117: _duly_] _truly_ Capell (a misprint). 131: _It is_] Ff. _Is it_ Pope. 136: _reckless_] Theobald. _wreaklesse_ F1 F2 F3. _wreakless_ F4. _rechless_ Pope. 138: _desperately mortal_] _mortally desperate_ Hanmer. 161-165: Printed as verse in Ff. Rowe. 167: _tie_] F1 F4. _tye_ F2 F3. _tire_ Theobald conj. _dye_ Simpson conj. 168: _bared_] Malone. _bar'de_ F1 F2 F3. _barb'd_ F4. 179: _persuasion_] Ff. _my persuasion_ Rowe. 188: _that_] F1 F2 F3. _which_ F4. 191: _writ_] _here writ_ Hanmer. SCENE III. _Another room in the same._ _Enter POMPEY._ _Pom._ I am as well acquainted here as I was in our house of profession: one would think it were Mistress Overdone's own house, for here be many of her old customers. First, here's young Master Rash; he's in for a commodity of brown paper and old ginger, nine-score and seventeen 5 pounds; of which he made five marks, ready money: marry, then ginger was not much in request, for the old women were all dead. Then is there here one Master Caper, at the suit of Master Three-pile the mercer, for some four suits of peach-coloured satin, which now peaches him a 10 beggar. Then have we here young Dizy, and young Master Deep-vow, and Master Copper-spur, and Master Starve-lackey the rapier and dagger man, and young Drop-heir that killed lusty Pudding, and Master Forthlight the tilter, and brave Master Shooty the great traveller, and 15 wild Half-can that stabbed Pots, and, I think, forty more; all great doers in our trade, and are now 'for the Lord's sake.' _Enter ABHORSON._ _Abhor._ Sirrah, bring Barnardine hither. _Pom._ Master Barnardine! you must rise and be hanged, 20 Master Barnardine! _Abhor._ What, ho, Barnardine! _Bar._ [_Within_] A pox o' your throats! Who makes that noise there? What are you? _Pom._ Your friends, sir; the hangman. You must be 25 so good, sir, to rise and be put to death. _Bar._ [_Within_] Away, you rogue, away! I am sleepy. _Abhor._ Tell him he must awake, and that quickly too. _Pom._ Pray, Master Barnardine, awake till you are executed, and sleep afterwards. 30 _Abhor._ Go in to him, and fetch him out. _Pom._ He is coming, sir, he is coming; I hear his straw rustle. _Abhor._ Is the axe upon the block, sirrah? _Pom._ Very ready, sir. 35 _Enter BARNARDINE._ _Bar._ How now, Abhorson? what's the news with you? _Abhor._ Truly, sir, I would desire you to clap into your prayers; for, look you, the warrant's come. _Bar._ You rogue, I have been drinking all night; I am not fitted for 't. 40 _Pom._ O, the better, sir; for he that drinks all night, and is hanged betimes in the morning, may sleep the sounder all the next day. _Abhor._ Look you, sir; here comes your ghostly father: do we jest now, think you? 45