Angelo.
We must not make a scare-crow of the law,
Setting it up to fear the birds of prey,
And 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,
Whom I believe to be most strait in virtue,
That, in the working of your own affections,
Had time coher'd with place, or place with wishing,
Or that the resolute acting of your blood
Could have attain'd th' effect of your own purpose;
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.

Ang.
'Tis one thing to be tempted, Escalus,
Another thing to fall. I not deny,
The jury, passing on the prisoner's life,
May in the sworn twelve have a thief or two,
Guiltier than him they try; what's open made to justice,
That justice seizes on. What know the laws,
That thieves do pass on thieves? 'tis very pregnant,
The jewel that we find, we stoop and take't,
Because we see it; but what we do not see,
We tread upon, and never think of it.
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.— Exit Prov.

Escal.
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. Enter Elbow, Froth, Clown, and Officers.

Elb.

Come, bring them away; if these be good people in a common-weal, that do nothing but use their abuses in common houses, I know no law; bring them away.

Ang.

How now, Sir, what's your name? and what's the matter?

Elb.

If it please your Honour, I am the poor Duke's constable, and my name is Elbow; I do lean upon justice, Sir, and do bring in here before your good Honour two notorious benefactors.

Ang.

Benefactors? well; what benefactors are they? are they not malefactors?

Elb.

If it please your Honour, I know not well what they are; but precise villains they are, that I am sure of; and void of all profanation in the world, that good christians ought to have.

Escal.

This comes off well; here's a wise Officer.

Ang.

Go to: what quality are they of? Elbow is your name? Why dost thou not speak, Elbow?

Clown.

He cannot, Sir; he's out at elbow.

Ang.

What are you, Sir?

Elb.

He, Sir? a tapster, Sir; parcel-bawd; one that serves a bad woman; whose house, Sir, was, as they say, pluckt down in the suburbs; and now she professes a hot-house; which, I think, is a very ill house too.

Escal.

How know you that?

Elb.

My wife, Sir, whom I detest before heav'n and your Honour,—

Escal.

How! thy wife?

Elb.

Ay, Sir; whom, I thank heav'n, is an honest woman;—

Escal.

Dost thou detest her therefore?

Elb.

I say, Sir, I will detest my self also, as well as she, that this house, if it be not a bawd's house, it is pity of her life, for it is a naughty house.

Escal.

How dost thou know that, constable?

Elb.

Marry, Sir, by my wife; who, if she had been a woman cardinally given, might have been accused in fornication, adultery, and all uncleanness there.

Escal.

By the woman's means?

Elb.

Ay, Sir, by mistress Over-don's means, but as she spit in his face, so she defy'd him.

Clown.

Sir, if it please your Honour, this is not so.

Elb.

Prove it before these varlets here, thou honourable man, prove it.

Escal.

Do you hear, how he misplaces?

Clown.

Sir, she came in great with child; and longing (saving your Honour's reverence) for stew'd prewns; Sir, we had but two in the house, which at that very distant time stood, as it were, in a fruit-dish, a dish of some three pence; (your Honours have seen such dishes; they are not China dishes, but very good dishes.)

Escal.

Go to, go to; no matter for the dish, Sir.

Clown.

No, indeed, Sir, not of a pin; you are therein in the right: but to the point; as I say, this mistress Elbow, being, as I say, with child, and being great belly'd, and longing, as I said, for prewns; and having but Two in the dish, as I said; master Froth here, this very man, having eaten the rest, as I said,

and, as I say, paying for them very honestly; for, as you know, master Froth, I could not give you three pence again.

Froth.

No, indeed.

Clown.

Very well; you being then, if you be remembred, cracking the stones of the foresaid prewns.

Froth.

Ay, so I did, indeed.

Clown.

Why, very well; I telling you then, if you be remembred, that such a one, and such a one, were past cure of the thing you wot of, unless they kept very good diet, as I told you.

Froth.

All this is true.

Clown.

Why, very well then.

Escal.

Come, you are a tedious fool; to the purpose: what was done to Elbow's wife, that he hath cause to complain of? come to what was done to her.

Clown.

Sir, your Honour cannot come to that yet.

Escal.

No, Sir, nor I mean it not.

Clown.

Sir, but you shall come to it, by your Honour's leave: and, I beseech you, look into master Froth here, Sir, a man of fourscore pound a year; whose father dy'd at Hallowmas. Was't not at Hallowmas, master Froth?

Froth.

All-holland eve.

Clown.

Why, very well; I hope here be truths. He, Sir, sitting, as I say, in a lower chair, Sir; 'twas in the bunch of grapes, where, indeed, you have a delight to sit, have you not?

Froth.

I have so, because it is an open room, and good for winter.

Clown.

Why, very well then; I hope, here be truths.

Ang.
This will last out a night in Russia,
When nights are longest there. I'll take my leave,
And leave you to the hearing of the Cause;
Hoping, you'll find good cause to whip them all.

Escal.

I think no less. Good morrow to your Lordship.

Now, Sir, come on: what was done to Elbow's wife, once more?

Clown.

Once, Sir? there was nothing done to her once.

Elb.

I beseech you, Sir, ask him what this man did to my wife.

Clown.

I beseech your Honour, ask me.

Escal.

