Claud.
Fellow, why dost thou show me thus to th' world?
Bear me to prison, where I am committed.

Prov.
I do it not in evil disposition,
But from lord Angelo by special charge.

Claud.
Thus can the demi-god, Authority,
Make us pay down for our offence by weight.—
The words of heaven;—on whom it will, it will;
On whom it will not, so: yet still 'tis just^{6 note}.

Lucio.

Why, how now, Claudio? whence comes this restraint?

Claud.
From too much liberty, my Lucio, liberty:
As surfeit is the father of much fast,
So every scope by the immoderate use
Turns to restraint: Our natures do pursue,

Like rats that ravin down their proper bane,
A thirsty evil, and when we drink, we die^{7 note}


.

Lucio.

If I could speak so wisely under an arrest, I would send for certain of my creditors. And yet, to say the truth, I had as lief have the foppery of freedom, as the morality^{8 note} of imprisonment.—What's thy offence, Claudio?

Claud.

What but to speak of would offend again.

Lucio.

What is it? murder?

Claud.

No.

Lucio.

Lechery?

Claud.

Call it so.

Prov.

A way, sir: you must go.

Claud.

One word, good friend.—Lucio, a word with you.

Lucio.

A hundred, if they'll do you any good.—Is lechery so look'd after?

Claud.
Thus stands it with me:—Upon a true contract,
I got possession of Julietta's bed:
You know the lady; she is fast my wife,
Save that we do the denunciation lack
Of outward order: this we came not to,
Only for propagation of a dower 11Q0099^{9 note}
Remaining in the coffer of her friends,
From whom we thought it meet to hide our love,
Till time had made them for us. But it chances,
The stealth of our most mutual entertainment

With character too gross is writ on Juliet.

Lucio.
With child, perhaps?

Claud.
Unhappily, even so.
And the new deputy now for the duke,—
Whether it be the fault and glimpse of newness,
Or whether that the body public be
A horse whereon the governor doth ride,
Who, newly in the seat, that it may know
He can command, lets it straight feel the spur;
Whether the tyranny be in his place,
Or in his eminence that fills it up,
I stagger in;—but this new governor
Awakes me all the enrolled penalties,
Which have, like unscour'd armour, hung by the wall
So long, that nineteen zodiacks have gone round,
And none of them been worn; and, for a name,
Now puts the drowsy and neglected act
Freshly on me:—'tis surely, for a name.

Lucio.

I warrant, it is; and thy head stands so tickle on thy shoulders, that a milk-maid, if she be in love, may sigh it off. Send after the duke, and appeal to him^{1 note}.

Claud.
I have done so, but he's not to be found.
I pr'ythee, Lucio, do me this kind service.
This day my sister should the cloister enter,
And there receive her approbation:
Acquaint her with the danger of my state;
Implore her, in my voice, that she make friends
To the strict deputy; bid herself assay him:
I have great hope in that; for in her youth
There is a prone and speechless dialect,
Such as moves men: beside, she hath prosperous art,
When she will play with reason and discourse,
And well she can persuade.

Lucio.

I pray, she may: as well for the encouragement

of the like, which else would stand under grievous imposition, as for the enjoying of thy life, who I would be sorry should be thus foolishly lost at a game of tick-tack^{2 note}. I'll to her.

Claud.

I thank you, good friend Lucio.

Lucio.
Within two hours,—

Claud.
Come, officer; away! [Exeunt. SCENE IV. A Monastery. Enter Duke, and Friar Thomas.

Duke.
No, holy father; throw away that thought:
Believe not that the dribbling dart of love^{3 note}




Can pierce a complete bosom. Why I desire thee
To give me secret harbour hath a purpose
More grave and wrinkled, than the aims and ends
Of burning youth.

Fri.
May your grace speak of it?

Duke.
My holy sir, none better knows than you
How I have ever lov'd the life remov'd;
And held in idle price to haunt assemblies,
Where youth, and cost, and witless bravery keeps^{4 note}.

I have deliver'd to lord Angelo
(A man of stricture, and firm abstinence)
My absolute power and place here in Vienna,
And he supposes me travell'd to Poland;
For so I have strew'd it in the common ear,
And so it is receiv'd. Now, pious sir,
You will demand of me, why I do this?

