• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

answer. To-morrow morning are to die Claudio and Barnardine.

Here

is in our prison a common executioner, who in his office lacks a

helper; if you will take it on you to assist him, it shall redeem

you from your gyves; if not, you shall have your full time of

imprisonment, and your deliverance with an unpitied whipping, for

you have been a notorious bawd.

POMPEY.

Sir, I have been an unlawful bawd time out of mind; but yet

I will be content to be a lawful hangman. I would be glad to

receive some instructions from my fellow partner.

PROVOST.

What ho, Abhorson! Where's Abhorson there?

Enter ABHORSON

ABHORSON.

Do you call, sir?

PROVOST.

Sirrah, here's a fellow will help you to-morrow in your

execution. If you think it meet, compound with him by the year,

and let him abide here with you; if not, use him for the present,

and dismiss him. He cannot plead his estimation with you; he hath been a bawd.

ABHORSON.

A bawd, sir? Fie upon him! He will discredit our mystery.

PROVOST.

Go to, sir; you weigh equally; a feather will turn the

scale. Exit

POMPEY. Pray, sir, by your good favour- for surely, sir, a good

favour you have but that you have a hanging look- do you call,

sir, your occupation a mystery?

ABHORSON.

Ay, sir; a mystery.

POMPEY.

Painting, sir, I have heard say, is a mystery; and your

whores, sir, being members of my occupation, using painting, do

prove my occupation a mystery; but what mystery there should be

in hanging, if I should be hang'd, I cannot imagine.

ABHORSON.

Sir, it is a mystery.

POMPEY.

Proof?

ABHORSON.

Every true man's apparel fits your thief: if it be too

little for your thief, your true man thinks it big enough; if it

be too big for your thief, your thief thinks it little enough; so

every true man's apparel fits your thief.

Re-enter PROVOST

PROVOST.

Are you agreed?

POMPEY.

Sir, I will serve him; for I do find your hangman is a more

penitent trade than your bawd; he doth oftener ask forgiveness.

PROVOST.

You, sirrah, provide your block and your axe to-morrow four o'clock.

ABHORSON.

Come on, bawd; I will instruct thee in my trade; follow.

POMPEY.

I do desire to learn, sir; and I hope, if you have occasion

to use me for your own turn, you shall find me yare; for truly,

sir, for your kindness I owe you a good turn.

PROVOST.

Call hither Barnardine and Claudio.

Exeunt ABHORSON and POMPEY

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 to-morrow

Thou must be made immortal. Where's Barnardine?

CLAUDIO.

As fast lock'd 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

[Knocking continues] By and by.

I hope it is some pardon or reprieve

For the most gentle Claudio.

Enter DUKE, disguised as before

Welcome, father.

DUKE.

The best and wholesom'st spirits of the night

Envelop you, good Provost! Who call'd 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 parallel'd

Even with the stroke and line of his great justice;

He doth with holy abstinence subdue

That in himself which he spurs on his pow'r

To qualify in others. Were he meal'd with that

Which he corrects, then were he tyrannous;

But this being so, he's just. [Knocking within] Now are they

come. Exit PROVOST

This is a gentle provost; seldom when

The steeled gaoler is the friend of men. [Knocking within]

How now, what noise! That spirit's possess'd with haste

That wounds th' unsisting postern with these strokes.

Re-enter PROVOST

PROVOST.

There