Officers.
Elb.
Come, bring them away; if these be good people in a
common-weal, that do nothing but use their abuses in common
houses, I know no law; bring them away.
Ang.
How now Sir, what's your name? and what's the matter?
Elb.
If it please your honour, I am the poor Duke's constable,
and my name is Elbow; I do lean upon justice, Sir, and do bring
in here before your good honour, two notorious benefactors.
Ang.
Benefactors? well; what benefactors are they? are they
not malefactors?
Elb.
If it please your honour, I know not well what they are;
but precise villains they are, that I am sure of, and void of all
profanation in the world, that good christians ought to have.
Escal.
This comes off well; here's a wise officer.
Ang.
Go to: what quality are you of? Elbow is your name?
Why dost thou not speak, Elbow?
Clown.
He cannot, Sir; he's out at elbow.
Ang.
What are you, Sir?
Elb.
He, Sir? a tapster, Sir; parcel bawd; one that serves a
bad woman; whose house, Sir, was, as they say, pluckt down in
the suburbs; and now she professes a hot-house; which, I think,
is a very ill house too.
Escal.
How know you that?
Elb.
My wife, Sir, whom I detest before heav'n and your
honour.
Escal.
How! thy wife?
-- 338 --
Elb.
Ay, Sir; whom I thank heav'n is an honest woman.
Escal.
Dost thou detest her therefore?
Elb.
I say, Sir, I will detest my self also, as well as she, that
this house, if it be not a bawd's house, it is pity of her life, for
it is a naughty house.
Escal.
How dost thou know that, constable?
Elb.
Marry Sir, by my wife; who, if she had been a woman
cardinally given, might have been accused in fornication, adultery,
and all uncleanness there.
Escal.
By the woman's means?
Elb.
Ay Sir, by mistress Over-don's means; but as she spit in
his face, so she defy'd him.
Clown.
Sir, if it please your honour, this is not so.
Elb.
Prove it before these varlets here, thou honourable man,
prove it.
Escal.
Do you hear how he misplaces?
Clown.
Sir, she came in great with child; and longing (saving
your honour's reverence) for stew'd prewns; we had but two in
the house, which at that very instant time stood, as it were, in
a fruit-dish, a dish of some three pence; (your honours have seen
such dishes, they are not China dishes, but very good dishes.)
Escal.
Go to, go to; no matter for the dish, Sir.
Clown.
No indeed Sir, not of a pin; you are therein in the
right: but to the point; as I say, this mistress Elbow, being as
I say, with child, and being great belly'd, and longing, as I said,
for prewns; and having no more in the dish, as I said; master
Froth here, this very man having eaten the rest, as I said, and
as I say paying for them very honestly; for, as you know,
master Froth, I could not give you three pence again.
Froth.
No indeed.
Clown.
Very well; you being then, if you be remembred,
cracking the stones of the foresaid prewns.
Froth.
Ay, so I did indeed.
-- 339 --
Clown.
Why, very well; I telling you then, if you be remembred,
that such a one, and such a one, were past cure of the thing
you wot of, unless they kept good diet, as I told you.
Froth.
All this is true.
Clown.
Why, very well then.
Escal.
Come, you are a tedious fool; to the purpose: what
was done to Elbow's wife, that he hath cause to complain of?
come to what was done to her.
Clown.
Sir, your honour cannot come to that yet.
Escal.
No Sir, I mean it not.
Clown.
Sir, but you shall come to it, by your honour's leave:
and I beseech you, look into master Froth here, Sir, a man of
fourscore pound a year; whose father dy'd at Hallowmas. Was't
not at Hallowmas, master Froth?
Froth.
All-holland eve.
Clown.
Why very well; I hope here be truths. He, Sir, sitting,
as I say, in a lower chair, Sir; 'twas in the bunch of grapes,
where indeed you have a delight to sit, have you not?
Froth.
I have so, because it is an open room, and good for
winter.
Clown.
Why, very well then; I hope here be truths.
Ang.
This will last out a night in Russia,
When nights are longest there. I'll take my leave,
And leave you to the hearing of the cause,
Hoping you'll find good cause to whip them all.
[Exit.
SCENE III.
Escal.
I think no less. Good-morrow to your lordship. Now
Sir, come on: what was done to Elbow's wife, once more?
Clown.
Once, Sir? there was nothing done to her once.
Elb.
I beseech you, Sir, ask him what this man did to my wife.
Clown.
I beseech your honour ask me.
-- 340 --
Escal.
Well, Sir, what did this gentleman to her?
Clown.