Fri.
Gladly, my lord.

Duke.
We have strict statutes, and most biting laws,
(The needful bits and curbs to head-strong weeds 11Q0100^{5 note},)
Which for this fourteen years^{6 note} we have let sleep^{7 note};
Even like an o'er-grown lion in a cave,
That goes not out to prey: now, as fond fathers,
Having bound up the threat'ning twigs of birch
Only to stick it in their children's sight,
For terror^{8 note}, not to use, in time the rod
Becomes more mock'd, than fear'd; so our decrees,
Dead to infliction, to themselves are dead,
And liberty plucks justice by the nose;
The baby beats the nurse, and quite athwart
Goes all decorum.

Fri.
It rested in your grace
To unloose this tied-up justice, when you pleas'd;
And it in you more dreadful would have seem'd,
Than in lord Angelo.

Duke.
I do fear, too dreadful:
Sith 'twas my fault to give the people scope,
'Twould be my tyranny to strike and gall them

For what I bid them do: for we bid this be done,
When evil deeds have their permissive pass,
And not the punishment. Therefore, indeed, my father,
I have on Angelo impos'd the office,
Who may, in th' ambush of my name, strike home,
And yet my nature never in the fight,
To do in slander 11Q0101^{9 note}

. And to behold his sway,
I will, as 'twere a brother of your order,
Visit both prince and people: therefore, I pr'ythee,
Supply me with the habit, and instruct me
How I may formally in person bear
Like a true friar. More reasons for this action,
At our more leisure shall I render you;
Only, this one:—Lord Angelo is precise;
Stands at a guard with envy; scarce confesses
That his blood flows, or that his appetite
Is more to bread than stone: hence shall we see,
If power change purpose, what our seemers be. [Exeunt. SCENE V. A Nunnery. Enter Isabella and Francisca.

Isab.
And have you nuns no farther privileges?

Fran.
Are not these large enough?

Isab.
Yes, truly: I speak not as desiring more,
But rather wishing a more strict restraint
Upon the sisterhood, the votarists of saint Clare.

Lucio. [Within.]
Ho! Peace be in this place!

Isab.
Who's that which calls?

Fran.
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 show your face;
Or, if you show your face, you must not speak.
He calls again: I pray you, answer him. [Exit Francisca.

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.
Woe me! for what?

Lucio.
For that, which, if myself might be his judge,
He should receive his punishment in thanks.
He hath got his friend with child.

Isab.
Sir, make me not your story 11Q0102^{1 note}.

Lucio.
'Tis true. I would not, though 'tis my familiar sin
With maids to seem the lapwing, and to jest,
Tongue far from heart, play with all virgins so:

I hold you as a thing ensky'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 have embrac'd:
As those that feed grow full; as blossoming time,
That from the seedness the bare fallow brings
To teeming foison, even so her plenteous womb
Expresseth his full tilth and husbandry.

Isab.
Some one with child by him?—My cousin Juliet?

Lucio.
Is she your cousin?

Isab.
Adoptedly; as school-maids change their names
By vain, though 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, myself being one,
In hand, and hope of action; but we do learn,
By those that know the very nerves of state,
His giving out was of an infinite distance
From his true-meant design. Upon his place,
And with full line 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 use and liberty,
Which have, for long, run by the hideous law,
As mice by lions,) hath pick'd 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 is gone,
Unless you have the grace by your fair prayer
To soften Angelo; and that's my pith
Of business 'twixt you and your poor brother.

Isab.
Doth he so seek his life?

Lucio.
Has censur'd him
Already; and, as I hear, the provost hath
A warrant for his 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 make 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 freely theirs
As they themselves would owe them.

Isab.
I'll see what I can do.

Lucio.
But speedily.

Isab.
I will about it straight,
No longer staying but to give the mother
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.

ACT II. SCENE I. A Hall in Angelo's House. Enter Angelo, Escalus, a Justice, Officers, and other Attendants.

Ang.
We must not make a scare-crow of the law,
Setting it up to fear the birds of prey,
And let it keep one shape, till custom make it
Their perch, and not their terror.

