PROVOST.
You, sirrah, provide your block and your axe tomorrow four o’clock.
ABHORSON.
Come on, bawd. I will instruct thee in my trade. Follow.
POMPEY.
I do desire to learn, sir; and I hope, if you have occasion to use me for your own turn, you shall find me yare. For truly, sir, for your kindness I owe you a good turn.
PROVOST.
Call hither Barnardine and Claudio.
[Exeunt Abhorson and Pompey.]
Th’ one has my pity; not a jot the other,
Being a murderer, though he were my brother.
Enter Claudio.
Look, here’s the warrant, Claudio, for thy death.
’Tis now dead midnight, and by eight tomorrow
Thou must be made immortal. Where’s Barnardine?
CLAUDIO.
As fast locked up in sleep as guiltless labour
When it lies starkly in the traveller’s bones.
He will not wake.
PROVOST.
Who can do good on him?
Well, go, prepare yourself. [Knocking within.] But hark, what noise?
Heaven give your spirits comfort!