I beseech you Sir, look in this gentleman's face; good
master Froth, look upon his honour; 'tis for a good purpose; doth
your honour mark his face?
Escal.
Ay Sir, very well.
Clown.
Nay I beseech you mark it well.
Escal.
Well, I do so.
Clown.
Doth your honour see any harm in his face?
Escal.
Why no.
Clown.
I'll be suppos'd upon a book, his face is the worst
thing about him: good then; if his face be the worst thing about
him, how could master Froth do the constable's wife any
harm? I would know that of your honour.
Escal.
He's in the right; constable, what say you to it?
Elb.
First, and it like you, the house is a respected house;
next, this is a respected fellow; and his mistress is a respected
woman.
Clown.
By this hand, Sir, his wife is a more respected person
than any of us all.
Elb.
Varlet, thou liest; thou liest, wicked varlet; the time
is yet to come, that she was ever respected with man, woman,
or child.
Clown.
Sir, she was respected with him before he marry'd
with her.
Escal.
Which is the wiser here; Justice, or Iniquity? Is this
true?
Elb.
O thou caitiff! O thou varlet! O thou wicked Hannibal!
I respected with her, before I was marry'd to her? If ever I was
respected with her, or she with me, let not your worship think
me the poor Duke's officer; prove this, thou wicked Hannibal,
or I'll have mine action of battery on thee.
Escal.
If he took you a box o'th' ear, you might have your
action of slander too.
-- 341 --
Elb.
Marry I thank your good worship for it: what is't your
worship's pleasure I shall do with this wicked caitiff?
Escal.
Truly, officer, because he hath some offences in him,
that thou wouldst discover if thou couldst, let him continue in
his courses, 'till thou know'st what they are.
Elb.
Marry, I thank your worship for it; thou seest, thou
wicked varlet now, what's come upon thee. Thou art to continue
now, thou varlet? thou art to continue.
Escal.
Where were you born, friend?
[To Froth.
Froth.
Here in Vienna, Sir.
Escal.
Are you of fourscore pounds a year?
Froth.
Yes, and't please you, Sir.
Escal.
So. What trade are you of, Sir?
[To the Clown.
Clown.
A tapster, a poor widow's tapster.
Escal.
Your mistress's name?
Clown.
Mistress Over-don.
Escal.
Hath she had any more than one husband?
Clown.
Nine, Sir: Over-don by the last.
Escal.
Nine? Come hither to me, master Froth: master Froth,
I would not have you acquainted with tapsters; they will draw
you, master Froth, and you will hang them. Get you gone, and
let me hear no more of you.
Froth.
I thank your worship; for mine own part, I never
come into any room in a taphouse, but I am drawn in.
Escal.
Well; no more of it, master Froth; farewel.
[Exit Froth.
SCENE IV.
Come you hither to me, master tapster, what's your name, master
tapster?
Clown.
Pompey.
Escal.
What else?
Clown.
Bum, Sir.
-- 342 --
Escal.
Troth, and your bum is the greatest thing about you,
so that in the beastliest sense, you are Pompey the great. Pompey,
you are partly a bawd, Pompey; howsoever you colour it in being
a tapster; are you not? come, tell me true, it shall be the better
for you.
Clown.
Truly, Sir, I am a poor fellow that would live.
Escal.
How would you live, Pompey? by being a bawd? what
do you think of the trade, Pompey? is it a lawful trade?
Clown.
If the law will allow it, Sir.
Escal.
But the law will not allow it, Pompey, and it shall not
be allowed in Vienna.
Clown.
Does your worship mean to geld and splay all the
youth in the city?
Escal.
No, Pompey.
Clown.
Truly Sir, in my poor opinion, they will to't then.
If your worship will take order for the drabs and knaves, you need
not to fear the bawds.
Escal.
There are pretty orders beginning, I can tell you: it
is but heading and hanging.
Clown.
If you head and hang all that offend that way but for
ten years together, you'll be glad to give out a commission for
more heads: if this law hold in Vienna ten years, I'll rent the
fairest house in it after three pence a day: if you live to see this
come to pass, say Pompey told you so.
Escal.
Thank you, good Pompey; and in requital of your
prophecy, hark you. I advise you let me not find you before me
again upon any complaint whatsoever; no, not for dwelling where
you do: if I do, Pompey, I shall beat you to your tent, and prove
a shrewd Cæsar to you: in plain dealing Pompey, I shall have
you whipt: so for this time, Pompey, fare you well.
Clown.
I thank your worship for your good counsel; but I
shall follow it, as the flesh and fortune shall better determine.