Escal.
Ay, but yet
Let us be keen, and rather cut a little,
Than fall, and bruise to death. Alas! this gentleman,
Whom I would save, had a most noble father.
Let but your honour know,
(Whom I believe to be most strait in virtue,)
That, in the working of your own affections,
Had time coher'd with place, or place with wishing,
Or that the resolute acting of [y]our blood
Could have attain'd th' effect of your own purpose,
Whether you had not, sometime in your life,
Err'd in this point, which now you censure him,
And pull'd the law upon you.

Ang.
'Tis one thing to be tempted, Escalus,
Another thing to fall. I not deny,
The jury, passing on the prisoner's life,
May in the sworn twelve have a thief or two
Guiltier than him they try: what's open made to justice,
That justice seizes: what know the laws,
That thieves do pass on thieves? 'Tis very pregnant,
The jewel that we find, we stoop and take it,
Because we see it; but what we do not see
We tread upon, and never think of it.
You may not so extenuate his offence,
For I have had such faults; but rather tell me,

When I, that censure him, do so offend,
Let mine own judgment pattern out my death,
And nothing come in partial. Sir, he must die.

Escal.
Be it as your wisdom will.

Ang.
Where is the provost? Enter Provost^{2 note}.

Prov.
Here, if it like your honour.

Ang.
See that Claudio
Be executed by nine to-morrow morning.
Bring him his confessor, let him be prepar'd,
For that's the utmost of his pilgrimage. [Exit Provost.

Escal.
Well, heaven forgive him, and forgive us all!
Some rise by sin, and some by virtue fall:
Some run from breaks of ice, and answer none^{3 note},
And some condemned for a fault alone. Enter Elbow, Froth, Clown, Officers, &c.

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 they of? Elbow is your name: why dost thou not speak, Elbow?

Clo.

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, pluck'd down in the suburbs; and now she professes a hot-house^{4 note}, which, I think, is a very ill house too.

Escal.

How know you that?

Elb.

My wife, sir, whom I detest before heaven and your honour,—

Escal.

How! thy wife?

Elb.

Ay, sir; whom, I thank heaven, is an honest woman,—

Escal.

Dost thou detest her therefore?

Elb.

I say, sir, I will detest myself 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 uncleanliness there.

Escal.

By the woman's means?

Elb.

Ay, sir, by mistress Over-done's means; but as she spit in his face, so she defied him.

Clo.

Sir, if it please your honour, this is not so.

Elb.

Prove it before these varlets here, thou honourable man; prove it.

Escal. [To Angelo.]

Do you hear how he misplaces?

Clo.

Sir, she came in great with child, and longing (saving your honour's reverence) for stew'd prunes: sir, we had but two in the house, which at that very distant 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.

Clo.

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 prunes, and having but two 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.

Lucio.

No, indeed.

Clo.

Very well: you being then, if you be remember'd, cracking the stones of the foresaid prunes.

Lucio.

Ay, so I did, indeed.

Clo.

Why, very well: I telling you then^{5 note}, if you be remember'd, that such a one, and such a one, were past cure of the thing you wot of, unless they kept very good diet, as I told you.

Froth.

All this is true.

Clo.

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 me to what was done to her.

Clo.

Sir, your honour cannot come to that yet.

Escal.

No, sir, nor I mean it not.

Clo.

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 died at Hallowmas.—Was't not at Hallowmas, master Froth?

Froth.

All-hallownd eve.

Clo.

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. 11Q0103

Clo.
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.

Escal.
I think no less. Good morrow to your lordship. [Exit Angelo.

Now, sir, come on: what was done to Elbow's wife, once more?

Clo.

Once, sir? there was nothing done to her once.

Elb.

I beseech you, sir, ask him what this man did to my wife.

Clo.

I beseech your honour, ask me.

Escal.

Well, sir, what did this gentleman to her?

Clo.

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.

Clo.

Nay, I beseech you, mark it well.

Escal.

Well, I do so.

Clo.

Doth your honour see any harm in his face?

Escal.

Why, no.

Clo.

I'll be supposed 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, an it like you, the house is a respected house; next, this is a respected fellow, and his mistress is a respected woman.

Clo.

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.

Clo.

Sir, she was respected with him, before he married with her.

