LOR. Hath Pedringano murder'd Serberine? My lord, let me entreat you to take the pains To exasperate and hasten his revenge With your complaints unto my lord the king. This their dissension breeds a greater doubt. BAL. Assure thee, Don Lorenzo, he shall die, Or else his Highness hardly shall deny. Meanwhile, I'll haste the marshall sessions, For die he shall for this his damned deed. Exit BALTHAZAR. LOR. [aside] Why, so! this fits our former policy; And thus experience bids the wise and deal. I lay the plot, he prosecutes the point; I set the trap, he breaks the worthless twigs, And sees not that wherewith the bird was lim'd. Thus hopeful men, that means to hold their own, Must look, like fowlers, to their dearest friends. He runs to kill whom I have holp to catch, And no man knows it was my reaching fetch. 'Tis hard to trust unto a multitude,-- Or any one, in mine opinion, When men themselves their secrets will reveal. Enter a MESSENGER with a letter. LOR. Boy. PAGE. My lord. LOR. What's he? MES. I have a letter to your lordship. LOR. From whence? MES. From Pedringano that's imprison'd. LOR. So he is in prison then? MES. Aye, my good lord. LOR. What would he with us? [Reads the letter.] He writes us here To stand good lord and help him in distress. Tell him I have his letters, know his mind; And what we may, let him assure him of. Fellow, be gone; my boy shall follow thee. Exit MESSENGER. [Aside] This works like wax! Yet once more try thy wits.-- Boy, go convey this purse to Pedringano,-- Thou know'st the prison,--closely give it him, And be advis'd that none be thereabout. Bid him be merry still, but secret; And, though the marshall sessions be today, Bid him not doubt of his delivery. Tell him his pardon is already sign'd, And thereon bid him boldly be resolv'd; For, were he ready to be turned off,-- As 'tis my will the uttermost be tried,-- Thou with his pardon shalt attend him still. Show him this box, tell him his pardon's in't; But open't not, and if thou lov'st thy life, But let him wisely keep his hopes unknown. He shall not want while Don Lorenzo lives. Away! PAGE. I go, my lord, I run! LOR. But, sirrah, see that this be cleanly done. Exit PAGE.