_Duke._ The tongue of Isabel. She's come to know If yet her brother's pardon be come hither: But I will keep her ignorant of her good, 105 To make her heavenly comforts of despair, When it is least expected. _Enter ISABELLA._ _Isab._ Ho, by your leave! _Duke._ Good morning to you, fair and gracious daughter. _Isab._ The better, given me by so holy a man. Hath yet the Deputy sent my brother's pardon? 110 _Duke._ He hath released him, Isabel, from the world: His head is off, and sent to Angelo. _Isab._ Nay, but it is not so. _Duke._ It is no other: show your wisdom, daughter, In your close patience. 115 _Isab._ O, I will to him and pluck out his eyes! _Duke._ You shall not be admitted to his sight. _Isab._ Unhappy Claudio! wretched Isabel! Injurious world! most damned Angelo! _Duke._ This nor hurts him nor profits you a jot; 120 Forbear it therefore; give your cause to heaven. Mark what I say, which you shall find By every syllable a faithful verity: The Duke comes home to-morrow;--nay, dry your eyes; One of our covent, and his confessor, 125 Gives me this instance: already he hath carried Notice to Escalus and Angelo; Who do prepare to meet him at the gates, There to give up their power. If you can, pace your wisdom In that good path that I would wish it go; 130 And you shall have your bosom on this wretch, Grace of the Duke, revenges to your heart, And general honour. _Isab._ I am directed by you. _Duke._ This letter, then, to Friar Peter give; 'Tis that he sent me of the Duke's return: 135 Say, by this token, I desire his company At Mariana's house to-night. Her cause and yours I'll perfect him withal; and he shall bring you Before the Duke; and to the head of Angelo Accuse him home and home. For my poor self, 140 I am combined by a sacred vow, And shall be absent. Wend you with this letter: Command these fretting waters from your eyes With a light heart; trust not my holy order, If I pervert your course.--Who's here? 145 _Enter LUCIO._ _Lucio._ Good even. Friar, where's the provost? _Duke._ Not within, sir. _Lucio._ O pretty Isabella, I am pale at mine heart to see thine eyes so red: thou must be patient. I am fain to dine and sup with water and bran; I dare not for my 150 head fill my belly; one fruitful meal would set me to't. But they say the Duke will be here to-morrow. By my troth, Isabel, I loved thy brother: if the old fantastical Duke of dark corners had been at home, he had lived. [_Exit Isabella._ _Duke._ Sir, the Duke is marvellous little beholding to 155 your reports; but the best is, he lives not in them. _Lucio._ Friar, thou knowest not the Duke so well as I do: he's a better woodman than thou takest him for.