you are Pompey the great. Pompey, you are partly a bawd, Pompey, howsoever you colour it in being a tapster. Are you not? come, tell me true; it shall be the better for you.

Clo.

Truly, sir, I am a poor fellow, that would live.

Escal.

How would you live, Pompey? by being a bawd? What do you think of the trade, Pompey? is it a lawful trade?

Clo.

If the law would allow it, sir.

Escal.

But the law will not allow it, Pompey; nor it shall not be allowed in Vienna.

Clo.

Does your worship mean to geld and spay all the youth in the city?

Escal.

No, Pompey.

Clo.

Truly, sir, in my poor opinion, they will to't then: If your worship will take order^{8 note}
for the drabs and the knaves, you need not to fear the bawds.

Escal.

There are pretty orders beginning, I can tell you: It is but heading and hanging.

Clo.

If you head and hang all that offend that way but for ten year together, you'll be glad to give out a commission for more heads. If this law hold in Vienna ten year, I'll rent the fairest house in it, after three pence a bay^{9 note}

Escal.

Thank you, good Pompey: and, in requital of your prophecy, hark you,—I advise you, let me not find you before me again upon any complaint whatsoever, no, not for dwelling where you do; if I do, Pompey, I shall beat you to your tent, and prove a shrewd Cæsar to you; in plain dealing, Pompey, I shall have you whipt: so for this time, Pompey, fare you well.

Clo.

I thank your worship for your good counsel; but I shall follow it, as the flesh and fortune shall better determine.

Whip me? No, no; let carmen whip his jade;
The valiant heart's not whipt out of his trade. [Exit.

Escal.

Come hither to me, master Elbow; come hither, master Constable. How long have you been in this place of constable?

Elb.

Seven year and a half, sir.

Escal.

I thought, by your readiness^{1 note} in the office, you had continued in it some time: You say, seven years together?

Elb.

And a half, sir.

Escal.

Alas! it hath been great pains to you! They do you wrong to put you so oft upon't: Are there not men in your ward sufficient to serve it?

Elb.

Faith, sir, few of any wit in such matters: as they are chosen, they are glad to choose me for them; I do it for some piece of money, and go through with all.

Escal.

Look you, bring me in the names of some six or seven, the most sufficient of your parish.

Elb.

To your worship's house, sir?

Escal.

To my house: Fare you well. [Exit Elbow.] What's o'clock, think you?

Just.

Eleven, sir.

Escal.

I pray you home to dinner with me.

Just.

I humbly thank you.

Escal.
It grieves me for the death of Claudio;
But there's no remedy.

Just.
Lord Angelo is severe.

Escal.
It is but needful:
Mercy is not itself, that oft looks so;
Pardon is still the nurse of second woe:

But yet,—Poor Claudio!—There's no remedy.
Come, sir. [Exeunt. SCENE II. Another Room in the Same. Enter Provost and a Servant.

Serv.
He's hearing of a cause; he will come straight.
I'll tell him of you.

Prov.
Pray you, do. [Exit Servant.] I'll know
His pleasure; may be, he will relent: Alas,
He hath but as offended in a dream!
All sects, all ages smack of this vice; and he
To die for it!— Enter Angelo.

Ang.
Now, what's the matter, provost?

Prov.
Is it your will Claudio shall die to-morrow?

Ang.
Did I not tell thee, yea? hadst thou not order?
Why dost thou ask again?

Prov.
Lest I might be too rash:
Under your good correction, I have seen,
When, after execution, judgment hath
Repented o'er his doom.

Ang.
Go to; let that be mine:
Do you your office, or give up your place,
And you shall well be spar'd.

Prov.
I crave your honour's pardon.—
What shall be done, sir, with the groaning Juliet?
She's very near her hour.

Ang.
Dispose of her
To some more fitter place; and that with speed.

Re-enter Servant.

Serv.
Here is the sister of the man condemn'd,
Desires access to you.

