_Itha._ You loiter, master, wherefore stay we thus? O how I long to see him shake his heels. _Bar._ Come on, sirrah. Off with your girdle, make a handsome noose; [ITHAMORE _makes a noose in his girdle. They put it round the_ Friar's _neck._ Friar, awake! _F. Barn._ What, do you mean to strangle me? _Itha._ Yes, 'cause you use to confess. _Bar._ Blame not us but the proverb, confess and be hanged; pull hard. _F. Barn._ What, will you have[114] my life? 20 _Bar._ Pull hard, I say; you would have had my goods. _Itha._ I, and our lives too, therefore pull amain. [_They strangle him._ 'Tis neatly done, sir, here's no print at all. _Bar._ Then it is as it should be; take him up. _Itha._ Nay, master, be ruled by me a little[_Stands up the body_]; so, let him lean upon his staff; excellent! he stands as if he were begging of bacon. _Bar._ Who would not think but that this friar lived? What time o' night is't now, sweet Ithamore? _Itha._ Towards one. 30 _Bar._ Then will not Jacomo be long from hence. [_Exeunt._ SCENE III. _Enter_[115] Friar JACOMO. _F. Jac._ This is the hour wherein I shall proceed; O happy hour,[116] wherein I shall convert An infidel, and bring his gold into our treasury! But soft, is not this Barnardine? it is; And, understanding I should come this way, Stands here a purpose, meaning me some wrong, And intercept my going to the Jew. Barnardine! Wilt thou not speak? thou think'st I see thee not; Away, I'd wish thee, and let me go by: 10 No, wilt thou not? nay, then, I'll force my way; And see, a staff stands ready for the purpose: As thou lik'st that, stop me another time. [_Strikes him and he falls._ _Enter_ BARABAS _and_ ITHAMORE. _Bar._ Why, how now, Jacomo, what hast thou done? _F. Jac._ Why, stricken him that would have struck at me. _Bar._ Who is it? Barnardine? now out, alas! he's slain. _Itha._ I, master, he's slain; look how his brains drop out on's nose. _F. Jac._ Good sirs, I have done't, but nobody knows it but you two--I may escape. 21 _Bar._ So might my man and I hang with you for company. _Itha._ No, let us bear him to the magistrates. _F. Jac._ Good Barabas, let me go.