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._