Provost What, ho! Abhorson! Where's Abhorson, there?
Abhorson
Abhorson. Do you call, sir?
Abhorson The city's executioner, proud of his grim profession. Comedy · Measure for Measure
Abhorson's lines in Measure for Measure
memorizeshakespeare.com/plays/measure-for-measure/character/abhorson/lines
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
Abhorson. A bawd, sir? fie upon him! he will discredit our mystery.
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
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 hanged, I cannot imagine.
Abhorson
Abhorson. Sir, it is a mystery.
Pompey Proof?
Abhorson
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.
Provost You, sirrah, provide your block and your axe to-morrow four o'clock.
Abhorson
Abhorson. Come on, bawd; I will instruct thee in my trade; follow.
Pompey Then have we here young Dizy, and young Master Deep-vow, and Master Copperspur, and Master Starve-lackey the rapier and dagger man, and young Drop-heir that killed lusty Pudding, and Master Forthlight the tilter, and brave Master Shooty the great traveller, and wild Half-can that stabbed Pots, and, I think, forty more; all great doers in our trade, and are now 'for the Lord's sake.'
Abhorson
Abhorson. Sirrah, bring Barnardine hither.
Pompey Master Barnardine! you must rise and be hanged. Master Barnardine!
Abhorson
Abhorson. What, ho, Barnardine!
Barnardine ([Within]) Away, you rogue, away! I am sleepy.
Abhorson
Abhorson. Tell him he must awake, and that quickly too.
Pompey Pray, Master Barnardine, awake till you are executed, and sleep afterwards.
Abhorson
Abhorson. Go in to him, and fetch him out.
Pompey He is coming, sir, he is coming; I hear his straw rustle.
Abhorson
Abhorson. Is the axe upon the block, sirrah?
Barnardine How now, Abhorson? what's the news with you?
Abhorson
Abhorson. Truly, sir, I would desire you to clap into your prayers; for, look you, the warrant's come.
Pompey O, the better, sir; for he that drinks all night, and is hanged betimes in the morning, may sleep the sounder all the next day.
Abhorson
Abhorson. Look you, sir; here comes your ghostly father: do we jest now, think you?