Title page Measure for Measure. AS PERFORMED AT THE THEATRE-ROYAL, COVENT-GARDEN. REVISED By Mr. YOUNGER, Prompter of that Theatre. An INTRODUCTION, and NOTES CRITICAL and ILLUSTRATIVE, ARE ADDED BY THE AUTHORS of the DRAMATIC CENSOR. LONDON: Printed for JOHN BELL, near Exeter-Exchange, in the Strand and C. Etherington, at York. MDCCLXXIII.

INTRODUCTION. It is one of the greatest errors sovereignty can commit, to place unlimited confidence in ministers unproved; no professions, no fawnings, no fair external appearance, should prevent a watchful eye over those, who, by their rank and stations, are enabled to do much public good, or much public prejudice; under this commendable idea, Shakespeare conceived Measure for Measure; and he has handled his subject in a masterly manner; he has taken very successful pains with four of the characters: the Duke, Angelo, Lucio, and Isabella; however, the two former require great help from the actors who personate them; the two latter assist the performers. Had the plot been possessed of greater latitude, that heavy sameness we perceive in many parts of this piece, would have been avoided—The sentiments in general are fine, and extremely well adapted, the language poetical and nervous.

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

Guards, Officers, and other Attendants.

[Servant], [Messenger]

Covent-Garden.
Duke [Vincentio],	Mr. Bensley.
Angelo,	Mr. Clarke.
Escalus,	Mr. Hull.
Claudio,	Mr. Wroughton.
Lucio,	Mr. Woodward.
Provost,	Mr. Gardner.
Thomas,	Mr. Redman.
Peter,	Mr. R. Smith.
Elbow,	Mr. Quick.
Clown,	Mr. Dunstall.
Abhorson,	Mr. Bates.
Barnardine,	Mr. Stoppelaer.
Isabella,	Mrs. Yates.
Mariana,	Mrs. Bulkley.
Juliet.	Mrs. Invile.
Francisca,	Miss Pearce.
Mistress Over-done [Mistress Overdone],	Mrs. White.

SCENE, Vienna.

Main text ACT I. Scene SCENE, The Duke's Palace. Enter Duke, Escalus, and Lords.

Duke.
Escalus,—

Escal.
My Lord,

Duke.
Of government the properties t'unfold,
Would seem in me t'affect speech and discourse.
Since I am not to know that your own science
Exceeds, in that, the lists of all advice
My strength can give you:
The nature of our people,
Our city's institutions, and the terms
Of common justice, y'are as pregnant in,
As art and practice hath enriched any,
That we remember. There is our commission,
From which we would not have you warp. Call hither,
I say, bid come before us Angelo:
What figure of us, think you, he will bear?
For you must know, we have with special soul
Elected him our absence to supply;
Lent him our terror, drest him with our love;
And giv'n our deputation all the organs
Of our own power: say, what think you of it?

Escal.
If any in Vienna be of worth,
To undergo such ample grace and honour,
It is Lord Angelo. Enter Angelo.

Duke.
Look, where he comes!

Ang.
Always obedient to your Grace's will,
I come to know your pleasure.

Duke.
Angelo,
There is a kind of character in thy life,
That to th' observer doth thy history
Fully unfold: thyself and thy belongings
Are not thine own so proper, as to waste
Thyself upon thy virtues; they on thee.
Heav'n doth with us, as we with torches do,
Not light them for themselves: for if our virtues
Did not go forth of us, 'twere all alike
As if we had them not. Spirits are not finely touch'd,
But to fine issues: nor nature never lends
The smallest scruple of her excellence,
But, like a thrifty goddess, she determines
Herself the glory of a creditor,
Both thanks, and use. But I do bend my speech
To one that can my part in him advertise;
Hold therefore, Angelo:
In our remove, be thou at full ourself.
Mortality and mercy in Vienna,
Live in thy tongue and heart: old Escalus,
Though first in question, is thy secondary.
Take thy commission.

Ang.
Now, good my Lord,
Let there be some more test made of my metal,
Before so noble and so great a figure
Be stampt upon it.

Duke.
We have with a prepar'd and leaven'd choice,
Proceeded to you; therefore take your honours.
We shall write to you,
As time and our concernings shall importune,

How it goes with us; and do look to know
What doth befal you here. So, fare you well.
To th' hopeful execution do I leave you
Of your commissions.

