Th’ one has my pity; not a jot the other, Being a murderer, though he were my brother. Enter Claudio. Look, here’s the warrant, Claudio, for thy death. ’Tis now dead midnight, and by eight tomorrow Thou must be made immortal. Where’s Barnardine? CLAUDIO. As fast locked up in sleep as guiltless labour When it lies starkly in the traveller’s bones. He will not wake. PROVOST. Who can do good on him? Well, go, prepare yourself. [_Knocking within_.] But hark, what noise? Heaven give your spirits comfort! [_Exit Claudio. Knock within._] By and by!— I hope it is some pardon or reprieve For the most gentle Claudio. Enter Duke. Welcome, father. DUKE. The best and wholesom’st spirits of the night Envelop you, good Provost! Who called here of late? PROVOST. None, since the curfew rung. DUKE. Not Isabel? PROVOST. No. DUKE. They will then, ere’t be long. PROVOST. What comfort is for Claudio? DUKE. There’s some in hope. PROVOST. It is a bitter deputy. DUKE. Not so, not so. His life is paralleled Even with the stroke and line of his great justice. He doth with holy abstinence subdue That in himself which he spurs on his power To qualify in others. Were he mealed with that Which he corrects, then were he tyrannous; But this being so, he’s just. [_Knocking within. Provost goes to the door._] Now are they come. This is a gentle provost. Seldom when The steeled gaoler is the friend of men. [_Knocking within_.] How now? What noise? That spirit’s possessed with haste That wounds th’ unsisting postern with these strokes. Provost returns. PROVOST. There he must stay until the officer Arise to let him in. He is called up. DUKE. Have you no countermand for Claudio yet, But he must die tomorrow? PROVOST. None, sir, none. DUKE. As near the dawning, Provost, as it is, You shall hear more ere morning. PROVOST. Happily You something know, yet I believe there comes No countermand. No such example have we. Besides, upon the very siege of justice Lord Angelo hath to the public ear Professed the contrary. Enter a Messenger. This is his Lordship’s man. DUKE. And here comes Claudio’s pardon. MESSENGER. My lord hath sent you this note, and by me this further charge: that you swerve not from the smallest article of it, neither in time, matter, or other circumstance. Good morrow; for, as I take it, it is almost day. PROVOST. I shall obey him. [_Exit Messenger._] DUKE. [_Aside_.] This is his pardon, purchased by such sin For which the pardoner himself is in. Hence hath offence his quick celerity, When it is borne in high authority. When vice makes mercy, mercy’s so extended That for the fault’s love is th’ offender friended. Now, sir, what news? PROVOST. I told you: Lord Angelo, belike thinking me remiss in mine office, awakens me with this unwonted putting-on; methinks strangely, for he hath not used it before. DUKE. Pray you, let’s hear.