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DUKE. You are pardoned, Isabel. And now, dear maid, be you as free to us. Your brother’s death, I know, sits at your heart, And you may marvel why I obscured myself, Labouring to save his life, and would not rather Make rash remonstrance of my hidden power Than let him so be lost. O most kind maid, It was the swift celerity of his death, Which I did think with slower foot came on, That brained my purpose. But peace be with him. That life is better life, past fearing death, Than that which lives to fear. Make it your comfort, So happy is your brother.