Julietta.
Duke.
Which is that Barnardine?
Prov.
'Tis this, my lord.
Duke.
There was a Friar told me of this man.
Sirrah, thou'rt said to have a stubborn soul,
That apprehends no further than this world;
And squar'st thy life accordingly: thou'rt condemn'd;
But for those earthly faults,7 note I quit them all:
I pray thee, take this mercy to provide
For better times to come. Friar, advise him;
I leave him to your hand. What muffled fellow's that?
Prov.
This is another prisoner, that I sav'd,
Who should have dy'd when Claudio lost his head;
As like almost to Claudio, as himself.
Duke.
If he be like your brother, for his sake
To Isab.
Is he pardon'd; and for your lovely sake,
(Give me your hand, and say, you will be mine)
-- 380 --
He is my brother too; but fitter time for that.
By this, lord Angelo perceives he's safe;* note
Methinks, I see a quickning in his eye.
Well, Angelo, your evil quits you well;8 note
Look, that you love your wife; her worth, worth yours.9 note
I find an apt remission in myself,
And yet here's one in place I cannot pardon.1 note
You, sirrah, that knew me for a fool, a coward,
[To Lucio.
One of all luxury, an ass, a mad-man;
Wherein have I deserved so of you,
That you extol me thus?
Lucio.
'Faith, my lord, I spoke it but according to
the trick;2 note if you will hang me for it, you may:
but I had rather it would please you, I might be whipt.
Duke.
Whipt first, Sir, and hang'd after.
Proclaim it, Provost, round about the city;
If any woman's wrong'd by this lewd fellow,
As I have heard him swear himself, there's one
Whom he begot with child; let her appear,
And he shall marry her. The nuptial finish'd,
Let him be whipt and hang'd.
Lucio.
I beseech your highness, do not marry me to
-- 381 --
a whore. Your highness said even now, I made you a
duke; good my lord, do not recompence me, in making
me a cuckold.
Duke.
Upon mine honour, thou shalt marry her.
Thy slanders I forgive, and therewithal
Remit thy other forfeits.3 note—Take him to prison:
And see our pleasure herein executed.
Lucio.
Marrying a punk, my lord, is pressing to
death, whipping and hanging.
Duke.
Sland'ring a prince deserves it.
She, Claudio, that you wrong'd, look you restore.
Joy to you, Mariana—love her, Angelo;
I have confess'd her, and I know her virtue.
Thanks, good friend Escalus, for thy much goodness:4 note
There's more behind, that is more gratulate.
Thanks, Provost, for thy care and secresy;
We shall employ thee in a worthier place:
Forgive him, Angelo, that brought you home
The head of Ragozine for Claudio's;
The offence pardons itself. Dear Isabel,
I have a motion much imports your good,
Whereto if you'll a willing ear incline,
What's mine is yours, and what is yours is mine:
So bring us to our palace, where we'll show
What's yet behind, that's meet You all should know.
[Exeunt.5
