Duke.
So, then you hope of pardon from lord Angelo?

Claud.
The miserable have no other medicine,
But only Hope: I've hope to live, and am prepar'd to die.

Duke.
Be absolute for death: or death, or life,
Shall thereby be the sweeter. Reason thus with life;(14) ^note

For thou dost fear the soft and tender fork
Of a poor worm. Thy best of Rest is sleep,
And that thou oft provok'st; yet grosly fear'st
Thy death, which is no more. Thou'rt not thy self;
For thou exist'st on many a thousand grains,
That issue out of dust. Happy thou art not;
For what thou hast not, still thou striv'st to get;
And what thou hast, forgett'st. Thou art not certain;
For thy complexion shifts to strange effects,
After the moon. If thou art rich, thou'rt poor;
For, like an ass, whose back with ingots bows,
Thou bear'st thy heavy riches but a journey,
And death unloadeth thee. Friend thou hast none;
For thy own bowels, which do call thee Sire,
The meer effusion of thy proper loins,
Do curse the Gout, Serpigo, and the Rheum,
For ending thee no sooner. Thou hast nor youth, nor age;(15) ^note

Thou hast neither heat, affection, limb, nor beauty
To make thy riches pleasant. What's yet in this,
That bears the name of life? yet in this life
Lye hid more thousand deaths; yet death we fear,
That makes these odds all even.

Claud.
I humbly thank you.
To sue to live, I find, I seek to die;
And, seeking death, find life: let it come on. Enter Isabella.

Isab.
What, ho? peace here: grace and good company!

Prov.
Who's there? come in: the wish deserves a welcome.

Duke.
Dear Sir, ere long I'll visit you again.

Claud.
Most holy Sir, I thank you.

Isab.
My Business is a word, or two, with Claudio.

Prov.
And very welcome. Look, Signior, here's your sister.

Duke.
Provost, a word with you.

Prov.
As many as you please.

Duke.
Bring them to speak where I may be conceal'd,
Yet hear them. [Exeunt Duke and Provost.

Claud.
Now, sister, what's the comfort?

Isab.
Why, as all comforts are; most good in Deed:
Lord Angelo, having affairs to heav'n,
Intends you for his swift ambassador;
Where you shall be an everlasting leiger.
Therefore your best appointment make with speed,
To morrow you set on.

Claud.
Is there no remedy?

Isab.
None, but such remedy, as to save a head,
To cleave a heart in twain.

Claud.
But is there any?

Isab.
Yes, brother, you may live:
There is a devilish mercy in the judge,
If you'll implore it, that will free your life,
But fetter you 'till death.

Claud.
Perpetual durance?

Isab.
Ay, just; perpetual durance, a restraint,
Tho' all the world's vastidity you had,
To a determin'd scope.

Claud.
But in what nature?

Isab.
In such a one, as you, consenting to't,
Would bark your honour from that trunk you bear,
And leave you naked.

Claud.
Let me know the point.

Isab.
Oh, I do fear thee, Claudio; and I quake,
Lest thou a fev'rous life should'st entertain,
And six or seven Winters more respect
Than a perpetual Honour. Dar'st thou die?
The sense of death is most in apprehension;
And the poor Beetle, that we tread upon,
In corp'ral sufferance finds a pang as great,
As when a Giant dies.

Claud.
Why give you me this shame?
Think you, I can a resolution fetch
From flow'ry tenderness? if I must die,
I will encounter darkness as a bride,
And hug it in mine arms.

Isab.
There spake my brother; there my father's grave
Did utter forth a voice. Yes, thou must die:
Thou art too noble to conserve a life
In base appliances. This outward-sainted Deputy,
Whose settled visage and delib'rate word
Nips youth i'th' head; and follies doth emmew,
As faulcon doth the fowl; is yet a devil:
His filth within being cast, he would appear
A pond as deep as hell.

Claud.
The Princely Angelo?

Isab.
Oh, 'tis the cunning livery of hell,
The damned'st body to invest and cover
In Princely guards. Dost thou think, Claudio,
If I would yield him my virginity,
Thou might'st be freed?

Claud.
Oh, heavens! it cannot be.

Isab.
Yes, he would give't thee; from this rank offence

So to offend him still. This night's the time
That I should do what I abhor to name,
Or else thou dy'st to morrow.

Claud.
Thou shalt not do't.

Isab.
Oh, were it but my life,
I'd throw it down for your deliverance
As frankly as a pin.

Claud.
Thanks, dearest Isabel.

Isab.
Be ready, Claudio, for your death to morrow.

Claud.
Yes. Has he affections in him,
That thus can make him bite the law by th' nose,
When he would force it? sure, it is no sin;
Or of the deadly seven it is the least.

Isab.
Which is the least?

Claud.
If it were damnable, he being so wise,
Why would he for the momentary trick
Be perdurably fin'd? oh Isabel!

Isab.
What says my brother?

Claud.
Death's a fearful thing.

Isab.
And shamed life a hateful.

Claud.
Ay, but to die, and go we know not where:
To lye in cold obstruction, and to rot;
This sensible warm motion to become
A kneaded clod; and the delighted spirit
To bathe in fiery floods, or to reside
In thrilling regions of thick-ribb'd ice,
To be imprison'd in the viewless winds,
And blown with restless violence round about
The pendant world; or to be worse than worst
Of those, that lawless and incertain thoughts
Imagine howling;—'tis too horrible!
The weariest and most loathed worldly life,(16) ^note

That age, ach, penury, imprisonment
Can lay on nature, is a paradise
To what we fear of death.

Isab.
Alas! alas!

Claud.
Sweet sister, let me live;
What sin you do to save a brother's life,
Nature dispenses with the deed so far,
That it becomes a virtue.