Ang.
Yet give me leave, my Lord,
That we may bring you something on the way,

Duke.
My haste may not admit it;
Nor need you, on mine honour, have to do
With any scruple; your scope is as mine own,
So to inforce, or qualify the laws,
As to your soul seems good.
I'll privily away. I love the people:
But do not like to stage me to their eyes* ^note:
Though it do well, I do not relish well
Their loud applause, and Ave's vehement:
Nor do I think the man of safe discretion,
That does affect it. Once more, fare you well.

Ang.
The heav'ns give safety to your purposes!

Escal.
Lead forth, and bring you back in happiness!

Duke.
I thank you, fare you well. [Exit.

Escal.
I shall desire you, Sir, to give me leave,
To have free speech with you;
A pow'r I have, but of what strength and nature,
I am not yet instructed.

Ang.
'Tis so with me: let us withdraw together,
And we may soon our satisfaction have,
Touching that point.

Escal.
I'll wait upon your Honour. [Exeunt† ^note. Enter Provost, Claudio, Juliet, and Officers.

Claud.
Fellow, why dost thou show me thus to th' world?
Bear me to prison, where I am committed.

Prov.
I do it not in evil disposition;
But from Lord Angelo by special charge.

Claud.
Thus can the Demi-god, Authority,
Make us pay down, for our offence, by weight.
The words of heav'n; on whom it will, it will;
On whom it will not, so; yet still 'tis just. Enter Lucio.

Lucio.
Why how now, Claudio? whence comes this restraint?

Claud.
From too much liberty, my Lucio, liberty;
As surfeit is the father of much fast,
So every scope, by th' immod'rate use,
Turns to restraint: our natures do pursue,
Like rats that ravin down their proper bane,
A thirsty evil; and when we drink, we die.

Lucio.

If I could speak so wisely under an arrest, I would send for certain of my creditors; and yet, to say the truth, I had as lief have the foppery of freedom, as the morality of imprisonment: what's thy offence, Claudio?

Claud.
What, but to speak of, would offend again.

Lucio.
What is't, murder?

Claud.
No.

Lucio.
Wenching?

Claud.
Call it so.

Prov.
Away, Sir, you must go.

Claud.
One word, good friend:—Lucio, a word with you.

Lucio.
A hundred; if they'll do you any good:
Is wenching so look'd after?

Claud.
Thus stands it upon me: upon a true contract,
I got possession of Julietta's bed,
(You know the lady,) she is fast my wife;
Save that we do the denunciation lack,
Of outward order. This we came not to,
Only for propagation of a dower,
Remaining in the coffer of her friends;
From whom we thought it meet to hide our love,
'Till time had made them for us. But it chances,

The stealth of our most mutual entertainment,
With character too gross, is writ on Juliet.

Lucio.
With child, perhaps?

Claud.
Unhappily, even so.
And the new Deputy now for the Duke,
* ^note(Whether it be the fault, and glimpse, of newness;
Or whether that the body public be
A horse whereon the Governor doth ride,
Who, newly in the seat, that it may know
He can command, lets it strait feel the spur;
Whether the tyranny be in his place,
Or in his eminence that fills it up,
I stagger in:)—but this new Governor
Awakes me all th' enrolled penalties† ^note,
Which have, like unscour'd armour, hung by th' wall
So long, that nineteen Zodiacks have gone round,
And none of them been worn: and, for a name,
Now puts the drowsy and neglected act
Freshly on me: 'tis surely, for a name.

Lucio.

I warrant, it is; and thy head stands so tickle on thy shoulders, that a milk-maid, if she be in love, may sigh it off. Send after the Duke, and appeal to him.

Claud.
I have done so, but he's not to be found.
I pr'ythee, Lucio, do me this kind service:
This day my sister should the cloister enter,
And there receive her approbation.
Acquaint her with the danger of my state,
Implore her, in my voice, that she make friends,
To the strict Deputy: bid herself assay him;
I have great hope in that; for in her youth
There is a prone and speechless dialect‡ ^note,
Such as moves men! beside, she hath prosp'rous art,

When she will play with reason and discourse;
And well she can persuade.

Lucio.

I pray she may; as well for the encouragement of the like, as for the enjoying of thy life, which I would be sorry should be thus foolishly lost, at a game of ticktack. I'll to her.

* ^noteClaud.
I thank you, good friend Lucio.

Lucio.
Within two hours,—

Claud.
Come, officer, away. [Exeunt. Scene SCENE, A Monastery. Enter Duke, and Friar Thomas† ^note.

