, Varrius, thou hast made good haste.
Come, we will walk. There’s other of our friends
Will greet us here anon. My gentle Varrius.
[Exeunt.]