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,
As if I did but only chew its name;
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 fear'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? blood, thou art but blood:
Let's write good Angel on the Devil's horn;
'Tis not the devil's crest.

Enter Servant.
How now, who's there?—

Serv.
One Isabel, a sister, desires access to you.

Ang.
Teach her the way. Oh heav'ns!
Why does my blood thus muster to my heart,
Making both That unable for it self,
And dispossessing all my other parts
Of necessary fitness?
So play the foolish throngs with one that swoons;
Come all to help him, and so stop the air
By which he should revive: and even so
The gen'ral Subjects to a well-wisht King
Quit their own part, and in obsequious fondness
Crowd to his presence, where their untaught love
Must needs appear offence. How now, fair maid? Enter Isabella.

Isab.
I am 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 awhile; 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 sawcy sweetness, that do coin heav'n's image
In Stamps that are forbid: 'tis all as easie,
Falsely to take away a life true made;
As to put Metal in restrained means,
To make a false one.

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 poize 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 your answer.

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

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 it self: as these black masques
Proclaim an en-shield beauty ten times louder,
Than beauty could display'd. 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 your self 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 my self;
That is, were I under the terms of death,
Th'impression of keen whips I'd wear as rubies,
And strip my self to death, as to a bed
That longing I've been sick for, ere I'd yield
My body up to shame.

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,(13) ^note

If not a feodary, but only he,
Owe, and succeed by weakness!

Ang.
Nay, women are frail too.

Isab.
Ay, as the glasses where they view themselves;
Which are as easy broke, as they make forms.
Women! help heav'n; men their creation mar,
In profiting by them: nay, call us ten times frail;
For we are soft as our complexions are,
And credulous to false prints.

Ang.
I think it well;
And from this testimony of your own 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! seeming, seeming!—
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 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,
By 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 curtsie to their Will;
Hooking both right and wrong to th' appetite,
To follow, as it draws. 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.

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