Well, Sir, what did this gentleman to her?

Clown.

I beseech you, Sir, look in this gentleman's face; good master Froth, look upon his Honour; 'tis for a good purpose; doth your Honour mark his face?

Escal.

Ay, Sir, very well.

Clown.

Nay, I beseech you, mark it well.

Escal.

Well, I do so.

Clown.

Doth your Honour see any harm in his face?

Escal.

Why, no.

Clown.

I'll be suppos'd upon a book, his face is the worst thing about him: good then; if his face be the worst thing about him, how could master Froth do the constable's wife any harm? I would know that of your Honour.

Escal.

He's in the right; constable, what say you to it?

Elb.

First, an it like you, the house is a respected house; next, this is a respected fellow; and his mistress is a respected woman.

Clown.

By this hand, Sir, his wife is a more respected person than any of us all.

Elb.

Varlet, thou liest; thou liest, wicked varlet; the time is yet to come, that she was ever respected with man, woman, or child.

Clown.

Sir, she was respected with him before he marry'd with her.

Escal.

Which is the wiser here? Justice, or Iniquity?— Is this true?

Elb.

O thou caitiff! O thou varlet! O thou wicked Hannibal! I respected with her, before I was marry'd to her? If ever I was respected with her, or she with me, let not your Worship think me the poor Duke's officer; prove this, thou wicked Hannibal, or I'll have mine action of battery on thee.

Escal.

If he took you a box o'th' ear, you might have your action of slander too.

Elb.

Marry, I thank your good Worship for't: what is't your Worship's pleasure I shall do with this wicked caitiff?

Escal.

Truly, officer, because he hath some offences in him, that thou wouldst discover if thou couldst, let him continue in his courses, 'till thou know'st what they are.

Elb.

Marry, I thank your Worship for it; thou seest, thou wicked varlet now, what's come upon thee. Thou art to continue now, thou varlet; thou art to continue.

Escal.

Where were you born, friend?

Froth.

Here in Vienna, Sir.

Escal.

Are you of fourscore pounds a year?

Froth.

Yes, and't please you, Sir.

Escal.

So. What trade are you of, Sir?

Clown.

A tapster, a poor widow's tapster.

Escal.

Your mistress's name?

Clown.

Mistress Over-don.

Escal.

Hath she had any more than one husband?

Clown.

Nine, Sir: Over-don by the last.

Escal.

Nine? Come hither to me, master Froth: master Froth, I would not have you acquainted with tapsters; they will draw you, master Froth, and you will hang them. Get you gone, and let me hear no more of you.

Froth.

I thank your Worship; for mine own part, I never come into any room in a taphouse, but I am drawn in.

Escal.

Well; no more of it, master Froth; farewel. [Exit Froth. Come you hither to me, master tapster; what's your name, master tapster?

Clown.

Pompey.

Escal.

What else?

Clown.

Bum, Sir.

Escal.

Troth, and your bum is the greatest thing about you, so that, in the beastliest sense, 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.

Clown.

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?

Clown.

If the law will allow it, Sir.

Escal.

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

Clown.

Does your Worship mean to geld and splay all the youth in the city?

Escal.

No, Pompey.

Clown.

Truly, Sir, in my poor opinion, they will to't then. If your Worship will take order 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.

Clown.

If you head and hang all that offend that way but for ten years together, you'll be glad to give out a Commission for more heads: if this law hold in Vienna ten years, (8) ^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.

Clown.

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

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 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 chuse 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. What's a 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 it self, that oft looks so;
Pardon is still the nurse of second woe:
But yet, poor Claudio! there's no remedy.
Come, Sir. [Exeunt. 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; I'll know
His pleasure; may be, he'll 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 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 sister-hood,
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.

Ang.
Stay yet a while.—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;
For which I must not plead, but that 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 cipher 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.

Lucio.
You are too cold.

Isab.
Too late? why, no; I, that do speak a word,
May call it back again: Well believe this,(9) ^note

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.
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.
He's not prepar'd for death: Even for our kitchins
We kill the fowl, of season; shall we serve heav'n
With less respect, than we do minister
To our gross selves? 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. Now, 'tis awake;
Takes note of what is done; and, like a Prophet,
Looks in a glass that shews what future evils,
Or new, or by remissness new conceiv'd,
And so in progress to be hatch'd and born,
Are now to have no successive degrees;
But here they live, to end.

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 tyrannnous,
To use it like a Giant.

Lucio.
That's well said.

Isab.
Could Great men thunder
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 fantastick tricks before high heav'n,
As makes the angels weep; who, with our spleens,(10) ^note

Would all themselves laugh mortal.

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

Prov.
Pray heav'n, she win him!

Isab.
We cannot weigh our brother with your self:(11) ^note
Great men may jest with Saints; 'tis wit in them;
But, in the less, foul prophanation.

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

Isab.
That in the Captain's but a cholerick word,
Which in the Soldier is flat Blasphemy.

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

Ang.
Why do you put these sayings upon me?

Isab.
Because authority, tho' it err like others,
Hath yet a kind of medicine in it self,
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: good my lord, turn back.

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.

Ang.
Well; come to morrow.

Lucio.
Go to; 'tis well; away.

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?
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? what is't I dream on?
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.

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