DUKE. Nor, gentle daughter, fear you not at all. He is your husband on a pre-contract. To bring you thus together ’tis no sin, Sith that the justice of your title to him Doth flourish the deceit. Come, let us go; Our corn’s to reap, for yet our tithe’s to sow. [_Exeunt._] SCENE II. A room in the prison. Enter Provost and Pompey. PROVOST. Come hither, sirrah. Can you cut off a man’s head? POMPEY. If the man be a bachelor, sir, I can; but if he be a married man, he’s his wife’s head, and I can never cut off a woman’s head. PROVOST. Come, sir, leave me your snatches, and yield me a direct answer. Tomorrow morning are to die Claudio and Barnardine. Here is in our prison a common executioner, who in his office lacks a helper; if you will take it on you to assist him, it shall redeem you from your gyves; if not, you shall have your full time of imprisonment, and your deliverance with an unpitied whipping; for you have been a notorious bawd. POMPEY. Sir, I have been an unlawful bawd time out of mind, but yet I will be content to be a lawful hangman. I would be glad to receive some instruction from my fellow-partner. PROVOST. What ho, Abhorson! Where’s Abhorson, there? Enter Abhorson. ABHORSON. Do you call, sir? PROVOST. Sirrah, here’s a fellow will help you tomorrow in your execution. If you think it meet, compound with him by the year, and let him abide here with you; if not, use him for the present, and dismiss him. He cannot plead his estimation with you; he hath been a bawd. ABHORSON. A bawd, sir? Fie upon him, he will discredit our mystery. PROVOST. Go to, sir; you weigh equally. A feather will turn the scale. [_Exit._] POMPEY. Pray, sir, by your good favour—for surely, sir, a good favour you have, but that you have a hanging look—do you call, sir, your occupation a mystery? ABHORSON. Ay, sir, a mystery. POMPEY. Painting, sir, I have heard say, is a mystery; and your whores, sir, being members of my occupation, using painting, do prove my occupation a mystery. But what mystery there should be in hanging, if I should be hanged, I cannot imagine. ABHORSON. Sir, it is a mystery. POMPEY. Proof. ABHORSON. Every true man’s apparel fits your thief. If it be too little for your thief, your true man thinks it big enough; if it be too big for your thief, your thief thinks it little enough. So every true man’s apparel fits your thief. Enter Provost. PROVOST. Are you agreed? POMPEY. Sir, I will serve him; for I do find your hangman is a more penitent trade than your bawd. He doth oftener ask forgiveness. PROVOST. You, sirrah, provide your block and your axe tomorrow four o’clock. ABHORSON. Come on, bawd. I will instruct thee in my trade. Follow. POMPEY. I do desire to learn, sir; and I hope, if you have occasion to use me for your own turn, you shall find me yare. For truly, sir, for your kindness I owe you a good turn. PROVOST. Call hither Barnardine and Claudio. [_Exeunt Abhorson and Pompey._]