STEPH. This is my meaning, wife: I'll take the prison down, and build it new, With leads to walk on, [and] rooms large and fair; For when myself lay there, the noisome air Chok'd up my spirits; and none better know What prisoners feel than they that taste the woe. The workmen are appointed for the business; I will have't despatched, before 'tis thought on. WIFE. In good deeds I'll walk hand in hand with you; There is a fair tenement adjoining Close to the gate, that was my father's, I'll give it freely; take it down, and add So much ground to the work. STEPH.[103] 'Tis fairly given; Thy soul on prisoners' prayers shall mount to heaven. The plumbers and the workmen have survey'd The ground from Paddington; whence I'll have laid Pipes [all along] to London, to convey Sweet water into Ludgate from fresh springs: When charity tunes the pipe, the poor man sings. _Enter_ KEEPER. How now, keeper? KEEP. The prisoners are remov'd, sir. STEPH. What did you with my brother? KEEP. As you commanded, sir, I have discharged him. STEPH. How did he meet that unexpected kindness? KEEP. Troth, sir, as a man o'ercome 'twixt grief and gladness; But, turning to his son, he fetch'd a sigh So violent as if his heart would break, And (silent) wept, having no power to speak. WIFE. Alas! good old man, some sweet bird must sing, And give his sorrows present comforting. STEPH. Not yet, I'll wrack his sorrows to the height, And of themselves they'll then sink softly down. Keeper, go thou again after my brother, Charge in my name him and his son to appear Before the king; to whom I will make known Their wrongs against me, showing just cause To disinherit both by course of law. Begone! KEEP. I am gone, sir. [_Exit._ STEPH. Come, wife. WIFE. What's your meaning, sir? STEPH. Thou shalt know that anon. The heavens oft scowl, clouds thicken, winds blow high, Yet the brightest sun clears all, and so will I. [_Exeunt._ _Enter_ HENRY III., _attended by_ MONTFORT, PEMBROKE, _and_ ARUNDEL, LORD MAYOR, STEPHEN FOSTER _as Sheriff_, ALDERMAN BREWEN, _&c._ KING. O, welcome is all love; our people's shouts In their heart's language makes our bienvenues Most high and sovereign: we return all thanks Unto our loving citizens; [_To_ BREWEN] chiefly to you, sir, Whose pious work invites our majesty To royalise this place with our best presence, Accompanied with this reverend Cardinal: Would [that] me might, after [so] many broils, End our days [too] in these religious toils: We would work most faithfully. But, bounteous sir, How do you call your buildings? BREW. Unless it please your majesty to change it, I call it _Domus Dei_.