1ST OFFICER. Troth, you say true. My lord, we take our leaves: Our office shall be sound; we'll not delay The third part of a minute. AMB. Therein you show Yourselves good men and upright officers. Pray, let him die as private as he may; Do him that favour; for the gaping people Will but trouble him at his prayers, And make him curse and swear, and so die black. Will you be so far kind? 1ST OFFICER. It shall be done, my lord. AMB. Why, we do thank you; if we live to be-- You shall have a better office. 2D OFFICER. Your good lordship-- SUP. Commend us to the scaffold in our tears. 1ST OFFICER. We'll weep, and do your commendations. [_Exeunt._ AMB. Fine fools in office! SUP. Things fall out so fit! AMB. So, happily come, brother! ere next clock, His head will be made serve a bigger block.[69] [_Exeunt._ _Enter in prison_ JUNIOR BROTHER _and_ KEEPER. JUN. Keeper! KEEPER. My lord. JUN. No news lately from our brothers? Are they unmindful of us? KEEPER. My lord, a messenger came newly in, And brought this from 'em. JUN. Nothing but paper-comforts? I look'd 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 five-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? _Enter_ KEEPER. KEEPER. Bad news, my lord; I am discharged of you. JUN. Slave! call'st thou that bad news? I thank you, brothers. KEEPER. My lord, 'twill prove so. Here come the officers, Into whose hands I must commit you. JUN. Ha, officers! what? why? _Enter_ OFFICERS. 1ST OFFICER. You must pardon us, my lord: Our office must be sound: here is our warrant, The signet from the duke; you must straight suffer. JUN. Suffer! I'll suffer you to begone; I'll suffer you To come no more; what would you have me suffer? 2D OFFICER. My lord, those words were better chang'd to prayers. The time's but brief with you: prepare to die. JUN. Sure, 'tis not so! 3D OFFICER. It is too true, my lord.