Actus Quintus.
Scoena Prima.
Happy returne be to your royall grace.
You make my bonds still greater.
By course of Iustice.
And she will speake most bitterly, and strange.
To the extent possible under law, the Text Creation Partnership has waived all copyright and related or neighboring rights to this keyboarded and encoded edition of the work described above, according to the terms of the CC0 1.0 Public Domain Dedication (http://creativecommons.org/publicdomain/zero/1.0/). This waiver does not extend to any page images or other supplementary files associated with this work, which may be protected by copyright or other license restrictions. Please go to http://www.textcreationpartnership.org/ for more information.
Happy returne be to your royall grace.
You make my bonds still greater.
By course of Iustice.
And she will speake most bitterly, and strange.
Nay it is ten times strange?
That's he indeede.
You were not bid to speake.
I warrant your honor.
The warrant's for your selfe: take heede to't.
This Gentleman told somewhat of my Tale.
Right.
That's somewhat madly spoken.
Mended againe: the matter: proceed.
This is most likely.
Oh that it were as like as it is true.
One that I would were heere, Frier Lodowick.
My Lord, most villanously, beleeue it.
What, are you married?
No my Lord.
Are you a Maid?
No my Lord.
A Widow then?
Neither, my Lord.
Why you are nothing then: neither Maid, Wi∣dow, nor Wife?
My Lord, she may be a Puncke: for many of them, are neither Maid, Widow, nor Wife.
Silence that fellow: I would he had some cause to prattle for himselfe.
Well my Lord.
He was drunk then, my Lord, it can be no better.
For the benefit of silence, would thou wert so to.
Well, my Lord.
This is no witnesse for Lord Angelo.
Charges she moe then me?
Not that I know.
No? you say your husband.
This is a strange abuse: Let's see thy face.
Know you this woman?
Carnallie she saies.
Sirha, no more.
Enoug my Lord.
My Lord, wee'll doe it throughly: Signior Lu∣cio, did not you say you knew that Frier Lodowick to be a dishonest person?
Cucullus non facit Monachum, honest in nothing but in his Clothes, and one that hath spoke most villa∣nous speeches of the Duke.
We shall intreat you to abide heere till he come, and inforce them against him: we shall finde this Frier a notable fellow.
As any in Vienna, on my word.
Call that same Isabell here once againe, I would speake with her: pray you, my Lord, giue mee leaue to question, you shall see how Ile handle her.
Not better then he, by her owne report.
Say you?
Marry sir, I thinke, if you handled her priuately
She would sooner confesse, perchance publikely she'll be asham'd.
I will goe darkely to worke with her.
That's the way: for women are light at mid∣night.
In very good time: speake not you to him, till we call vpon you.
Mum.
Come Sir, did you set these women on to slan∣der Lord Angelo? they haue confes'd you did.
'Tis false.
How? Know you where you are?
This is the rascall: this is he I spoke of.
'Tis he, my Lord: come hither goodman bald-pate, doe you know me?
Oh, did you so? and do you remember what you said of the Duke.
Most notedly Sir.
Do you so Sir: And was the Duke a flesh-mon∣ger, a foole, and a coward, as you then reported him to be?
You must (Sir) change persons with me, ere you make that my report: you indeede spoke so of him, and much more, much worse.
Oh thou damnable fellow: did not I plucke thee by the nose, for thy speeches?
I protest, I loue the Duke, as I loue my selfe.
Harke how the villaine would close now, after his treasonable abuses.
Such a fellow is not to be talk'd withall: Away with him to prison: Where is the Prouost? away with him to prison: lay bolts enough vpon him: let him speak no more: away with those Giglets too▪ and with the o∣ther confederate companion.
Stay Sir, stay a while.
What, resists he? helpe him Lucio.
Come sir, come sir, come sir: foh sir, why you bald-pated lying rascall: you must be hooded must you? show your knaues visage with a poxe to you: show your sheepe-biting face, and be hang'd an houre: will't not off?
This may proue worse then hanging.
I was my Lord.
I doe my Lord.
Neuer craue him, we are definitiue.
Gentle my Liege.
He dies for Claudio's death.
Meerely my Lord.
It was commanded so.
Had you a speciall warrant for the deed?
No my good Lord: it was by priuate message.
What's he?
His name is Barnardine.
Which is that Barnardine?
This my Lord.
Faith my Lord, I spoke it but according to the trick: if you will hang me for it you may: but I had ra∣ther it would please you, I might be whipt.
I beseech your Highnesse doe not marry me to a Whore: your Highnesse said euen now I made you a Duke, good my Lord do not recompence me, in making me a Cuckold.