JUN. I tell you 'tis not; for the duke my father Deferr'd 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 OFFICER. 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. JUN. My brothers? no, no. 2D OFFICER. 'Tis most true, my lord. JUN. My brothers to bring a warrant for my death! How strange this shows! 3D OFFICER. There's no delaying time. JUN. Desire 'em hither: call 'em up--my brothers! They shall deny it to your faces. 1ST OFFICER. 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 show'd like brothers, Brimful of heavy sorrow--but the duke Must have his pleasure. JUN. His pleasure! 1ST OFFICER. These were the last words, which my memory bears, _Commend us to the scaffold in our tears_. JUN. 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[70] yet: Would I'd been torn in pieces when I tore it: Look, you officious whoresons, words of comfort, _Not long a prisoner_. 1ST OFFICER. It says true in that, sir; for you must suffer presently. JUN. A villainous Duns upon the letter,[71] knavish exposition! Look you then here, sir: _we'll get thee out by a trick_, says he. 2D OFFICER. That may hold too, sir; for you know a trick is commonly four cards, which was meant by us four officers. JUN. Worse and worse dealing. 1ST OFFICER. The hour beckons us. The headsman waits: lift up your eyes to heaven. JUN. 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. 3D OFFICER. You delay too long, my lord. JUN. Stay, good authority's bastards; since I must, Through brothers' perjury, die, O, let me venom Their souls with curses. 3D OFFICER. Come, 'tis no time to curse. JUN. 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._ _Enter_ VENDICE _and_ HIPPOLITO.[72] VEN. O, sweet, delectable, rare, happy, ravishing! HIP. Why, what's the matter, brother? VEN. O, 'tis able to make a man spring up and knock his forehead Against yon silver ceiling. HIP. Prythee, tell me; Why may not I partake with you? you vow'd once To give me share to every tragic thought.[73]