Ang.
Hath he a sister?

Prov.
Ay, my good lord; a very virtuous maid,
And to be shortly of a sisterhood,
If not already.

Ang.
Well, let her be admitted. [Exit Servant.
See you, the fornicatress be remov'd;
Let her have needful, but not lavish, means;
There shall be order for it. Enter Lucio and Isabella.

Prov.
Save your honour^{2 note}! [Offering to retire.

Ang.
Stay a little while^{3 note}

Isab.
I am a woeful suitor to your honour,
Please but your honour hear me.

Ang.
Well; what's your suit?

Isab.
There is a vice, that most I do abhor,
And most desire should meet the blow of justice;
For which I would not plead, but that I must;
For which I must not plead, but that I am
At war, 'twixt will, and will not^{4 note}

Ang.
Well; the matter?

Isab.
I have a brother is condemn'd to die:
I do beseech you, let it be his fault,
And not my brother^{5 note}
.

Prov.
Heaven give thee moving graces!

Ang.
Condemn the fault, and not the actor of it!
Why, every fault's condemn'd, ere it be done:
Mine were the very cipher of a function,
To fine the faults^{6 note}

Isab.
O just, but severe law!
I had a brother then.—Heaven keep your honour! [Retiring.

Lucio. [To Isab.]
Give't not o'er so: to him again, intreat him;
Kneel down before him, hang upon his gown;
You are too cold: if you should need a pin,
You could not with more tame a tongue desire it:
To him, I say.

Isab.
Must he needs die?

Ang.
Maiden, no remedy.

Isab.
Yes; I do think that you might pardon him,
And neither heaven, nor man, grieve at the mercy.

Ang.
I will not do't.

Isab.
But can you, if you would?

Ang.
Look, what I will not, that I cannot do.

Isab.
But might you do't, and do the world no wrong,
If so your heart were touch'd with that remorse^{7 note}

Ang.
He's sentenc'd; 'tis too late.

Lucio.
You are too cold. [To Isabella.

Isab.
Too late? why, no; I, that do speak a word,
May call it back again^{8 note}

No ceremony that to great ones 'longs,
Not the king's crown, nor the deputed sword,
The marshal's truncheon, nor the judge's robe,
Become them with one half so good a grace,
As mercy does. If he had been as you, and you as he,
You would have slipt like him; but he, like you,
Would not have been so stern.

Ang.
Pray you, begone.

Isab.
I would to heaven I had your potency,
And you were Isabel! should it then be thus?
No; I would tell what 'twere to be a judge,
And what a prisoner.

Lucio.
Ay, touch him: there's the vein. [Aside.

Ang.
Your brother is a forfeit of the law,
And you but waste your words.

Isab.
Alas! alas!
Why, all the souls that were^{1 note}

Ang.
Be you content, fair maid;
It is the law, not I, condemns your brother:
Were he my kinsman, brother, or my son,
It should be thus with him;—he must die to-morrow.

Isab.
To-morrow? O, that's sudden! Spare him, spare him:
He's not prepar'd for death! Even for our kitchens
We kill the fowl of season^{3 note}; shall we serve heaven
With less respect than we do minister
To our gross selves? Good, good my lord, bethink you:
Who is it that hath died for this offence?
There's many have committed it.

Lucio.
Ay, well said.

Ang.
The law hath not been dead, though it hath slept^{4 note}:
Those many had not dar'd to do that evil,
If the first man that did the edict infringe^{5 note}

Looks in a glass^{6 note}

Isab.
Yet show some pity.

Ang.
I show it most of all, when I show justice;
For then I pity those I do not know^{9 note}

,
Which a dismiss'd offence would after gall;
And do him right, that, answering one foul wrong,
Lives not to act another. Be satisfied;
Your brother dies to-morrow: be content.

Isab.
So you must be the first, that gives this sentence;
And he, that suffers: O, it is excellent
To have a giant's strength; but it is tyrannous
To use it like a giant^{1 note}.

