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

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