My master hath forbidden me to look in this box,
and by my troth 'tis likely, if he had not warned me, I should
not have had so much idle time: for we men's-kind in our minority
are like women in their uncertainty, that they are most forbidden,
they will soonest attempt: so I now. By my bare honesty here's
nothing but the bare empty box: were it not a sin against secrecy,
I would say it were a piece of gentlemanlike knavery. I must
go to Pedringano, and tell him his pardon is in this box, nay,
I would have sworn it, had I not seen the contrary. I cannot
choose but smile to think, how the villain will flout the gallows,
scorn the audience, and descant on the hangman, and all presuming
of his pardon from hence. Will 't not be an odd jest, for me
to stand and grace every jest he makes, pointing my finger at
this box: as who would say, "Mock on, here's thy warrant."
Is 't not a scurvy jest, that a man should jest himself to death.
Alas poor Pedringano, I am in a sort sorry for thee, but if I
should be hanged with thee, I cannot weep.
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