Lucio.
That's well said.

Isab.
Could great men thunder
As Jove himself does, Jove would ne'er be quiet,
For every pelting^{2 note}

Than the soft myrtle;—But man, proud man^{4 note}

Lucio.
O, to him, to him, wench: he will relent;
He's coming, I perceive't.

Prov.
Pray heaven, she win him!

Isab.
We cannot weigh our brother with ourself^{7 note}

Great men may jest with saints: 'tis wit in them;
But, in the less, foul profanation.

Lucio.
Thou'rt in the right, girl; more o' that.

Isab.
That in the captain's but a cholerick word,
Which in the soldier is flat blasphemy.

Lucio.
Art advis'd o' that? more on't.

Ang.
Why do you put these sayings upon me?

Isab.
Because authority, though it err like others,
Hath yet a kind of medicine in itself,
That skins the vice o' the top^{8 note}
: Go to your bosom;
Knock there; and ask your heart, what it doth know
That's like my brother's fault: if it confess
A natural guiltiness, such as is his,
Let it not sound a thought upon your tongue
Against my brother's life.

Ang.
She speaks, and 'tis
Such sense, that my sense breeds with it^{9 note}

Isab.
Gentle my lord, turn back.

Ang.
I will bethink me:—Come again to-morrow.

Isab.
Hark, how I'll bribe you: Good my lord, turn back.

Ang.
How! bribe me?

Isab.
Ay, with such gifts, that heaven shall share with you.

Lucio.
You had marr'd all else.

Isab.
Not with fond shekels^{1 note} of the tested gold^{2 note}

Ere sun-rise; prayers from preserved souls^{3 note}

Ang.
Well: come to me
To-morrow.

Lucio.
Go to; it is well; away. [Aside to Isabel.

Isab.
Heaven keep your honour safe!

Ang.
Amen:
For I am that way going to temptation, [Aside.
Where prayers cross^{4 note}

Isab.
At what hour to-morrow
Shall I attend your lordship?

Ang.
At any time 'fore noon.

Isab.
Save your honour! [Exeunt Lucio, Isabella, and Provost.

Ang.
From thee; even from thy virtue!—
What's this? what's this? Is this her fault, or mine?
The tempter, or the tempted, who sins most? Ha^{5 note}

Shall we desire to raze the sanctuary,
And pitch our evils there^{8 note}

And feast upon her eyes? What is't I dream on?
O cunning enemy, that, to catch a saint,
With saints doth bait thy hook! Most dangerous
Is that temptation, that doth goad us on
To sin in loving virtue: never could the strumpet,
With all her double vigour, art, and nature,
Once stir my temper; but this virtuous maid
Subdues me quite;—Ever, till now,
When men were fond, I smil'd, and wonder'd how^{9 note}. [Exit. SCENE III. A Room in a Prison. Enter Duke, habited like a Friar, and Provost.

Duke.
Hail to you, provost! so, I think you are.

Prov.
I am the provost: What's your will, good friar?

Duke.
Bound by my charity, and my bless'd order,
I come to visit the afflicted spirits
Here in the prison: do me the common right
To let me see them; and to make me know
The nature of their crimes, that I may minister
To them accordingly.

Prov.
I would do more than that, if more were needful. Enter Juliet.
Look, here comes one; a gentlewoman of mine,
Who falling in the flames of her own youth,

Hath blister'd her report^{2 note}

Duke.
When must he die?

Prov.
As I do think, to-morrow.—
I have provided for you; stay a while, [To Juliet.
And you shall be conducted.

Duke.
Repent you, fair one, of the sin you carry?

Juliet.
I do; and bear the shame most patiently.

Duke.
I'll teach you how you shall arraign your conscience,
And try your penitence, if it be sound,
Or hollowly put on.

Juliet.
I'll gladly learn.

Duke.
Love you the man that wrong'd you?