Duke.
No, holy father; throw away that thought;
Believe not that the dribbling dart of love,
Can pierce a compleat bosom; why I desire thee
To give me secret harbour, hath a purpose,
More grave and wrinkled, than the aims and ends,
Of burning youth.

Fri.
May your Grace speak of it?

Duke.
My holy Sir, none better knows than you,
How I have ever lov'd the life remov'd;
And held in idle price to haunt assemblies,
Where youth, and cost, and witness bravery keeps.
I have deliver'd to Lord Angelo,
(A man of stricture and firm abstinence)
My absolute pow'r and place, here in Vienna;
And he supposes me travell'd to Poland.
For so I've strew'd it in the common ear,
And so it is receiv'd: now, pious Sir,
You will demand of me, why I do this?

Fri.
Gladly, my Lord.

Duke.
We have strict statutes and most binding laws,
(The needful bits and curbs for headstrong steeds,)
Which for these nineteen years we have let sleep;
Even like an o'er-grown lion in a cave,
That goes not out to prey: now, as fond fathers,
Having bound up the threat'ning twigs of birch,
Only to stick it in their children's sight,
For terror, not to use; in time the rod
Becomes more mock'd, than fear'd: so our decrees,
Dead to infliction, to themselves are dead;
And liberty plucks justice by the nose;
The baby beats the nurse, and quite athwart
Goes all decorum* ^note.

Fri.
It rested in your Grace
T'unloose this ty'd-up justice, when you pleas'd:
And it in you more dreadful would have seem'd,
Than in Lord Angelo.

Duke.
I do fear, too dreadful.
Sith 'twas my fault to give the people scope,
'Twould be my tyranny to strike, and gall them,
For what I bid them do. For we bid this be done,
When evil deeds have their permissive pass,
And not the punishment. Therefore, indeed, good father,
I have on Angelo impos'd the office,
Who may in th' ambush of my name strike home:
And to behold his sway,
I will, as 'twere a brother of your order,
Visit both Prince and people; therefore pr'ythee,
Supply me with the habit, and instruct me
How I may formally in person bear,
Like a true Friar. More reasons for this action,
At our more leisure shall I render you;
Only, this one:—Lord Angelo is precise† ^note;

Stands at a guard with envy; scarce confesses
That his blood flows, or that his appetite
Is more to bread than stone: hence shall we see,
If pow'r change purpose, what our seemers be. [Exeunt. Scene SCENE, A Nunnery. * ^noteEnter Isabella and Francisca.

Isab.
And have you nuns no farther privileges?

Nun.
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. [Within.]
Hoa! peace be in this place!

Isab.
Who's that, which calls?

Nun.
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 shew your face;
Or, if you shew your face, you must not speak.
He calls again; I pray you, answer him. [Exit Franc. Enter Lucio.† ^note

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;
Not to be weary with you, he's in prison.

Isab.
Wo 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, make me not your story.

Lucio.
'Tis true:—I would not (tho' 'tis my familiar sin,
With maids to seem the lapwing, and to jest,
Tongue far from heart) play with all virgins so.
I hold you as a thing en-sky'd, and sainted;
And to be talk'd with in sincerity,
As with a Saint.

Isab.
Some one with child by him?—my cousin Juliet!

Lucio.
Is she your cousin?

Isab.
Adoptedly, as school-maids change their names,
By vain, tho' 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;
Upon his place,
And with full line of his authority,
Governs Lord Angelo; a man whose blood
Is very snow-broth.
He 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 rigor of the statute,
To make him an example; all hope's gone,
Unless you have the grace by your fair prayer,
To soften Angelo; and that's my pith of business,
'Twixt you and your poor brother.

Isab.
Doth he so
Seek for his life?

Lucio.
He 'as censur'd him, already;
And, as I hear, the Provost hath a warrant,
For's 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* ^note;
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 truly theirs,
As they themselves would owe them.

Isab.
I'll see what I can do.

Lucio.
But, speedily.

Isab.
I will about it strait;
No longer staying, but to give the mother
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† ^note. ACT II. Scene SCENE, the Palace. Enter Angelo, and Escalus.* ^note

Angelo.
We must not make a scarecrow of the law,
Setting it up to fear the birds of prey,
An let it keep one shape, 'till custom make it
Their pearch, and not their terror.