Isab.
Oh you beast!
Oh faithless coward! oh dishonest wretch!
Wilt thou be made a man, out of my vice?
Is't not a kind of incest, to take life
From thine own sister's shame? what should I think?
Heav'n grant, my mother plaid my father fair:
For such a warped slip of wilderness
Ne'er issu'd from his blood. Take my defiance,
Die, perish! might my only bending down
Reprieve thee from thy fate, it should proceed.
I'll pray a thousand prayers for thy death;
No word to save thee.

Claud.
Nay, hear me, Isabel.

Isab.
Oh, fie, fie, fie!
Thy sin's not accidental, but a trade;
Mercy to thee would prove it self a bawd;
'Tis best, that thou dy'st quickly.

Claud.
Oh hear me, Isabella. To them, Enter Duke and Provost.

Duke.

Vouchsafe a word, young sister; but one word.

Isab.

What is your will?

Duke.

Might you dispense with your leisure, I would by and by have some speech with you: the satisfaction I would require, is likewise your own benefit.

Isab.

I have no superfluous leisure; my stay must be

stolen out of other affairs: but I will attend you a while.

Duke.

Son, I have over-heard what hath past between you and your sister. Angelo had never the purpose to corrupt her; only he hath made an assay of her virtue, to practise his judgment with the disposition of natures. She, having the truth of honour in her, hath made him that gracious denial, which he is most glad to receive: I am Confessor to Angelo, and I know this to be true; therefore prepare your self to death. Do not satisfie your resolution with hopes that are fallible; to morrow you must die; go to your knees, and make ready.

Claud.

Let me ask my sister pardon; I am so out of love with life, that I will sue to be rid of it.

Duke.

Hold you there; farewel. Provost, a word with you.

Prov.

What's your will, father?

Duke.

That now you are come, you will be gone; leave me a while with the maid: my mind promises with my habit, no loss shall touch her by my company.

Prov.

In good time.

Duke.

The hand, that hath made you fair, hath made you good; the goodness that is cheap in beauty, makes beauty brief in goodness; but grace, being the soul of your complection, shall keep the body of it ever fair. The assault, that Angelo hath made to you, fortune hath convey'd to my understanding; and but that frailty hath examples for his falling, I should wonder at Angelo: how will you do to content this Substitute, and to save your brother?

Isab.

I am now going to resolve him: I had rather my brother die by the law, than my son should be unlawfully born. But, oh, how much is the good Duke deceiv'd in Angelo? if ever he return, and I can speak to him, I will open my lips in vain, or discover his Government.

Duke.

That shall not be much amiss; yet as the matter now stands, he will avoid your accusation; he made tryal of you only. Therefore fasten your ear

on my advisings: to the love I have in doing good, a remedy presents it self. I do make my self believe, that you may most uprightly do a poor wronged lady a merited benefit; redeem your brother from the angry law; do no stain to your own gracious person; and much please the absent Duke, if, peradventure, he shall ever return to have hearing of this business.

Isab.

Let me hear you speak farther; I have spirit to do any thing, that appears not foul in the truth of my spirit.

Duke.

Virtue is bold, and Goodness never fearful: have you not heard speak of Mariana, the sister of Frederick, the great soldier who miscarried at sea?

Isab.

I have heard of the lady, and good words went with her name.

Duke.

Her should this Angelo have marry'd; was affianc'd to her by oath, and the nuptial appointed: between which time of the contract, and limit of the solemnity, her brother Frederick was wrackt at sea, having in that perish'd vessel the dowry of his sister. But mark, how heavily this befel to the poor gentlewoman; there she lost a noble and renowned brother, in his love toward her ever most kind and natural; with him the portion and sinew of her fortune, her marriage-dowry; with both, her combinate husband, this well-seeming Angelo.

Isab.

Can this be so? did Angelo so leave her?

Duke.

Left her in her tears, and dry'd not one of them with his comfort; swallow'd his vows whole, pretending, in her, discoveries of dishonour: in few, bestow'd her on her own lamentation, which she yet wears for his sake; and he, a marble to her tears, is washed with them, but relents not.

Isab.

What a merit were it in death to take this poor maid from the world! what corruption in this life, that it will let this man live! but how out of this can she avail?

Duke.

It is a rupture that you may easily heal; and the cure of it not only saves your brother, but keeps you from dishonour in doing it.

Isab.

Shew me how, good father.

Duke.

This fore-nam'd maid hath yet in her the continuance of her first affection; his unjust unkindness, (that in all reason should have quenched her love,) hath, like an impediment in the current, made it more violent and unruly. Go you to Angelo, answer his requiring with a plausible obedience; agree with his demands to the point; only refer yourself to this advantage: first, that your stay with him may not be long; that the time may have all shadow and silence in it; and the place answer to convenience. This being granted, in course now follows all: we shall advise this wronged maid to stead up your appointment, go in your place; if the encounter acknowledge it self hereafter, it may compel him to her recompence; and here by this is your brother saved, your Honour untainted, the poor Mariana advantaged, and the corrupt Deputy scaled. The maid will I frame, and make fit for his attempt: if you think well to carry this as you may, the doubleness of the benefit defends the deceit from reproof. What think you of it?

Isab.

The image of it gives me content already, and, I trust, it will grow to a most prosperous perfection.

Duke.

It lyes much in your holding up; haste you speedily to Angelo; if for this night he intreat you to his bed, give him promise of satisfaction. I will presently to St. Luke's; there at the moated Grange resides this dejected Mariana; at that place call upon me, and dispatch with Angelo, that it may be quickly.

Isab.

I thank you for this comfort: fare you well, good father.