Juliet.
Yes, as I love the woman that wrong'd him.

Duke.
So then, it seems, your most offenceful act
Was mutually committed?

Juliet.
Mutually.

Duke.
Then was your sin of heavier kind than his.

Juliet.
I do confess it, and repent it, father.

Duke.
'Tis meet so, daughter: But lest you do repent^{3 note}

Juliet.
I do repent me, as it is an evil;
And take the shame with joy.

Duke.
There rest^{5 note}.
Your partner, as I hear, must die to-morrow,
And I am going with instruction to him.—
Grace go with you! Benedicite^{6 note}

Juliet.
Must die to-morrow! O, injurious love^{7 note}

Prov.
'Tis pity of him. [Exeunt.

SCENE IV. A Room in Angelo's House. Enter Angelo^{8 note}



.

Ang.
When I would pray and think, I think and pray
To several subjects: heaven hath my empty words;
Whilst my invention^{9 note}

Anchors on Isabel^{1 note}

Let's write good angel on the devil's horn,
'Tis not the devil's crest^{8 note}

Enter Servant.
How now, who's there?

Serv.
One Isabel, a sister,
Desires access to you.

Ang.
Teach her the way. O heavens! [Exit Serv.
Why does my blood thus muster to my heart^{9 note}
;
Making both it unable for itself,
And dispossessing all the other parts
Of necessary fitness?
So play the foolish throngs with one that swoons;
Come all to help him, and so stop the air
By which he should revive: and even so
The general, subject to a well-wish'd king,^{1 note}

Quit their own part, and in obsequious fondness
Croud to his presence, where their untaught love
Must needs appear offence.

Enter Isabella.
How now, fair maid?

Isab.
I am come to know your pleasure.

Ang.
That you might know it, would much better please me,
Than to demand what 'tis. Your brother cannot live.

Isab.
Even so?—Heaven keep your honour! [Retiring.

Ang.
Yet may he live a while; and, it may be,
As long as you, or I: Yet he must die.

Isab.
Under your sentence?

Ang.
Yea.

Isab.
When, I beseech you? that in his reprieve,
Longer, or shorter, he may be so fitted,
That his soul sicken not.

Ang.
Ha! Fye, these filthy vices! It were as good
To pardon him, that hath from nature stolen
A man already made^{2 note}
, as to remit
Their sawcy sweetness, that do coin heaven's image,
In stamps that are forbid^{3 note}

Falsely to take away a life true made^{4 note},
As to put mettle in restrained means^{5 note}

Isab.
'Tis set down so in heaven, but not in earth^{6 note}

Ang.
Say you so? then I shall poze you quickly.
Which had you rather, That the most just law
Now took your brother's life; or, to redeem him^{7 note},
Give up your body to such sweet uncleanness,
As she that he hath stain'd?

Isab.
Sir, believe this,
I had rather give my body than my soul^{8 note}

Ang.
I talk not of your soul; Our compell'd sins
Stand more for number than accompt^{9 note}

Isab.
How say you?

Ang.
Nay, I'll not warrant that; for I can speak
Against the thing I say. Answer to this;—
I, now the voice of the recorded law,
Pronounce a sentence on your brother's life:
Might there not be a charity in sin,
To save this brother's life?

Isab.
Please you to do't,
I'll take it as a peril to my soul,
It is no sin at all, but charity.

Ang.
Pleas'd you to do't, at peril of your soul^{1 note},
Were equal poize of sin and charity.

Isab.
That I do beg his life, if it be sin,
Heaven, let me bear it! you granting of my suit,

If that be sin, I'll make it my morn prayer
To have it added to the faults of mine,
And nothing of your, answer^{2 note}

Ang.
Nay, but hear me:
Your sense pursues not mine: either you are ignorant,
Or seem so, craftily^{3 note}; and that's not good.

Isab.
Let me be ignorant^{4 note}, and in nothing good,
But graciously to know I am no better.

