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.

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