What news, Friar, of the Duke?

Duke.

I know none: can you tell me of any?

Lucio.

Some say he is with the Emperor of Russia; other some, he is in Rome: but where is he, think you?

Duke.

I know not where; but wheresoever, I wish him well.

Lucio.

It was a mad fantastical trick of him to steal from the state, and usurp the beggary he was never born to. Lord Angelo dukes it well in his absence; he puts Transgression to't.

Duke.

He does well in't.

Lucio.

A little more lenity to leachery would do no harm in him; something too crabbed that way, Friar.

Duke.

It is too general a vice, and severity must cure it.

Lucio.

Yes in good sooth, the vice is of great kindred; it is well ally'd; but it is impossible to extirp it quite, Friar, 'till eating and drinking be put down. They say, this Angelo was not made by man and woman after the downright way of creation; is it true, think you?

Duke.

How should he be made then?

Lucio.

Some report, a sea-maid spawn'd him. Some, that he was begot between two stock-fishes. But it is certain, that when he makes water, his urine is congeal'd ice; that I know to be true: and he is a motion generative; that's infallible.

Duke.

You are pleasant, Sir, and speak apace.

Lucio.

Why, what a ruthless thing is this in him, for the rebellion of a cod-piece to take away the life of a man? would the Duke that is absent have done this? ere he would have hang'd a man for the getting a hundred bastards, he would have paid for the nursing a thousand. He had some feeling of the sport, he knew the service, and that instructed him to mercy.

Duke.

I never heard the absent Duke much detected for women; he was not inclin'd that way.

Lucio.

Oh Sir, you are deceiv'd.

Duke.

'Tis not possible.

Lucio.

Who, not the Duke? yes, your beggar of fifty; and his use was, to put a ducket in her clack-dish; the Duke had crotchets in him. He would be drunk too, that let me inform you.

Duke.

You do him wrong surely.

Lucio.

Sir, I was an inward of his: a shy fellow was the Duke; and I believe I know the cause of his withdrawing.

Duke.

What pr'ythee might be the cause?

Lucio.

No; pardon: 'tis a secret must be lockt within the teeth and the lips; but this I can let you understand, the greater file of the subject held the Duke to be wise.

Duke.

Wise? why no question but he was.

Lucio.

A very superficial, ignorant, unweighing fellow.

Duke.

Either this is envy in you, folly, or mistaking: the very stream of his life, and the business he hath helmed, must upon a warranted need give him a better proclamation. Let him be but testimonied in his own bringings forth, and he shall

appear to the envious, a scholar, a statesman, and a soldier. Therefore you speak unskilfully; or if your knowledge be more, it is much darken'd in your malice.

Lucio.

Sir, I know him, and I love him.

Duke.

Love talks with better knowledge, and knowledge with dear love.

Lucio.

Come, Sir, I know what I know.

Duke.

I can hardly believe that, since you know not what you speak. But if ever the Duke return, as our prayers are he may, let me desire you to make your answer before him: if it be honest you have spoke you have courage to maintain it; I am bound to call upon you, and I pray you your name?

Lucio.

Sir, my name is Lucio, well known to the Duke.

Duke.

He shall know you better, Sir, if I may live to report you.

Lucio.

I fear you not.

Duke.

O, you hope the Duke will return no more; or you imagine me too unhurtful an opposite; but indeed I can do you little harm: you'll forswear this again?

Lucio.

I'll be hang'd first: thou art deceiv'd in me, Friar. But no more of this. Canst thou tell if Claudio die to-morrow, or no?

Duke.

Why should he die, Sir?

Lucio.

Why? for filling a bottle with a tun-dish: I would the Duke we talk of were return'd again; this ungenitur'd agent will unpeople the province with continency. Sparrows must not build in his house-eves, because they are leacherous. The Duke yet would have dark deeds darkly answered; he would never bring them to light; would he were return'd! Marry, this Claudio is condemned for untrussing. Farewel, good Friar, I pr'ythee pray for me: the Duke, I say to thee again, would eat mutton on Fridays. He's now past it; yet, and I say to thee,

he would mouth with a beggar, tho' she smelt of brown bread and garlick: say that I say so, farewel.

Duke.
No might nor greatness in mortality
Can censure 'scape: back-wounding calumny
The whitest virtue strikes. What King so strong
Can tie the gall up in the sland'rous tongue?
But who comes here?

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