Escal.

Which is the wiser here? Justice, or Iniquity^{6 note}? —Is this true?

Elb.

O thou caitiff! O thou varlet! O thou wicked Hannibal! I respected with her, before I was married 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.

Elb.

Marry, I thank your good worship for it. What is't your worship's pleasure I shall do with this wicked caitiff^{7 note}?

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?

Froth.

Here in Vienna, sir.

Escal.

Are you of fourscore pounds a year?

Froth.

Yes, an't please you, sir.

Escal.

So.—What trade are you of, sir?

Clo.

A tapster; a poor widow's tapster.

Escal.

Your mistress' name?

Clo.

Mistress Over-done.

Escal.

Hath she had any more than one husband?

Clo.

Nine, sir; Over-done 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: farewell. [Exit Froth.]—Come you hither to me, master tapster. What's your name, master tapster?

Clo.

Pompey.

Escal.

What else?

Clo.

Bum, sir.

Escal.

'Troth, and your bum is the greatest thing about you^{8 note}; 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.

Clo.

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?

Clo.

If the law would allow it, sir.

Escal.

But the law will not allow it, Pompey; nor it shall not be allowed in Vienna.

Clo.

Does your worship mean to geld and spay all the youth of the city^{9 note}?

Escal.

No, Pompey.

Clo.

Truly, sir, in my poor opinion, they will to't then. If your worship will take order for the drabs and the knaves, you need not to fear the bawds.

Escal.

There are pretty orders beginning, I can tell you: it is but heading and hanging.

Clo.

If you head and hang all that offend that way but for ten year together, you'll be glad to give out a commission for more heads. If this law hold in Vienna ten year, I'll rent the fairest house in it after three pence a bay^{1 note} 11Q0104. 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.

Clo.

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.

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 the readiness^{2 note} 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 choose me for them: I do it for some piece of money, 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 o'clock, think you?

Just.
Eleven, sir.

Escal.
I pray you 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 itself, that oft looks so;
Pardon is still the nurse of second woe.
But yet, poor Claudio!—There is no remedy.
Come, sir. [Exeunt.

SCENE II. Another Room in the Same. 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. [Exit Servant.] I'll know
His pleasure; may be, he will 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 I not 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 honour's pardon.
What shall be done, sir, with the groaning Juliet?
She's very near her hour.

Ang.
Dispose of her
To some more fitter place, and that with speed. Re-enter Servant.

Serv.
Here is the sister of the man condemn'd
Desires access to you.

Ang.
Hath he a sister?

Prov.
Ay, my good lord; a very virtuous maid,

And to be shortly of a sisterhood,
If not already.

Ang.
Well, let her be admitted. [Exit Servant.
See you the fornicatress be remov'd:
Let her have needful, but not lavish, means;
There shall be order for it. Enter Lucio and Isabella.

Prov.
Save your honour! [Offering to retire.

Ang.
Stay a little while.—[To Isab.] Y' are welcome: what's your will?

Isab.
I am a woeful suitor to your honour,
Please but your honour hear me.

Ang.
Well; what's your suit?

Isab.
There is a vice, that most I do abhor,
And most 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. [Aside.]
Heaven 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.—Heaven keep your honour! [Retiring.

Lucio. [To Isab.]
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 more tame a 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 heaven, 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. [To Isab.]
You are too cold.

Isab.
Too late? why, no; I, that do speak a word,
May call it back again^{2 note}: Well believe this,
No ceremony that to great ones 'longs,
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, begone.

Isab.
I would to heaven 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. [Aside.]
Ay, touch him; there's the vein.

Ang.
Your brother is a forfeit of the law,
And you but waste your words.

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? 11Q0105 O, 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 must die to-morrow.

Isab.
To-morrow? O, that's sudden! Spare him, spare him!
He's not prepar'd for death. Even for our kitchens
We kill the fowl of season: shall we serve heaven
With less respect than we do minister
To our gross selves? Good, good my lord, bethink you:
Who is it that hath died for this offence?
There's many have committed it.

Lucio. [Aside.]
Ay, well said.

