Chapter: [The DUKE's castle]

                Enter LORENZO and BALTHAZAR.

  BAL.  How now, my lord?  what makes you rise so soon?

  LOR.  Fear of preventing our mishaps too late.

  BAL.  What mischief is it that we not mistrust?

  LOR. Our greatest ills we least mistrust, my lord,
    And unexpected harms do hurt us most.

  BAL.  Why, tell me, Don Lorenz,--tell me, man,
    If aught concerns our honour and your own!

  LOR.  Nor you nor me, my lord, but both in one;
    But I suspect--and the presumptions great--
    That by those base confed'rates in our fault
    Touching the death of Don Horatio
    We are all betray'd to old Hieronimo.

  BAL.  Betray'd, Lorenzo? tush!  it cannot be.

  LOR.  A guilty conscience urged with the thought
    Of former evils, easily cannot err:
    I am persuaded--and dissuade me not--
    That all's revealed to Hieronimo.
    And therefore know that I have cast it thus--

                [Enter PAGE.]

    But here's the page.  How now?  what news with thee?

  PAGE.  My lord, Serberine is slain.

  BAL.  Who?  Serberine, my man?

  PAGE. Your Highness' man, my lord.

  LOR.  Speak, page: who murder'd him?

  PAGE.  He that is apprehended for the fact.

  LOR.  Who?

  PAGE.         Pedringano.

  BAL.  Is Serberine slain, that lov'd his lord so well?
    Injurious villain!  murd'rer of his friend!

  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.

    Now stands our fortune on a tickle point,
    And now or never ends Lorenzo's doubts.
    One only thing is uneffected yet,
    And that's to see the executioner,--
    But to what end?  I list not trust the air
    With utterance of our pretence therein,
    For fear the privy whisp'ring of the wind
    Convey our words amongst unfriendly ears,
    That lie too open to advantages.
    Et quel che voglio io, nessun lo sa,
    Intendo io quel mi bastera.

                Exit.

 Lorenzo has been taking care off all the bad guy stuff on his own, so he goes to tell Balthazar about how he is in the process of offing their henchmen. While he's doing this, a messenger cruises up and says that Serberine was murdered by Pedringano, to which Lorenzo responds with his best, "Oh my, how shocking!" Then another messenger enters with a letter addressed to Lorenzo from Pedringano. In the letter, Pedringano reminds Lorenzo that he's just as guilty of killing Serberine as he is. But the sly Lorenzo is already one step ahead of the servant. So Lorenzo tells the messenger to assure Pedringano that all will be well just so long as he keeps his mouth shut and stays patient. He then gives the messenger a box and tells him to tell Pedringano that his pardon is inside the box. He warns the messenger to never open the box and to warn Pedringano that the box will only be opened just before his execution. Lorenzo slinks off to have a little chat with the executioner.