Whip me? no, no; let carman whip his jade;
The valiant heart's not whipt out of his trade.
[Exit.
-- 343 --
SCENE V.
Escal.
Come hither to me, master Elbow; come hither, master
constable; how long have you been in this place of constable?
Elb.
Seven year and a half, Sir.
Escal.
I thought, by your readiness in the office, you had
continued in it some time: you say seven years together?
Elb.
And a half, Sir.
Escal.
Alas! it hath been great pains to you; they do you
wrong to put you so oft upon't: are there not men in your ward
sufficient to serve it?
Elb.
Faith, Sir, few of any wit in such matters; as they are
chosen they are glad to chuse me for them. I do it for some
piece of mony, and go through with all.
Escal.
Look you, bring me in the names of some six or seven,
the most sufficient of your parish.
Elb.
To your worship's house, Sir?
Escal.
To my house; fare you well. What's a clock, think
you?
[Exit Elbow.
Just.
Eleven, Sir.
Escal.
I pray you go home to dinner with me.
Just.
I humbly thank you.
Escal.
It grieves me for the death of Claudio:
But there's no remedy.
Just.
Lord Angelo is severe.
Escal.
It is but needful:
Mercy is not it self, that oft looks so;
Pardon is still the nurse of second woe:
But yet poor Claudio! there's no remedy.
Come, Sir.
[Exeunt.
-- 344 --
SCENE VI.
Enter Provost, and a Servant.
Serv.
He's hearing of a cause; he will come straight:
I'll tell him of you.
Prov.
Pray you do; I'll know
His pleasure; may be he'll relent; alas!
He hath but as offended in a dream:
All sects, all ages smack of this vice; and he
To die for it!
Enter Angelo.
Ang.
Now, what's the matter, Provost?
Prov.
Is it your will Claudio shall die to-morrow?
Ang.
Did not I tell thee yea? hadst thou not order?
Why dost thou ask again?
Prov.
Lest I might be too rash.
Under your good correction, I have seen
When after execution judgment hath
Repented o'er his doom.
Ang.
Go to; let that be mine;
Do you your office, or give up your place,
And you shall well be spar'd.
Prov.
I crave your pardon.
What shall be done, Sir, with the groaning Juliet?
She's very near her hour.
Ang.
Dispose of her
To some more fitting place, and that with speed.
Serv.
Here is the sister of the man condemn'd,
Desires access to you.
Ang.
Hath he a sister?
-- 345 --
Prov.
Ay, my good lord, a very virtuous maid,
And to be shortly of a sister-hood,
If not already.
Ang.
Let her be admitted.
See you the fornicatress be remov'd;
Let her have needful, but not lavish means;
There shall be order for it.
SCENE VII.
Enter Lucio and Isabella.
Prov.
'Save your honour.
Ang.
Stay yet a while. Y'are welcome; what's your will?
Isab.
I am a woful suitor to your honour,
'Please but your honour hear me.
Ang.
What's your suit?
Isab.
There is a vice that most I do abhor,
And more desire should meet the blow of justice,
For which I would not plead, but that I must;
For which I must not plead, but that I am
At war 'twixt will, and will not.
Ang.
Well; the matter?
Isab.
I have a brother is condemn'd to die;
I do beseech you let it be his fault,
And not my brother.
Prov.
Heav'n give thee moving graces!
Ang.
Condemn the fault, and not the actor of it?
Why, every fault's condemn'd ere it be done;
Mine were the very cipher of a function
To fine the faults, whose fine stands in record,
And let go by the actor.
Isab.
O just, but severe law!
I had a brother then;—heav'n keep your honour.
-- 346 --
Lucio.
Give't not o'er so: to him again, intreat him,
Kneel down before him, hang upon his gown;
You are too cold; if you should need a pin,
You could not with a more tame tongue desire it.
To him, I say.
Isab.
Must he needs die?
Ang.
Maiden, no remedy.
Isab.
Yes; I do think that you might pardon him,
And neither heav'n nor man grieve at the mercy.
Ang.
I will not do't.
Isab.
But can you if you would?
Ang.
Look, what I will not, that I cannot do.
Isab.
But might you do't, and do the world no wrong,
If so your heart were touch'd with that remorse
As mine is to him?
Ang.
He's sentenc'd; 'tis too late.
Lucio.
You are too cold.
Isab.
Too late? why no; I that do speak a word,
May call it back again: Well, believe this,
No ceremony that to great ones belongs,
Not the King's crown, nor the deputed sword,
The marshal's truncheon, nor the judge's robe,
Become them with one half so good a grace
As mercy does: if he had been as you,
And you as he, you would have slipt like him;
But he, like you, would not have been so stern.
