Ang.
When I would pray and think, I think and pray
To several 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 his 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 feard, 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 Blood,
Let's write good Angel on the Devil's Horn;
'Tis not the Devil's Crest. How now? who's there? Enter Servant.

Ser.
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 it unable for it self,
And dispossessing all my other Parts
Of necessary fitness?

So play the foolish Throngs with one that swounds;
Come all to help him, and so stop the Air
By which he should revive; and even so
The general 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.
Even so; Heav'n keep your Honour. [Going.

Ang.
Yet may he live a while; 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; it were 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 Mettle in restained means,
To make a false one.

Isab.
'Tis set down so in Heaven, but not in Earth.

Ang.
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 for 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?

Isa.
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.

Isa.
That I do beg his Life, if it be Sin,
Heav'n let me bear it; you granting of 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 are ignorant,
Or seem so, craftily; and that's not good.

Isa.
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.

Isa.
So.

Ang.
And his Offence is so, as it appears,
Accountant to the Law upon that pain.

Isa.
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 Mannacles
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?

Isa.
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, e'er 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.
Ignominy in Ransom, and free Pardon,
Are of two Houses; lawful Mercy
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,
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 easie 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 are 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 be more, you're none.
If you be one, as you are well exprest

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't.

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,
But thy Unkindness shall his Death draw out
To lingring Sufferance. Answer me to Morrow,
Or by the Affection that now guides me most,
I'll prove a Tyrant to him. As for you,
Say what you can, my false o'er-weighs your true. [Exit.

Isab.
To whom should I complain? Did I tell this,
Who would believe me? O 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 fallen 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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