SCENE III.—Inside a Prison.

Enter the Duchess' Youngest Son and Keeper.

Y. Son. Keeper! Keep. My lord. Y. Son. No news lately from our brothers? Are they unmindful of us? Keep. My lord, a messenger came newly in, And brought this from 'em. Y. Son. Nothing but paper-comforts? I looked for my delivery before this, Had they been worth their oaths.—Prythee, be from us. [Exit Keeper. Now what say you, forsooth? speak out, I pray. [Reads the letter.] "Brother, be of good cheer"; 'Slud, it begins like a whore with good cheer. "Thou shalt not be long a prisoner." Not six-and-thirty years, like a bankrupt—I think so. "We have thought upon a device to get thee out by a trick." By a trick! pox o' your trick, an' it be so long a playing. "And so rest comforted,—be merry, and expect it suddenly!" Be merry! hang merry, draw and quarter merry; I'll be mad. Is't not strange that a man should lie-in a whole month for a woman? Well, we shall see how sudden our brothers will be in their promise. I must expect still a trick: I shall not be long a prisoner. How now, what news?

Re-enter Keeper.

Keep. Bad news, my lord; I am discharged of you.

Y. Son. Slave! call'st thou that bad news? I thank you, brothers. Keep. My lord, 'twill prove so. Here come the officers, Into whose hands I must commit you. Y. Son. Ha, officers! what? why?

Enter Officers.

1st Off. You must pardon us, my lord: Our office must be sound: here is our warrant, The signet from the duke; you must straight suffer. Y. Son. Suffer! I'll suffer you to begone; I'll suffer you To come no more; what would you have me suffer? 2nd Off. My lord, those words were better changed to prayers. The time's but brief with you: prepare to die. Y. Son. Sure, 'tis not so! 3rd Off. It is too true, my lord. Y. Son. I tell you 'tis not; for the duke my father Deferred me till next sitting; and I look, E'en every minute, threescore times an hour, For a release, a trick wrought by my brothers. 1st Off. A trick, my lord! if you expect such comfort, Your hope's as fruitless as a barren woman: Your brothers were the unhappy messengers That brought this powerful token for your death. Y. Son. My brothers? no, no. 2nd Off. 'Tis most true, my lord. Y. Son. My brothers to bring a warrant for my death! How strange this shows! 3rd Off. There's no delaying time. Y. Son. Desire 'em hither: call 'em up—my brothers! They shall deny it to your faces. 1st Off. My lord, They're far enough by this; at least at court; And this most strict command they left behind 'em. When grief swam in their eyes, they showed like brothers, Brimful of heavy sorrow—but the duke "Must have his pleasure." Y. Son. His pleasure! 1st Off. These were the last words, which my memory bears, "Commend us to the scaffold in our tears." Y. Son. Pox dry their tears! what should I do with tears? I hate 'em worse than any citizen's son Can hate salt water. Here came a letter now, New-bleeding from their pens, scarce stinted yet: Would I'd been torn in pieces when I tore it: Look, you officious whoresons, words of comfort, "Not long a prisoner." 1st Off. It says true in that, sir; for you must suffer presently. Y. Son. A villainous Duns[217] upon the letter, knavish exposition! Look you then here, sir: "we'll get thee out by a trick," says he.

2nd Off. That may hold too, sir; for you know a trick is commonly four cards,[218] which was meant by us four officers.

Y. Son. Worse and worse dealing.

1st. Off. The hour beckons us. The headsman waits: lift up your eyes to Heaven. Y. Son. I thank you, faith; good pretty wholesome counsel! I should look up to Heaven, as you said, Whilst he behind me cosens me of my head. Ay, that's the trick. 3rd Off. You delay too long, my lord. Y. Son. Stay, good authority's bastards; since I must Through brothers' perjury, die, O, let me venom Their souls with curses. 3rd Off. Come, 'tis no time to curse. Y. Son. Must I bleed then without respect of sign? well— My fault was sweet sport which the world approves, I die for that which every woman loves. [Exeunt.