RICHARD. (_with suppressed impatience, to Brudenell_). Look here, sir: this is no place for a man of your profession. Hadn’t you better go away?
SWINDON. I appeal to you, prisoner, if you have any sense of decency left, to listen to the ministrations of the chaplain, and pay due heed to the solemnity of the occasion.
THE CHAPLAIN (_gently reproving Richard_). Try to control yourself, and submit to the divine will. (_He lifts his book to proceed with the service._)
RICHARD. Answer for your own will, sir, and those of your accomplices here (_indicating Burgoyne and Swindon_): I see little divinity about them or you. You talk to me of Christianity when you are in the act of hanging your enemies. Was there ever such blasphemous nonsense! (_To Swindon, more rudely_) You’ve got up the solemnity of the occasion, as you call it, to impress the people with your own dignity—Handel’s music and a clergyman to make murder look like piety! Do you suppose I am going to help you? You’ve asked me to choose the rope because you don’t know your own trade well enough to shoot me properly. Well, hang away and have done with it.
SWINDON. (_to the chaplain_). Can you do nothing with him, Mr. Brudenell?
CHAPLAIN. I will try, sir. (_Beginning to read_) Man that is born of woman hath—
RICHARD. (_fixing his eyes on him_). “Thou shalt not kill.”
CHAPLAIN. (_confessing his embarrassment_). What am I to say, Mr. Dudgeon?
BURGOYNE. (_with extreme urbanity_). I think, Mr. Brudenell, that as the usual professional observations seem to strike Mr. Dudgeon as incongruous under the circumstances, you had better omit them until—er—until Mr. Dudgeon can no longer be inconvenienced by them. (_Brudenell, with a shrug, shuts his book and retires behind the gallows._) YOU seem in a hurry, Mr. Dudgeon.
RICHARD. (_with the horror of death upon him_). Do you think this is a pleasant sort of thing to be kept waiting for? You’ve made up your mind to commit murder: well, do it and have done with it.
BURGOYNE. Mr. Dudgeon: we are only doing this—
SWINDON. You insolent— (_He swallows his rage._)
BURGOYNE. (_with much charm of manner_). Ah, I am really sorry that you should think that, Mr. Dudgeon. If you knew what my commission cost me, and what my pay is, you would think better of me. I should be glad to part from you on friendly terms.