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Samuel Johnson [1765], The plays of William Shakespeare, in eight volumes, with the corrections and illustrations of Various Commentators; To which are added notes by Sam. Johnson (Printed for J. and R. Tonson [and] C. Corbet [etc.], London) [word count] [S11001].
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SCENE VIII. A Nunnery. Enter Isabella and Francisca.

Isab.
And have you Nuns no further privileges?

Nun.
Are not these large enough?

Isab.
Yes, truly; I speak not as desiring more;
But rather wishing a more strict restraint
Upon the sister-hood, the votarists of Saint Clare.

Lucio. [within.]
Hoa! Peace be in this place!

Isab.
Who's that, which calls?

Nun.
It is a man's voice. Gentle Isabella,
Turn you the key, and know his business of him;
You may; I may not; you are yet unsworn:
When you have vow'd, you must not speak with men,
But in the presence of the Prioress;
Then, if you speak, you must not shew your face;
Or, if you shew your face, you must not speak.
He calls again; I pray you, answer him. [Exit Franc.

Isab.
Peace and prosperity! who is't that calls?
Enter Lucio.

Lucio.
Hail, virgin, (if you be) as those cheek-roses
Proclaim you are no less; can you so stead me,
As bring me to the sight of Isabella,
A novice of this place, and the fair sister
To her unhappy brother Claudio?

Isab.
Why her unhappy brother? let me ask
The rather, for I now must make you know
I am that Isabella, and his sister.

Lucio.
Gentle and fair, your brother kindly greets you;
Not to be weary with you, he's in prison.

Isab.
Wo me! for what?

Lucio.
For that, which, if myself might be his judge,
He should receive his punishment in thanks;

-- 281 --


He hath got his friend with child.

Isab.
Sir, make me not your story.5 note

Lucio.
'Tis true:—I would not (tho' 'tis my familiar sin
With maids to seem the lapwing,6 note
and to jest,
Tongue far from heart6Q0028) play with all virgins so.
I hold you as a thing en-sky'd, and sainted;
By your renouncement, an immortal Spirit;
And to be talk'd with in sincerity,
As with a Saint.

Isab.
You do blaspheme the good, in mocking me.

Lucio.
Do not believe it. Fewness and truth, 'tis thus.
Your brother and his lover having embrac'd,
As those that feed grow full; as blossoming time7 note



That from the seedness the bare fallow brings
To teeming foyson, so her plenteous womb
Expresseth his full tilth and husbandry.

Isab.
Someone with child by him?—my cousin Juliet?

Lucio.
Is she your cousin?

Isab.
Adoptedly, as school-maids change their names,

-- 282 --


By vain, tho' apt, affection.

Lucio.
She it is.

Isab.
O, let him marry her!

Lucio.
This is the point.
The Duke is very strangely gone from hence;
Bore many gentlemen,8 note

myself being one,
In hand and hope of action; but we learn,
By those that know the very nerves of state,
His givings out were of an infinite distance
From his true-meant design. Upon his place,
And with full line9 note of his authority,
Governs lord Angelo; a man whose blood
Is very snow-broth; one who never feels
The wanton stings and motions of the sense;
But doth rebate and blunt his natural edge
With profits of the mind, study and fast.
He, to give fear to* note use and liberty,
Which have long time run by the hideous law,
As mice by lions, hath pickt out an act,
Under whose heavy sense your brother's life
Falls into forfeit; he arrests him on it;
And follows close the rigour of the statute,
To make him an example. All hope's gone,
Unless you have the grace1 note by your fair prayer
To soften Angelo; and that's my pith of business2 note
'Twixt you and your poor brother.

Isab.
Doth he so
Seek for his life?

Lucio.
H'as censur'd him already;
And, as I hear, the Provost hath a warrant

-- 283 --


For's execution.

Isab.
Alas! what poor
Ability's in me, to do him good?

Lucio.
Assay the power you have.

Isab.
My power? Alas! I doubt.

Lucio.
Our doubts are traitors;
And made us lose the good, we oft might win,
By fearing to attempt. Go to lord Angelo,
And let him learn to know, when maidens sue,
Men give like Gods; but when they weep and kneel,
All their petitions are as truly theirs,
As they themselves would owe them.

Isab.
I'll see what I can do.

Lucio.
But, speedily.

Isab.
I will about it strait;
No longer staying, but to give the mother3 note
Notice of my affair. I humbly thank you;
Commend me to my brother: soon at night
I'll send him certain word of my success.

Lucio.
I take my leave of you.

Isab.
Good Sir, adieu.
[Exeunt.
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Samuel Johnson [1765], The plays of William Shakespeare, in eight volumes, with the corrections and illustrations of Various Commentators; To which are added notes by Sam. Johnson (Printed for J. and R. Tonson [and] C. Corbet [etc.], London) [word count] [S11001].
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