Scene 2
SCENE, The Street.
Enter Lucio, and two gentlemen.
Lucio.
If the Duke, with the other Dukes, come not
to composition with the King of Hungary,
why, then all the Dukes fall upon the King.
1 Gent.
Heav'n grant us its peace, but not the King
of Hungary's!
2 Gent.
Amen.
Lucio.
Thou conclud'st like the sanctimonious Pirate,
that went to sea with the ten Commandments, but
scrap'd one out of the Table.
2 Gent.
Thou shalt not steal.—
Lucio.
Ay, that he raz'd.
1 Gent.
Why, 'twas a Commandment to command
the captain and all the rest from their functions; they
put forth to steal; there's not a soldier of us all, that,
-- 315 --
in the thanksgiving before meat, do relish the petition
well that prays for Peace.
2 Gent.
I never heard any soldier dislike it.
Lucio.
I believe thee: for, I think, thou never wast
where grace was said.
2 Gent.
No? a dozen times at least.
1 Gent.
What? in meeter?
Lucio.
In any proportion, or in any language.
1 Gent.
I think, or in any religion.
Lucio.
Ay, why not? grace is grace, despight of
all controversie; as for example, thou thy self art a
wicked villain, despight of all grace.
1 Gent.
Well; there went but a pair of sheers between
us.
Lucio.
I grant; as there may between the lists and
the velvet. Thou art the list.
1 Gent.
And thou the velvet; thou art good velvet;
thou'rt a three-pil'd piece, I warrant thee: I had as
lief be a list of an English kersey, as be pil'd, as thou
art pil'd, for a French velvet. Do I speak feelingly
now?
Lucio.
I think, thou dost; and, indeed, with most
painful feeling of thy speech: I will, out of thine own
confession, learn to begin thy health, but, whilst I live,
forget to drink after thee.
1. Gent.
I think, I have done my self wrong, have I
not?
2 Gent.
Yes, that thou hast; whether thou art tainted,
or free.
Lucio.
Behold, behold, where Madam Mitigation comes.
1 Gent.
I have purchas'd as many diseases under her
roof, as come to—
2 Gent.
To what, I pray?
1 Gent.
Judge.
2 Gent.
To three thousand dollars a year.
1 Gent.
Ay, and more.
Lucio.
A French crown more.(3) note
-- 316 --
1 Gent.
Thou art always figuring diseases in me; but
thou art full of error; I am sound.
Lucio.
Nay, not as one would say healthy; but so
sound, as things that are hollow; thy bones are hollow;
impiety hath made a feast of thee.
Enter Bawd.
1 Gent.
How now, which of your hips has the most
profound sciatica?
Bawd.
Well, well; there's one yonder arrested, and
carry'd to prison, was worth five thousand of you
all.
1 Gent.
Who's that, I pr'ythee?
Bawd.
Marry, Sir, that's Claudio; Signior Claudio.
1 Gent.
Claudio to prison? 'tis not so.
Bawd.
Nay, but I know, 'tis so; I saw him arrested;
saw him carry'd away; and, which is more,
within these three days his head is to be chopt off.
Lucio.
But, after all this fooling, I would not have
it so: art thou sure of this?
Bawd.
I am too sure of it; and it is for getting
madam Julietta with child.
Lucio.
Believe me, this may be; he promised to
meet me two hours since, and he was ever precise in
promise-keeping.
2 Gent.
Besides, you know, it draws something near
to the speech we had to such a purpose.
1 Gent.
But most of all agreeing with the Proclamation.
Lucio.
Away, let's go learn the truth of it.
[Exe.
-- 317 --
Manet Bawd.
Bawd.
Thus, what with the war, what with the
sweat, what with the gallows, and what with poverty,
I am custom-shrunk. How now? what's the news
with you?
Enter Clown.
Clown.
Yonder man is carry'd to prison.
Bawd.
Well; what has he done?
Clown.
A woman.
Bawd.
But what's his offence?
Clown.
Groping for trouts in a peculiar river.
Bawd.
What? is there a maid with child by him?
Clown.
No; but there's a woman with maid by him.
You have not heard of the Proclamation, have you?
Bawd.
What Proclamation, man?
Clown.
All houses in the suburbs of Vienna must be
pluck'd down.
Bawd.
And what shall become of those in the city?
Clown.
They shall stand for seed; they had gone
down too, but that a wise burger put in for them.
Bawd.
But shall all our houses of resort in the suburbs
be pull'd down?
Clown.
To the ground, mistress.
Bawd.
Why, here's a change, indeed, in the command
wealth; what shall become of me?
Clown.
Come, fear not you; good counsellors lack
no clients; though you change your place, you need
not change your trade: I'll be your tapster still. Courage,
there will be pity taken on you; you that have
worn your eyes almost out in the service, you will be
considered.
Bawd.
What's to do here, Thomas Tapster? let's
withdraw.
Clown.
Here comes Signior Claudio, led by the Provost
to prison; and there's Madam Juliet.
[Ex. Bawd and Clown.
Enter Provost, Claudio, Juliet, and Officers. Lucio and two Gentlemen.
Claud.
Fellow, why dost thou show me thus to th' world?
-- 318 --
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 heaven; on whom it will, it will;
On whom it will not, so; yet still 'tis just.
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 the 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.
Letchery?
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
letchery so look'd after?
Claud.
Thus stands it with 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,
-- 319 --
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,
(Whether it be the fault, and glimpse, of newness;
Or whether that the body publick 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,
Which have, like unscour'd armour, hung by th' wall
So long, that nineteen Zodiacks have gone round,(4) note
And none of them been worn; and, for a name,
Now puts the drowsie 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 her self assay him;
I have great hope in that; for in her youth
There is a prone and speechless dialect,
Such as moves men! beside, she 'hath prosp'rous art
When she will play with reason and discourse,
And well she can persuade.
-- 320 --
Lucio.
I pray, she may; as well for the encouragement
of the like, which else would stand under grievous
imposition; as for the enjoying of thy life, who
I would be sorry should be thus foolishly lost at a
game of tick-tack. I'll to her.
Claud.
I thank you, good friend Lucio.
Lucio.
Within two hours,—
Claud.
Come, officer, away.
[Exeunt.
Lewis Theobald [1733], The works of Shakespeare: in seven volumes. Collated with the Oldest Copies, and Corrected; With notes, Explanatory and Critical; By Mr. Theobald (Printed for A. Bettesworth and C. Hitch [and] J. Tonson [etc.], London) [word count] [S11201].