Ang.
The law hath not been dead, though it hath slept:
Those many had not dar'd to do that evil,
If the first, that did th' edict infringe^{3 note},
Had answer'd for his deed: now, 'tis awake;
Takes note of what is done, and, like a prophet,
Looks in a glass, that shows what future evils
(Either now, 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 11Q0106^{4 note}.

Isab.
Yet show some pity.

Ang.
I show it most of all, when I show justice;
For then I pity those I do not know,
Which a dismiss'd offence would after gall,
And do him right, that, answering one foul wrong,
Lives not to act another. Be satisfied:
Your brother dies to-morrow: be content.

Isab.
So you must be the first that gives this sentence,
And he that suffers. O! it is excellent
To have a giant's strength; but it is tyrannous
To use it like a giant.

Lucio. [Aside.]
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 heaven for thunder;
Nothing but thunder. Merciful heaven!
Thou rather with thy sharp and sulphurous bolt
Split'st the unwedgeable and gnarled oak,
Than the soft myrtle; but man, proud man!
Drest in a little brief authority,
Most ignorant of what he's most assur'd,
His glassy essence, like an angry ape,
Plays such fantastic tricks before high heaven,
As make the angels weep; who, with our spleens,
Would all themselves laugh mortal.

Lucio. [To Isab.]
O, to him, to him, wench! He will relent:
He's coming; I perceive't.

Prov. [Aside.]
Pray heaven, she win him!

Isab.
We cannot weigh our brother with ourself:

Great men may jest with saints: 'tis wit in them,
But in the less foul profanation.

Lucio. [To Isab.]
Thou'rt in the right, girl: more o' that.

Isab.
That in the captain's but a choleric word,
Which in the soldier is flat blasphemy.

Lucio. [Aside.]
Art avis'd o' that? more on't.

Ang.
Why do you put these sayings upon me?

Isab.
Because authority, though it err like others,
Hath yet a kind of medicine in itself,
That skins the vice o' the 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. [Aside.]
She speaks, and 'tis
Such sense, that my sense breeds with it. [To her.] 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 heaven shall share with you.

Lucio. [Aside.]
You had marr'd all else.

Isab.
Not with fond shekels 11Q0107^{5 note} of the tested gold,
Or stones, whose rates are either rich or poor
As fancy values them; but with true prayers,
That shall be up at heaven, and enter there
Ere sun-rise: prayers from preserved souls,
From fasting maids, whose minds are dedicate
To nothing temporal.

Ang.
Well; come to me to-morrow.

Lucio. [To Isab.]
Go to; 'tis well: away!

Isab.
Heaven keep your honour safe!

Ang. [Aside.]
Amen:
For I am that way going to temptation,
Where prayers cross^{6 note}.

Isab.
At what hour to-morrow
Shall I attend your lordship?

Ang.
At any time 'fore noon.

Isab.
Save your honour! [Exeunt Lucio, Isabella, and Provost.

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? Ha!
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? O, fye, fye, fye!
What dost thou, or what art thou, Angelo?
Dost thou desire her foully for those things
That make her good? O, 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?
O 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. Never could the strumpet,
With all her double vigour, art and nature,

Once stir my temper; but this virtuous maid
Subdues me quite.—Ever, till now,
When men were fond, I smil'd, and wonder'd how. [Exit. SCENE III. A Room in 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 bless'd 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 flames of her own youth^{7 note},
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.— [To Juliet.]
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.

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 least you do repent,
As that the sin hath brought you to this shame^{8 note};
Which sorrow is always toward ourselves, not heaven,
Showing, we would not spare heaven, as we love it, 11Q0108
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.
Grace go with you! Benedicite^{9 note}! [Exit.

Juliet.
Must die to-morrow! O, injurious love,

That respites me a life, whose very comfort
Is still a dying horror!

Prov.
'Tis pity of him. [Exeunt. SCENE IV. A Room in Angelo's House. Enter Angelo.

Ang.
When I would pray and think, I think and pray
To several subjects: heaven hath my empty words,
Whilst my invention, hearing not my tongue,
Anchors on Isabel: heaven 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 sear'd and tedious^{1 note}; 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. O place! O 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^{2 note}:
Let's write good angel on the devil's horn,
'Tis not the devil's crest.

Enter Servant.
How now! who's there?