Escal.
Ay, but yet
Let us be keen, and rather cut a little,
Than fall, and bruise to death. Alas! this gentleman,
Whom I would save, had a most noble father;
Let but your Honour know,
Who I believe to be most strait in virtue,
Whether you had not, sometime in your life,
Err'd in this point, which now you censure him,
And pull'd the law upon you.* ^note

Ang.
'Tis one thing to be tempted, Escalus,
Another thing to fall.
You may not so extenuate his offence,
For I have had such faults; but rather tell me,
When I, that censure him, do so offend,
Let mine own judgment pattern out my death,
And nothing come in partial. Sir, he must die. Enter Provost.

Escal.
Be't as your wisdom will.

Ang.
Where is the Provost?

Prov.
Here, if it like your Honour.

Ang.
See, that Claudio
Be executed by nine, to-morrow morning.
Bring him his Confessor, let him be prepar'd;
For that's the utmost of his pilgrimage—

Escal.† ^note
Well, heav'n forgive him! and forgive us all!
Some rise by sin, and some by virtue fall:
Some run through brakes of vice, and answer none;
And some condemned for a fault alone. [Exit.‡ ^note

Prov.
Is't your fix'd design, Claudio shall die, to-morrow?

Ang.
Did not I 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 pardon.
What shall be done, Sir, with the groaning Juliet?
She's very near her hour.

Ang.
Dispose of her
To some more fitting place, and that with speed.

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. Enter Lucio, and Isabella.

Ang.
Y'are welcome; what's your will?

Isab.
I am a woful 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;
And yet I am
At war, 'twixt will, and will not.

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.

Prov.
Heav'n 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 cypher of a function,

To find the faults, whose fine stands in record,
And let go by the actor.

Isab.
O just, but severe law!
I had a brother, then;—heav'n keep your Honour!

Lucio.
Give 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 heav'n, 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,
As mine is to him?

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

Isab.
Too late? why, no; I, that do speak a word,
May call it back again: Well, believe this,
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, be gone.

Isab.
I wou'd to heav'n 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.

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

Isab.
Alas! alas!
Why, all the souls that were, were forfeit once;
And he, that might the 'vantage best have took,

Found out the remedy. How would you be,
If He, which is the top of Judgment, should
But judge you, as you are? Oh, think on that;
And mercy then will breathe within your lips,
Like man new made.

Ang.* ^note
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 dies, to-morrow.

Isab.
To-morrow? oh! that's sudden. Spare him, spare him:
Good, good my Lord, bethink you:
Who is it, that hath dy'd for this offence?
There's many have committed it.

Lucio.
Ay, well said.

Ang.
The Law hath not been dead, tho' it hath slept:
Those many had not dar'd to do that evil,
If the first man, that did th' edict infringe,
Had answer'd for his deed.

Isab.
Yet shew some pity.

Ang.
I shew it most of all, when I shew justice;
For then I pity those, I do not know;
Which a dismiss'd offence would after gaul;
And do him right, that, answering one foul wrong,
Lives not to act another. Be satisfy'd;
Your brother dies, to-morrow; be content.

Isab.
So you must be the first, that gives this sentence;
And he, that suffers: oh, 'tis excellent,
To have a Giant's strength; but it is tyrannous,
To use it like a Giant.

Lucio.
That's well said.

Isab.
Could great men thunder† ^note

As Jove himself does, Jove would ne'er be quiet;
For every pelting, petty, officer
Would use his heav'n for thunder;
Nothing but thunder: merciful heav'n!
Thou rather with thy sharp and sulph'rous bolt
Split'st the unwedgeable and gnarled oak,
Than the soft myrtle: O, but man! proud man,
Drest in a little brief authority;
Most ignorant of what he's most assur'd,
His glassy essence, like an angry ape,
Plays such fantastic tricks before high heav'n,
As make the angels weep.

Prov.
Pray heav'n, she win him!

Isab.
We cannot weigh our brother with yourself:
Great men may jest with saints; 'tis wit in them;
But, in the less, foul profanation.* ^note

Ang.
Why do you put these sayings upon me?

Isab.
Because authority, tho' it err like others,
Hath yet a kind of medicine in itself,
That skins the vice o' th' top: 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. Fare you well.

Isab.
Gentle my Lord, turn back.

Ang.
I will bethink me, come again, to-morrow.

Isab.
Hark, how I'll bribe you.

Ang.
How? bribe me?

Isab.
Ay, with such gifts, that heav'n shall share with you.

Lucio.
You had marr'd all else.

