Francisca.
Isab.
And have you nuns no further privileges?
Fran.
Are not these large enough?
Isab.
Yes, truly: I speak not as desiring more;
But rather wishing a more strict restraint
Upon the sister-hood, the votarists of saint Clare.
Lucio.
Ho! Peace be in this place!
[Within.]
Isab.
Who's that which calls?
Fran.
It is a man's voice: Gentle Isabella,
Turn you the key, and know his business of him;
You may, I may not; you are yet unsworn:
When you have vow'd, you must not speak with men,
But in the presence of the prioress:
Then, if you speak, you must not show your face;
Or, if you show your face, you must not speak.
He calls again; I pray you, answer him.
[Exit Francisca.
Isab.
Peace and prosperity! Who is't that calls?
Enter Lucio.
Lucio.
Hail, virgin, if you be; as those cheek-roses
Proclaim you are no less! Can you so stead me,
As bring me to the sight of Isabella,
A novice of this place, and the fair sister
To her unhappy brother Claudio?
Isab.
Why her unhappy brother? let me ask;
The rather, for I now must make you know
I am that Isabella, and his sister.
Lucio.
Gentle and fair, your brother kindly greets you:
-- 34 --
Not to be weary with you, he's in prison.
Isab.
Woe me! for what?
Lucio.
For that, which, if myself might be his judge,
He should receive his punishment in thanks:
He hath got his friend with child.
Isab.
Sir, mock me not—your story2 note
.
-- 35 --
Lucio.
'Tis true. I would not3 note
. Though 'tis my familiar sin
With maids to seem the lapwing4 note
, and to jest,
-- 36 --
Tongue far from heart,—play with all virgins so5 note
:
I hold you as a thing ensky'd, and sainted;
By your renouncement, an immortal spirit;
And to be talk'd with in sincerity,
As with a saint.
Isab.
You do blaspheme the good, in mocking me.
Lucio.
Do not believe it. Fewness and truth6 note, 'tis thus:
Your brother and his lover7 note
have embrac'd:
-- 37 --
As those that feed grow full; as blossoming time8 note
,
That from the seedness the bare fallow brings
To teeming foison; even so her plenteous womb
Expresseth his full tilth and husbandry.
Isab.
Some one with child by him?—My cousin Juliet?
-- 38 --
Lucio.
Is she your cousin?
Isab.
Adoptedly: as school-maids change their names,
By vain though apt affection.
Lucio.
She it is.
Isab.
O, let him marry her!
Lucio.
This is the point.
The duke is very strangely gone from hence;
Bore many gentlemen, myself being one,
In hand, and hope of action9 note
: but we do learn
By those that know the very nerves of state,
His givings out were of an infinite distance
From his true-meant design. Upon his place,
And with full line1 note of his authority,
Governs lord Angelo; a man, whose blood
Is very snow-broth; one who never feels
The wanton stings and motions of the sense;
But doth rebate and blunt his natural edge
With profits of the mind, study and fast.
He (to give fear to use2 note and liberty,
Which have, for long, run by the hideous law,
As mice by lions,) hath pick'd out an act,
Under whose heavy sense your brother's life
Falls into forfeit: he arrests him on it;
And follows close the rigour of the statute,
To make him an example: all hope is gone,
Unless you have the grace3 note
by your fair prayer
-- 39 --
To soften Angelo: And that's my pith
Of business4 note
'twixt you and your poor brother.
Isab.
Doth he so seek his life?
Lucio.
Has censur'd him5 note
Already; and, as I hear, the provost hath
A warrant for his execution.
Isab.
Alas! what poor ability's in me
To do him good?
Lucio.
Assay the power you have.
Isab.
My power! Alas! I doubt,—
Lucio.
Our doubts are traitors,
And make us lose the good we oft might win,
By fearing to attempt: Go to lord Angelo,
And let him learn to know, when maidens sue,
Men give like gods; but when they weep and kneel,
All their petitions are as freely theirs6 note
-- 40 --
As they themselves would owe them7 note.
Isab.
I'll see what I can do.
Lucio.
But, speedily.
Isab.
I will about it straight;
No longer staying but to give the mother8 note
Notice of my affair. I humbly thank you:
Commend me to my brother: soon at night
I'll send him certain word of my success.
Lucio.
I take my leave of you.
Isab.
Good sir, adieu.
[Exeunt.
James Boswell [1821], The plays and poems of William Shakspeare, with the corrections and illustrations of various commentators: comprehending A Life of the Poet, and an enlarged history of the stage, by the late Edmond Malone. With a new glossarial index (J. Deighton and Sons, Cambridge) [word count] [S10201].
