ISABELLA.
Ho, by your leave!
DUKE.
Good morning to you, fair and gracious daughter.
ISABELLA.
The better, given me by so holy a man.
Hath yet the Deputy sent my brother’s pardon?
DUKE.
He hath released him, Isabel, from the world.
His head is off, and sent to Angelo.
ISABELLA.
Nay, but it is not so.
DUKE.
It is no other.
Show your wisdom, daughter, in your close patience.
ISABELLA.
O, I will to him and pluck out his eyes!
DUKE.
You shall not be admitted to his sight.
ISABELLA.
Unhappy Claudio! Wretched Isabel!
Injurious world! Most damned Angelo!
DUKE.
This nor hurts him nor profits you a jot.
Forbear it, therefore; give your cause to heaven.
Mark what I say, which you shall find
By every syllable a faithful verity.
The Duke comes home tomorrow;—nay, dry your eyes.
One of our convent, and his confessor,
Gives me this instance. Already he hath carried
Notice to Escalus and Angelo,
Who do prepare to meet him at the gates,
There to give up their power. If you can, pace your wisdom
In that good path that I would wish it go,
And you shall have your bosom on this wretch,
Grace of the Duke, revenges to your heart,
And general honour.