Serv.
One Isabel, a sister,
Desires access to you.

Ang.
Teach her the way. [Exit Serv.
O heavens!
Why does my blood thus muster to my heart,
Making both it unable for itself,
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 general, subject to a well-wish'd king^{3 note},
Quit their own part, and in obsequious fondness
Crowd to his presence, where their untaught love
Must needs appear offence. Enter Isabella.
How now, fair maid?

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.—Heaven keep your honour! [Retiring.

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! Fye, these filthy vices! It were as good
To pardon him, that hath from nature stolen
A man already made, as to remit
Their saucy sweetness, that do coin heaven's image
In stamps that are forbid: 'tis all as easy
Falsely to take away a life true made,
As to put metal in restrained 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?

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,
Heaven, let me bear it! you granting of my suit,
If that be sin, I'll make it my morn-prayer
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, crafty^{4 note}; and that is not good.

Isab.
Let me be ignorant^{5 note}, and in nothing good,
But graciously to know I am no better.

Ang.
Thus wisdom wishes to appear most bright,
When it doth tax itself: as these black masks
Proclaim an enshield beauty ten times louder
Than beauty could displayed. 11Q0109—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^{6 note}) that you, his sister,
Finding yourself 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-building law^{7 note}; 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?

Isab.
As much for my poor brother, as myself:
That is, were I under the terms of death,

Th' impression of keen whips I'd wear as rubies,
And strip myself to death, as to a bed
That longing I have been sick for^{8 note}, 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 died 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.
Ignomy in ransom^{9 note}, and free pardon,
Are of two houses: lawful mercy is
Nothing akin to foul redemption^{10 note}

.

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.
O, 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 this weakness^{1 note}.

Ang.
Nay, women are frail too.

Isab.
Ay, as the glasses where they view themselves,
Which are as easy broke as they make forms.
Women!—Help heaven! 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 express'd
By all external warrants,) show 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 outstretch'd throat I'll tell the world
Aloud what man thou art.

Ang.
Who will believe thee, Isabel?
My unsoil'd name, the austereness of my life,
My vouch against you, and my place i'the state,
Will so your accusation overweigh,
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 lingering 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'erweighs your true. [Exit.

Isab.
To whom should I complain^{2 note}? 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 court'sy to their will,
Hooking both right and wrong to th' appetite,
To follow as it draws. I'll to my brother:
Though 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.

ACT III. SCENE I. A Room in the Prison. Enter Duke, as a Friar, Claudio, and Provost.

Duke.
So then, you hope of pardon from lord Angelo?

Claud.
The miserable have
No other medicine, but only hope.
I have hope to live, and am prepar'd to die.

Duke.
Be absolute for death; either death, or life,
Shall thereby be the sweeter. Reason thus with life:—
If I do lose thee, I do lose a thing
That none but fools would keep: a breath thou art,
Servile to all the skyey influences,
That dost this habitation, where thou keep'st,
Hourly afflict. Merely, thou art death's fool;
For him thou labour'st by thy flight to shun,
And yet run'st toward him still: thou art not noble;
For all th' accommodations that thou bear'st,
Are nurs'd by baseness: thou art by no means valiant;
For thou dost fear the soft and tender fork
Of a poor worm: thy best of rest is sleep,
And that thou oft provok'st, yet grossly fear'st
Thy death, which is no more. Thou art not thyself;
For thou exist'st on many a thousand grains
That issue out of dust: happy thou art not;
For what thou hast not, still thou striv'st to get,
And what thou hast forget'st. Thou art not certain;
For thy complexion shifts to strange effects,
After the moon: if thou art rich, thou'rt poor;
For, like an ass, whose back with ingots bows,
Thou bear'st thy heavy riches but a journey,
And death unloads thee: friend hast thou none;
For thine own bowels, which do call thee sire^{3 note},

The mere effusion of thy proper loins,
Do curse the gout, serpigo^{3 note}, and the rheum,
For ending thee no sooner: thou hast nor youth, nor age,
But, as it were, an after-dinner's sleep,
Dreaming on both; for all thy blessed youth
Becomes as aged, and doth beg the alms
Of palsied eld: 11Q0110 and when thou art old and rich,
Thou hast neither heat, affection, limb, nor beauty,
To make thy riches pleasant. What's yet in this,
That bears the name of life? Yet in this life
Lie hid more thousand deaths, yet death we fear,
That makes these odds all even.