Ang.
Pray you be gone.
Isab.
I would to heav'n I had your potency,
And you were Isabel; should it then be thus?
No; I would tell what 'twere to be a judge,
And what a prisoner.
Lucio.
Ay, touch him; there's the vein.
Ang.
Your brother is a forfeit of the law,
And you but waste your words.
-- 347 --
Isab.
Alas! alas!
Why all the souls that were, were forfeit once;
And he that might the 'vantage best have took,
Found out the remedy. How would you be,
If he, which is the top of judgment, should
But judge you as you are? oh think on that,
And mercy then will breathe within your lips,
Like man new made.
Ang.
Be you content, fair maid,
It is the law, not I, condemns your brother.
Were he my kinsman, brother, or my son,
It should be thus with him; he dies to-morrow.
Isab.
To-morrow? oh! that's sudden. Spare him, spare him.
He's not prepar'd for death: even for our kitchins
We kill the fowl of season; serve we heav'n
With less respect than we do minister
To our gross selves? good, good my lord, bethink you:
Who is it that hath dy'd for this offence?
There's many have committed it.
Lucio.
Ay, well said.
Ang.
The law hath not been dead, tho' it hath slept:
Those many had not dar'd to do that evil,
If the first man that did th' edict infringe
Had answer'd for his deed. Now 'tis awake,
Takes note of what is done, and like a prophet,
Looks in a glass that shews what future evils
Or d notenew, or by remissness new conceiv'd,
And so in progress to be hatch'd and born,
Are now to have no successive degrees,
But here they live to end.
Isab.
Yet shew some pity.
Ang.
I shew it most of all when I shew justice;
For then I pity those I do not know,
-- 348 --
Which a dismiss'd offence would after gall;
And do him right, that answering one foul wrong,
Lives not to act another. Then be satisfy'd;
Your brother dies to-morrow; be content.
Isab.
So you must be the first that gives this sentence,
And he that suffers: oh, 'tis excellent
To have a giant's strength; but it is tyrannous
To use it like a giant.
Lucio.
That's well said.
Isab.
Could great men thunder
As Jove himself does, Jove would ne'er be quiet;
For every pelting petty officer
Would use his heav'n for thunder;
&plquo;Nothing but thunder: merciful heav'n!
&plquo;Thou rather with thy sharp and sulph'rous bolt
&plquo;Split'st the unwedgeable and gnarled oak,
&plquo;Than the soft myrtle: O but man! proud man!
&plquo;Drest in a little brief authority,
&plquo;Most ignorant of what he's most assur'd,
&plquo;His glassy essence, like an angry ape,
&plquo;Plays such fantastick tricks before high heav'n,
&plquo;As makes the angels weep; who with our spleens
&plquo;Would all themselves laugh mortal.
Lucio.
Oh to him, to him wench; he will relent;
He's coming: I perceive't.
Prov.
Pray heav'n she win him.
Isab.
We cannot weigh our brother with our self:
Great men may jest with saints; 'tis wit in them,
But in the less foul prophanation.
Lucio.
Thou'rt right, girl; more o'that.
Isab.
That in the captain's but a cholerick word,
Which in the soldier is flat blasphemy.
Lucio.
Art advis'd o'that? more on't.
-- 349 --
Ang.
Why do you put these sayings upon me?
Isab.
Because authority, tho' it err like others,
Hath yet a kind of medicine in it self,
That skins the vice o'th' top: go to your bosom,
Knock there, and ask your heart what it doth know
That's like my brother's fault; if it confess
A natural guiltiness, such as is his,
Let it not sound a thought upon your tongue
Against my brother's life.
Ang.
She speaks, and 'tis such sense,
That my sense bleeds with it. Fare you well.
Isab.
Gentle, my lord, turn back.
Ang.
I will bethink me: come again to-morrow.
Isab.
Hark how I'll bribe you: good my lord turn back.
Ang.
How? bribe me?
Isab.
Ay, with such gifts that heav'n shall share with you.
Lucio.
You had marr'd all else.
Isab.
Not with fond shekles of the tested gold,
Or stones, whose rate are either rich or poor
As fancy values them; but with true prayers,
That shall be up at heav'n, and enter there,
Ere sun rise: prayers from preserved souls,
From fasting maids whose minds are dedicate
To nothing temporal.
Ang.
Well; come to-morrow.
Lucio.
Go to; 'tis well; away.