Ang.
Thus wisdom wishes to appear most bright,
When it doth tax itself: as these black masks
Proclaim an enshield beauty^{5 note}

Than beauty could displayed.—But mark me;
To be received plain, I'll speak more gross:
Your brother is to die.

Isab.
So.

Ang.
And his offence is so, as it appears,
Accountant to the law upon that pain^{6 note}.

Isab.
True.

Ang.
Admit no other way to save his life,

(As I subscribe not that^{7 note}

Isab.
As much for my poor brother, as myself:
That is, Were I under the terms of death,
The impression of keen whips I'd wear as rubies,
And strip myself to death, as to a bed
That longing I have been sick for, ere I'd yield
My body up to shame.

Ang.
Then must your brother die.

Isab.
And 'twere the cheaper way:
Better it were, a brother died at once^{2 note}
,
Than that a sister, by redeeming him,
Should die for ever.

Ang.
Were not you then as cruel as the sentence
That you have slander'd so?

Isab.
Ignomy in ransom^{3 note}

Ang.
You seem'd of late to make the law a tyrant;

And rather prov'd the sliding of your brother
A merriment than a vice.

Isab.
O, pardon me, my lord; it oft falls out,
To have what we'd have, we speak not what we mean:
I something do excuse the thing I hate,
For his advantage that I dearly love.

Ang.
We are all frail.

Isab.
Else let my brother die,
If not a feodary, but only he^{5 note}

Owe^{6 note}, and succeed by weakness^{7 note}

Ang.
Nay, women are frail too.

Isab.
Ay, as the glasses where they view themselves;
Which are as easy broke as they make forms^{8 note}

.
Women!—Help heaven! men their creation mar
In profiting by them^{9 note}

For we are soft as our complexions are,
And credulous to false prints^{1 note}

Ang.
I think it well:
And from this testimony of your own sex,
(Since, I suppose, we are made to be no stronger
Than faults may shake our frames,) let me be bold;
I do arrest your words; Be that you are,
That is, a woman; if you be more, you're none;
If you be one, (as you are well express'd
By all external warrants,) show it now,
By putting on the destin'd livery.

Isab.
I have no tongue but one: gentle my lord,
Let me intreat you speak the former language^{2 note}.

Ang.
Plainly conceive, I love you.

Isab.
My brother did love Juliet; and you tell me,
That he shall die for it.

Ang.
He shall not, Isabel, if you give me love.

Isab.
I know, your virtue hath a licence in't^{3 note}

Ang.
Believe me, on mine honour,
My words express my purpose.

Isab.
Ha! little honour to be much believ'd,
And most pernicious purpose!—Seeming, seeming^{5 note}!—
I will proclaim thee, Angelo; look for't:
Sign me a present pardon for my brother,
Or, with an outstretch'd throat, I'll tell the world
Aloud, what man thou art.

Ang.
Who will believe thee, Isabel?
My unsoil'd name, the austereness of my life,
My vouch against you^{6 note}

And now I give my sensual race the rein^{8 note}:
Fit thy consent to my sharp appetite;
Lay by all nicety, and prolixious blushes^{9 note}

Isab.
To whom shall I complain? Did I tell this,
Who would believe me? O perilous mouths,
That bear in them one and the self-same tongue,
Either of condemnation or approof!

Bidding the law make court'sy to their will;
Hooking both right and wrong to the appetite,
To follow as it draws! I'll to my brother:
Though he hath fallen by prompture^{2 note} of the blood,
Yet hath he in him such a mind of honour^{3 note}

,
That had he twenty heads to tender down
On twenty bloody blocks, he'd yield them up,
Before his sister should her body stoop
To such abhorr'd pollution.
Then Isabel, live chaste, and, brother, die:
More than our brother is our chastity.
I'll tell him yet of Angelo's request,
And fit his mind to death, for his soul's rest. [Exit.

Previous section

Next section