Claud.
I humbly thank you.
To sue to live, I find, I seek to die,
And, seeking death, find life: let it come on.

Isab. [Without.]
What, ho! Peace here; grace and good company!

Prov.
Who's there? come in: the wish deserves a welcome. Enter Isabella^{4 note}.

Duke.
Dear sir, ere long I'll visit you again.

Claud.
Most holy sir, I thank you.

Isab.
My business is a word or two with Claudio.

Prov.
And very welcome. Look, signior; here's your sister.

Duke.
Provost, a word with you.

Prov.
As many as you please.

Duke.
Bring me to hear them speak, where I may be conceal'd ^{5 note}

. [Exeunt Duke and Provost.

Claud.
Now, sister, what's the comfort?

Isab.
Why, as all
Comforts are; most good, most good, indeed^{6 note}

.
Lord Angelo, having affairs to heaven,
Intends you for his swift ambassador,
Where you shall be an everlasting leiger^{7 note}:
Therefore, your best appointment make with speed;
To-morrow you set on.

Claud.
Is there no remedy?

Isab.
None, but such remedy, as to save a head
To cleave a heart in twain.

Claud.
But is there any?

Isab.
Yes, brother, you may live:
There is a devilish mercy in the judge,
If you'll implore it, that will free your life,
But fetter you till death.

Claud.
Perpetual durance?

Isab.
Ay, just; perpetual durance: a restraint,
Though all the world's^{8 note} vastidity you had,
To a determin'd scope.

Claud.
But in what nature?

Isab.
In such a one as, you consenting to't,
Would bark your honour from that trunk you bear,
And leave you naked.

Claud.
Let me know the point.

Isab.
O! I do fear thee, Claudio; and I quake,

Lest thou a feverous life should'st entertain,
And six or seven winters more respect,
Than a perpetual honour. Dar'st thou die?
The sense of death is most in apprehension,
And the poor beetle, that we tread upon,
In corporal sufferance finds a pang, as great
As when a giant dies.

Claud.
Why give you me this shame?
Think you I can a resolution fetch
From flowery tenderness? If I must die,
I will encounter darkness as a bride,
And hug it in mine arms.

Isab.
There spake my brother: there my father's grave
Did utter forth a voice. Yes, thou must die:
Thou art too noble to conserve a life
In base appliances. This outward-sainted deputy,
Whose settled visage and deliberate word
Nips youth i'the head, and follies doth enmew^{9 note}
As falcon doth the fowl, is yet a devil;
His filth within being cast, he would appear
A pond as deep as hell.

Claud.
The princely Angelo 11Q0111^{1 note}?

Isab.
O, 'tis the cunning livery of hell,
The damned'st body to invest and cover
In princely guards^{2 note}! Dost thou think, Claudio,

If I would yield him my virginity,
Thou might'st be freed.

Claud.
O, heavens! it cannot be.

Isab.
Yes, he would give't thee from this rank offence,
So to offend him still. This night's the time
That I should do what I abhor to name,
Or else thou diest to-morrow.

Claud.
Thou shalt not do't.

Isab.
O! were it but my life,
I'd throw it down for your deliverance
As frankly as a pin.

Claud.
Thanks, dear Isabel.

Isab.
Be ready, Claudio, for your death to-morrow.

Claud.
Yes. Has he affections in him,
That thus can make him bite the law by the nose,
When he would force it? Sure, it is no sin;
Or of the deadly seven it is the least.

Isab.
Which is the least?

Claud.
If it were damnable, he being so wise,
Why would he for the momentary trick
Be perdurably fin'd?—O Isabel!

Isab.
What says my brother?

Claud.
Death is a fearful thing.

Isab.
And shamed life a hateful.