Isab.
Not with fond shekles of the tested gold,
Or stones, whose rate are either rich or poor,
As fancy values them; but with true prayers,

That shall be up at heav'n, and enter there,
Ere sun-rise: prayers from preserved souls,
From fasting maids, whose minds are dedicate
To nothing temporal.* ^note

Ang.
Well; come, to-morrow.

Isab.
Heav'n keep your Honour safe!

Ang.
Amen:
For I am that way going to temptation,
Where prayers cross.

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

Ang.
At any time 'fore noon.

Isab.
Save your Honour! [Exe. Lucio, and Isabella.

Ang.
From thee; even from thy virtue.
What's this? what's this? is this her fault, or mine?† ^note
The tempter, or the tempted, who sins most?
Not she, nor doth she tempt; but it is I,
That, lying by the violet in the sun,
Do, as the carrion does, not as the flower,
Corrupt with virtuous season. Can it be,
That modesty may more betray our sense,
Than woman's lightness? having waste ground enough,
Shall we desire to raze the sanctuary,
And pitch our evils there? oh, fie, fie, fie!
What dost thou? or what art thou, Angelo?
Dost thou desire her foully, for those things
That make her good? Oh, let her brother live:
Thieves for their robbery have authority,
When judges steal themselves. What? do I love her,
That I desire to hear her speak again,
And feast upon her eyes?
Oh, cunning enemy, that to catch a saint,
With saints dost bait thy hook! most dangerous
Is that temptation, that doth goad us on

To sin in loving virtue: ne'er could the strumpet,
With all her double vigour, art and nature,
Once stir my temper; but this virtuous maid
Subdues me quite: ever till this very now,
When men were fond, I smil'd, and wonder'd how. [Exit. Scene SCENE changes to 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 blest 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;
She is with child;* ^note
And he, that got it, sentenc'd: a young man,
More fit to do another such offence,
Than die for this.

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 repent you not,
As that the sin hath brought you to this shame?

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

Duke.
There rest.
Your partner, as I hear, must die, to-morrow,
And I am going with instruction to him;
So grace go with you! benedicite. [Exit. Scene SCENE changes to the Palace. Enter Angelo.

Ang.
When I would pray and think, I think and pray,
To sev'ral subjects: heav'n hath my empty words,
Whilst my invention, hearing not my tongue,
Anchors on Isabel: Heav'n's in my mouth,
And in my heart the strong and swelling evil
Of my conception: the state, whereon I studied,
Is like a good thing, being often read,
Grown sear'd and tedious; yea, my gravity,
Wherein (let no man hear me) I take pride,
Could I with boot change for an idle plume,
Which the air beats for vain. Oh place! oh form!
How often dost thou with thy case, thy habit,
Wrench awe from fools, and tie the wiser souls
To thy false seeming* ^note?
How now, who's there? 'tis Isabel. O heav'ns!

Why does my blood thus muster to my heart?
How now, fair maid? Enter Isabella.

Isab.
I 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.
Ev'n so?—Heav'n keep your Honour! [Going.

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? fie, these filthy vices! 'twere as good
To pardon him, that hath from nature stol'n
A man already made, as to remit
Their saucy sweetness, that do coin heav'n's image,
In stamps that are forbid.

Isab.
'Tis set down so in heav'n, but not in earth.

Ang.
And 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,
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.

Ang.
I talk not of your soul; our compell'd sins
Stand more for number than accompt.

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,
Were equal poise of sin and charity.

Isab.
That I do beg his life, if it be sin,
Heav'n, let me bear it! you granting my suit,
If that be sin, I'll make it my morn-pray'r
To have it added to the faults of mine,
And nothing of yours answer.

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

Isab.
Let me be ignorant, 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:
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.

Isab.
True.

Ang.
Admit no other way to save his life,
(As I subscribe not that, nor any other,
But in the loss of question,) that you his sister,
Finding yourself desir'd of such a person,
Whose credit with the judge, or own great place,
Could fetch your brother from the manacles
Of the all-holding law, and that there were
No earthly mean to save him, but that either
You must lay down the treasures of your body,
To this suppos'd; or else to let him suffer;
What would you do?

Isab.
As much for my poor brother, as myself;
That is, were I under the terms of death,
Th' impression of keen whips I'd wear as rubies,
And strip myself to death, as to a bed,

That longing I've been sick for, ere I'd yield
My body up to shame.* ^note

Ang.
Then must your brother die.