Isab.
Heav'n keep your honour safe.
Ang.
Amen:
For I am that way going to temptation,
Where prayers cross.
Isab.
At what hour to-morrow
Shall I attend your lordship?
-- 350 --
Ang.
At any time 'fore noon.
Isab.
Save your honour.
[Exeunt Lucio and Isabella.
SCENE VIII.
Ang.
From thee; even from thy virtue.
What's this? what's this? is this her fault or mine?
The tempter or the tempted, who sins most?
Not she; nor doth she tempt; but it is I
That lying by the violet in the sun,
Do as the carrion does, not as the flower,
Corrupt with virtuous season. Can it be,
That modesty may more betray our sense,
Than woman's lightness? having waste ground enough,
Shall we desire to raze the sanctuary,
And pitch our evils there? oh fie, fie, fie;
What dost thou? or what art thou, Angelo?
Dost thou desire her fouly, for those things
That make her good? Oh let her brother live:
Thieves for their robbery have authority,
When judges steal themselves. What! do I love her,
That I desire to hear her speak again,
And feast upon her eyes? what is't I dream on?
Oh cunning enemy, that to catch a saint,
With saints dost bait thy hook! most dangerous
Is that temptation that doth goad us on
To sin in loving virtue; ne'er could the strumpet,
With all her double vigour, art and nature,
Once stir my temper; but this virtuous maid
Subdues me quite: Ev'n 'till this very Now,
When men were fond, I smil'd, and wonder'd how.
[Exit.
-- 351 --
SCENE IX.
A Prison.
Enter Duke habited like a Friar, and Provost.
Duke.
Hail to you, Provost; so I think you are.
Prov.
I am the Provost; what's your will, good Friar?
Duke.
Bound by my charity, and my blest order,
I come to visit the afflicted spirits
Here in the prison; do me the common right
To let me see them, and to make me know
The nature of their crimes; that I may minister
To them accordingly.
Prov.
I would do more than that, if more were needful.
Enter Juliet.
Look here comes one; a gentlewoman of mine,
Who falling in the flaws of her own youth,
Hath blister'd her report: she is with child,
And he that got it, sentenc'd: a young man
More fit to do another such offence,
Than die for this.
Duke.
When must he die?
Prov.
As I do think to-morrow.
I have provided for you; stay a while,
And you shall be conducted.
Duke.
Repent you, fair one, of the sin you carry?
Juliet.
I do; and bear the shame most patiently.
Duke.
I'll teach you how you shall arraign your conscience,
And try your penitence if it be sound,
Or hollowly put on.
Juliet.
I'll gladly learn.
-- 352 --
Duke.
Love you the man that wrong'd you?
Juliet.
Yes, as I love the woman that wrong'd him.
Duke.
So then it seems your most offenceful act
Was mutually committed.
Juliet.
Mutually.
Duke.
Then was your sin of heavier kind than his.
Juliet.
I do confess it and repent it, father.
Duke.
'Tis meet so, daughter; but repent you not
As that the sin hath brought you to this shame?
Which sorrow's always tow'rds our selves, not heaven,
Showing we'd not seek heaven, as we love it,
But as we stand in fear.
Juliet.
I do repent me as it is an evil,
And take the shame with joy.
Duke.
There rest.
Your partner as I hear must die to-morrow,
And I am going with instruction to him;
So grace go with you; benedicite.
[Exit.
Juliet.
Must die to-morrow! oh injurious love,
That respites me a life, whose very comfort
Is still a dying horror!
Prov.
'Tis pity of him.
[Exeunt.
SCENE X.
The Palace.
Enter Angelo.
Ang.
When I would pray and think, I think and pray
To sev'ral subjects: heav'n hath my empty words,
Whilst my intention hearing not my tongue,
Anchors on Isabel: heav'n's in my mouth,
As if I did but only chew its name,
-- 353 --
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. How now? who's there?
Enter Servant.
Serv.
One Isabel a sister asks 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?
SCENE XI.
Enter Isabella.
Isab.
I am come to know your pleasure.
Ang.
That you might know it, would much better please me,
-- 354 --
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 mettle 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,
-- 355 --
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
-- 356 --
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,
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;
-- 357 --
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,
-- 358 --
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: save 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 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 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.
-- 359 --
George Sewell [1723–5], The works of Shakespear in six [seven] volumes. Collated and Corrected by the former Editions, By Mr. Pope ([Vol. 7] Printed by J. Darby, for A. Bettesworth [and] F. Fayram [etc.], London) [word count] [S11101].
