Duke. Conuenient is it: Make a swift returne, For I would commune with you of such things, That want no eare but yours Pro. Ile make all speede. Exit Isabell within. Isa. Peace hoa, be heere Duke. The tongue of Isabell. She's come to know, If yet her brothers pardon be come hither: But I will keepe her ignorant of her good, To make her heauenly comforts of dispaire, When it is least expected. Enter Isabella. Isa. Hoa, by your leaue Duke. Good morning to you, faire, and gracious daughter Isa. The better giuen me by so holy a man, Hath yet the Deputie sent my brothers pardon? Duke. He hath releasd him, Isabell, from the world, His head is off, and sent to Angelo Isa. Nay, but it is not so Duke. It is no other, Shew your wisedome daughter in your close patience Isa. Oh, I wil to him, and plucke out his eies Duk. You shal not be admitted to his sight Isa. Vnhappie Claudio, wretched Isabell, Iniurious world, most damned Angelo Duke. This nor hurts him, nor profits you a iot, Forbeare it therefore, giue your cause to heauen. Marke what I say, which you shal finde By euery sillable a faithful veritie. The Duke comes home to morrow: nay drie your eyes, One of our Couent, and his Confessor Giues me this instance: Already he hath carried Notice to Escalus and Angelo, Who do prepare to meete him at the gates, There to giue vp their powre: If you can pace your wisdome, In that good path that I would wish it go, And you shal haue your bosome on this wretch, Grace of the Duke, reuenges to your heart, And general Honor Isa. I am directed by you Duk. This Letter then to Friar Peter giue, 'Tis that he sent me of the Dukes returne: Say, by this token, I desire his companie At Mariana's house to night. Her cause, and yours Ile perfect him withall, and he shal bring you Before the Duke; and to the head of Angelo Accuse him home and home. For my poore selfe, I am combined by a sacred Vow, And shall be absent. Wend you with this Letter: Command these fretting waters from your eies With a light heart; trust not my holie Order If I peruert your course: whose heere? Enter Lucio. Luc. Good' euen; Frier, where's the Prouost? Duke. Not within Sir Luc. Oh prettie Isabella, I am pale at mine heart, to see thine eyes so red: thou must be patient; I am faine to dine and sup with water and bran: I dare not for my head fill my belly. One fruitful Meale would set mee too't: but they say the Duke will be heere to Morrow. By my troth Isabell I lou'd thy brother, if the olde fantastical Duke of darke corners had bene at home, he had liued Duke. Sir, the Duke is marueilous little beholding to your reports, but the best is, he liues not in them Luc. Friar, thou knowest not the Duke so wel as I do: he's a better woodman then thou tak'st him for Duke. Well: you'l answer this one day. Fare ye well Luc. Nay tarrie, Ile go along with thee, I can tel thee pretty tales of the Duke