Isab.
And 'twere the cheaper way;
Better it were a brother dy'd, at once;
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.
An ignominious ransom, and free pardon,
Are of two houses; lawful mercy, sure,
Is nothing kin to foul redemption.

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.
Oh pardon me, my Lord; it oft falls out
To have what we would 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.

Ang.
Nay, women are frail, too.

Isab.
Ay, as the glasses where they view themselves;
Which are as easy broke, as they make forms.
For we are soft as our complexions are,
And credulous to false prints.

Ang.
I think it well;
And from this testimony of your sex,
(Since, I suppose, we're 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're more, you're none.
If you be one, as you are well express'd,
By all external warrants, shew 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.

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,
Which seems a little fouler than it is,
To pluck on others.

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

Isab.
Ha! little honour to be much believ'd,
And most pernicious purpose!
I will proclaim thee, Angelo; look for't:
Sign me a present pardon for my brother,
Or, with an out-stretch'd throat, I'll tell the world,
Aloud, what man thou art.

Ang.
Who will believe thee, Isabel?
My unsoil'd name, th' austereness of my life,
My vouch against you, and my place i' th' state,
Will so your accusation over-weigh,
That you shall stifle in your own report,
And smell of calumny. I have begun;
And now I give my sensual race the rein.
Fit thy consent to my sharp appetite,
Lay by all nicety, and* ^note prolixious blushes,
That banish what they sue for: redeem thy brother,
By yielding up thy body to my will:
Or, else he must not only die the death,
But thy unkindness shall his death draw out,
To ling'ring sufferance. Answer me, to-morrow;
Or by th' affection that now guides me most,
I'll prove a tyrant to him. As for you,
Say what you can; my false o'erweighs your true. [Exit.

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

Bidding the law make curt'sy to their will!
I'll to my brother;
Tho' he hath fall'n by prompture of the blood,
Yet hath he in him such a mind of honour,
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.* ^note ACT III. Scene SCENE, The Prison. Enter Duke, Claudio, and Provost.

Duke.
So, then you hope of pardon from Lord Angelo?

Claud.
The miserable have no other medicine,
But only hope: I've hope to live, and am prepar'd to die.

Duke.
Be absolute for death: or death, or life,
Shall thereby be the sweeter. Reason thus with life;
If I do lose thee, I do lose a thing,
That none but fools would reck; a breath thou art,
Servile to all the skiey influences,
That do this habitation, where thou keep'st,
Hourly afflict; meerly thou art death's fool;
For him thou labour'st by thy flight to shun,
And yet runn'st tow'rd him still. Thou art not noble;
For all th' accommodations, that thou bear'st,
Are nurs'd by baseness: thou'rt by no means valiant;
For thou dost fear the soft and tender fork,

Of a poor worm. Thy best of rest is sleep,
And that thou oft provok'st; yet grosly fear'st
Thy death, which is no more.
Happy thou art not;
For what thou hast not, still thou striv'st to get;
And what thou hast, forget'st.
If thou art rich, thou'rt poor;
For, like an ass, whose back with ingots bows,
Thou bear'st thy heavy riches but a journey,
* ^noteAnd death unloadeth thee. Friend thou hast none;
For thy own bowels, which do call thee Sire,
The meer effusion of thy proper loins,
Do curse the Gout, Sciatica, and Rheum,
For ending thee no sooner. Thou hast nor youth, nor age,
But as it were an after-dinner's sleep,
Dreaming on both; for all thy blessed youth
Becomes as aged; and when thou'rt old and rich,
Thou hast neither heat, affection, limb, nor beauty,
To make thy riches pleasant. What's yet in this,
That bears the name of life? yet in this life
Lie hid more thousand deaths; yet death we fear,
That makes these odds all even† ^note.

Claud.
I humbly thank you.
To sue to live, I find, I seek to die;
And, seeking death, find life: let it come on. Enter Isabella.

Isab.
What, hoa? peace here; grace and good company!

Prov.
Who's there? come in: the wish deserves a welcome.

Duke.
Dear Sir, ere long I'll visit you again.

Claud.
Most holy Sir, I thank you.

Isab.
My business is a word, or two, with Claudio.

Prov.
And very welcome. Look, Signior, here's your sister.

Duke.
Provost, a word with you.

Provost.
As many as you please.

Duke.
Bring me where I may be conceal'd,
Yet hear them speak. [Exeunt Duke and Provost.

Claud.
Now, sister, what's the comfort?

Isab.
Why, as all comforts are; most good in deed:
Lord Angelo, having affairs to heav'n,
Intends you for his swift ambassador;
Where you shall be an everlasting lieger.
Therefore your best appointment make with speed,
To-morrow you set on.

Claud.
Is there no remedy?

Isab.
None, but such remedy as, to save a head,
To cleave a heart in twain.

Claud.
But is there any?

Isab.
Yes, brother, you may live:
There is a devilish mercy in the judge,
If you'll implore it, that will free your life,
But fetter you till death.

Claud.
But in what nature?

Isab.
In such a one, as you, consenting to't,
Would bark your honour from that trunk you bear,
And leave you naked.

Claud.
Let me know the point.

Isab.
Oh, I do fear thee, Claudio; and I quake,
Lest thou a fev'rous life should'st entertain,
And six or seven winters more respect,
Than a perpetual honour. Dar'st thou die?
The sense of death is most in apprehension;
And the poor beetle, that we tread upon,
In corp'ral sufferance finds a pang as great,
As when a giant dies* ^note.

Claud.
Why give you me this shame?
Think you, I can a resolution fetch
From flow'ry tenderness? if I must die,
I will encounter darkness as a bride,
And hug it in mine arms.

Isab.
There spake my brother; there my father's grave
Did utter forth a voice. Yes, thou must die;
Thou art too noble to conserve a life,
In base appliances. This outward sainted deputy,
Yet is a devil.

Claud.
The princely Angelo?

Isab.
Oh, 'tis the cunning livery of hell.
Dost thou think, Claudio,
If I would yield him my virginity,
Thou might'st be freed?

Claud.
Oh, heavens! it cannot be.

Isab.
Yes, he would give't thee for this rank offence
So to offend him still. This night's the time,
That I should do what I abhor to name,
Or else thou dy'st, to-morrow.

Claud.
That shalt not do't.

Isab.
Oh, were it but my life,
I'd throw it down for your deliverance,
As frankly as a pin* ^note.

Claud.
Thanks, dearest Isabel.

Isab.
Be ready, Claudio, for your death, to-morrow.

Claud.
Yes. Has he affections in him,
That thus can make him bite the law by th' nose,
When he would force it? sure, it is no sin;
Or of the deadly seven it is the least.

Isab.
Which is the least?

Claud.
If it were damnable, he being so wise,
Why would he for the momentary trick
Be perdurably fin'd? oh, Isabel!

Isab.
What says my brother?

Claud.
Death's a fearful thing.

Isab.
And shamed life a hateful.

Claud.
Ay, but to die, and go we know not where* ^note:
To lie in cold obstruction, and to rot;
This sensible warm motion to become
A kneaded clod; and the delighted spirit
To bathe in fiery floods, or to reside
In thrilling regions of thick ribbed ice;
To be imprison'd in the viewless winds,
And blown with restless violence round about
The pendent world; or to be worse than worst
Of those, that lawless and incertain thoughts† ^note
Imagine howling—'tis too horrible!
The weariest and most loathed worldly life,
That age, ach, penury, imprisonment
Can lay on nature, is a paradise,
To what we fear of death.

Isab.
Alas! alas!

Claud.
Sweet sister, let me live;
What sin you do to save a brother's life,
Nature dispenses with the deed so far,
That it becomes a virtue.

Isab.
Oh faithless coward! oh dishonest wretch!
Wilt thou be made a man out of my vice?
&blquo;Is't not a kind of incest, to take life
&blquo;From thine own sister's shame? what should I think?
&blquo;Heav'n grant my mother play'd my father fair‡ ^note!
&blquo;For such a warped slip of wilderness,
&blquo;Ne'er issu'd from his blood.&brquo; Take my defiance:
Die, perish, might my only bending down,
Reprieve thee from thy fate, it should proceed.

I'll pray a thousand prayers for thy death;
No word to save thee.

Claud.
Nay, hear me, Isabel.

Isab.
Oh, fie, fie, fie!
Thy sin's not accidental, but a trade;
Mercy to thee would prove itself a sin;
'Tis best, that thou dy'st quickly.

Claud.
Oh hear me, Isabella. To them, enter Duke and Provost.

Duke.
Vouchsafe a word, young sister; but one word.

Isab.
What is your will?

Duke.

Might you dispense with your leisure, I would by and by have some speech with you: the satisfaction I would require, is likewise your own benefit.

Isab.

I have no superfluous leisure; my stay must be stolen out of other affairs: but I will attend, you a while.

Duke. [Aside to Claudio.]

Son, I have over-heard what hath past between you and your sister. Angelo had never the purpose to corrupt her; only he hath made an assay of her virtue, to practise his judgment with the disposition of natures. She, having the truth of honour in her, hath made him that gracious denial, which he is most glad to receive: I am confessor to Angelo, and I know this to be true; therefore prepare yourself to death. Do not satisfy your resolution with hopes that are fallible; to-morrow you must die; go to your knees, and make ready.

Claud.

Let me ask my sister pardon. Pardon, dearest Isabel; I am so out of love with life, that I will sue to be rid of it.

Duke.

Hold you there; farewel. Provost, a word with you.

Prov.

What's your will, father?

Duke.

That you will leave me a while with the maid: my mind promises with my habit, no loss shall touch her by my company.

Prov.

In good time.

Duke.

The hand, that made you fair, hath made you good; the goodness that is cheap in beauty, makes beauty brief in goodness; but grace, being the soul of your complexion, shall keep the body of it ever fair. The assault, that Angelo hath made on you, fortune hath convey'd to my understanding; and, but that frailty hath examples for his falling, I should wonder at Angelo: how will you do to content this substitute, and to save your brother?

Isab.

I am now going to resolve him: I had rather my brother die by the law, than my son should be unlawfully born. But, oh, how much is the good Duke deceiv'd in Angelo! If ever he return, and I can speak to him, I will open my lips in vain, or discover his government.

Duke.

That shall not be much amiss; yet, as the matter now stands, he will avoid your accusation; he made trial of you, only. Therefore fasten your ear on my advisings: to the love I have in doing good, a remedy presents itself. I do make myself believe, that you may most uprightly do a poor wronged lady a merited benefit; redeem your brother from the angry law; do no stain to your own gracious person; and much please the absent Duke, if, peradventure, he shall ever return to have hearing of this business.

Isab.

Let me hear you speak farther; I have spirit to any thing, that appears not foul in the truth of my spirit.

Duke.

Virtue is bold, and goodness is never fearful: have you not heard speak of Mariana, the sister of Frederick, the great soldier who miscarried at sea?

Isab.

I have heard of the lady, and good words went with her name.

Duke.

Her should this Angelo have marry'd; was affianc'd to her by oath, and the nuptial appointed: between which time of the contract, and limit of the solemnity, her brother Frederick was wreckt at sea, having in that perish'd vessel the dowry of his sister. But mark, how heavily this befel to the poor gentlewoman; there she lost a noble and renowned brother,

in his love toward her ever most kind and natural; with him the portion and sinew of her fortune, her marriage-dowry; with both, her husband, this well-seeming Angelo.

Isab.

Can this be so? did Angelo so leave her?

Duke.

Left her in her tears, and dry'd not one of them with his comfort; swallow'd his vows whole, pretending, in her, discoveries of dishonour: in few, bestow'd her on her own lamentation, which she yet wears for his sake; and he, a marble to her tears, is washed with them, but relents not.

Isab.

What a merit were it in death, to take this poor maid from the world! what corruption in this life, that it will let this man live! but how out of this can she avail?

Duke.

It is a rupture that you may easily heal; and the cure of it not only saves your brother, but keeps you from dishonour in doing it.

Isab.

Shew me how, good father.

Duke.

This fore-nam'd maid hath yet in her the continuance of her first affection; his unjust unkindness (that in all reason should have quenched her love) hath, like an impediment in the current, made it more violent and unruly. Go you to Angelo, answer his requiring with a plausible obedience; agree with his demands; only refer yourself to this advantage: first, that your stay with him may not be long; that the time may have all shadow and silence in it; and the place answer to convenience. This being granted, in course now follows all: we shall advise this wronged maid to stead up your appointment, go in your place; if the encounter acknowledge itself hereafter, it may compel him to her recompence; and here by this is your brother saved, your honour untainted, the poor Mariana advantaged, and the corrupt deputy scaled. The maid will I frame, and make fit for this attempt: if you think well to carry this as you may, the doubleness of the benefit defends the deceit from reproof. What think you of it?

Isab.

The image of it gives me content already; and, I trust, it will grow to a most prosperous perfection* ^note.

Duke.

Haste you speedily to Angelo; if for this night he intreat you to his bed, give him promise of satisfaction. I will presently to St. Luke's; there at the moated grange resides this dejected Mariana; fare you well.

Isab.

I thank you for this comfort; fare you well, good father.