Claud.
Ay, but to die, and go we know not where;
To lie in cold obstruction, and to rot;
This sensible warm motion to become
A kneaded clod; and the delighted spirit
To bathe in fiery floods, or to reside
In thrilling region of thick-ribbed ice;
To be imprison'd in the viewless winds,
And blown with restless violence round about
The pendent world; or to be worse than worst
Of those that lawless and incertain thoughts

Imagine howling!—'tis too horrible.
The weariest and most loathed worldly life,
That age, ache, penury^{3 note}, and imprisonment
Can lay on nature, is a paradise
To what we fear of death.

Isab.
Alas! alas!

Claud.
Sweet sister, let me live.
What sin you do to save a brother's life,
Nature dispenses with the deed so far,
That it becomes a virtue.

Isab.
O, you beast!
O, faithless coward! O, dishonest wretch!
Wilt thou be made a man out of my vice?
Is't not a kind of incest to take life
From thine own sister's shame? What should I think?
Heaven shield, my mother play'd my father fair,
For such a warped slip of wilderness^{4 note}
Ne'er issu'd from his blood. Take my defiance:
Die; perish! might but my bending down
Reprieve thee from thy fate, it should proceed.
I'll pray a thousand prayers for thy death,
No word to save thee.

Claud.
Nay, hear me, Isabel.

Isab.
O, fie, fie, fie!
Thy sin's not accidental, but a trade.
Mercy to thee would prove itself a bawd:
'Tis best that thou diest quickly. [Going.

Claud.
O hear me, Isabella! Re-enter Duke.

Duke.

Vouchsafe a word, young sister; but one word.

Isab.

What is your will?

Duke.

Might you dispense with your leisure, I would by and by have some speech with you: the satisfaction I would require, is likewise your own benefit.

Isab.

I have no superfluous leisure: my stay must be stolen out of other affairs; but I will attend you a while.

Duke. [To Claudio.]

Son, I have overheard what hath past between you and your sister. Angelo had never the purpose to corrupt her; only he hath made an essay of her virtue, to practise his judgment with the disposition of natures. She, having the truth of honour in her, hath made him that gracious denial which he is most glad to receive: I am confessor to Angelo, and I know this to be true; therefore prepare yourself to death. Do not satisfy your resolution with hopes that are fallible: to-morrow you must die. Go; to your knees, and make ready.

Claud.

Let me ask my sister pardon. I am so out of love with life, that I will sue to be rid of it.

Duke.

Hold you there: farewell.

Provost, a word with you.

Prov.

What's your will, father?

Duke.

That now you are come, you will be gone. Leave me a while with the maid: my mind promises with my habit no loss shall touch her by my company.

Prov.

In good time.

Duke.

The hand that hath made you fair hath made you good: the goodness that is cheap in beauty makes beauty brief in goodness; 11Q0112 but grace, being the soul of your complexion, shall keep the body of it ever fair. The assault, that Angelo hath made to you, fortune hath convey'd to my understanding; and, but that frailty hath examples for his falling, I should wonder at Angelo. How will you do to content this substitute, and to save your brother?

Isab.

I am now going to resolve him. I had rather my brother die by the law, than my son should be unlawfully born. But O, how much is the good duke deceived in Angelo! If ever he return, and I can speak to him, I will open my lips in vain, or discover his government.

Duke.

That shall not be much amiss; yet, as the matter now stands, he will avoid your accusation: he made trial of you only^{5 note}.—Therefore, fasten your ear on my advisings: to the love I have in doing good a remedy presents itself. I do make myself believe, that you may most uprighteously do a poor wronged lady a merited benefit, redeem your brother from the angry law, do no stain to your own gracious person, and much please the absent duke, if, peradventure, he shall ever return to have hearing of this business.

Isab.

Let me hear you speak farther. I have spirit to do any thing that appears not foul in the truth of my spirit.

Duke.

Virtue is bold, and goodness never fearful. Have you not heard speak of Mariana, the sister of Frederick, the great soldier who miscarried at sea?

Isab.

I have heard of the lady, and good words went with her name.

Duke.

She should this Angelo have married; he was affianced to her by oath^{6 note}, and the nuptial appointed: between which time of the contract, and limit of the solemnity, her brother Frederick was wrecked at sea, having in that perish'd vessel the dowry of his sister. But mark how heavily this befel to the poor gentlewoman: there she lost a noble and renowned brother,

in his love toward her ever most kind and natural; with him the portion and sinew of her fortune, her marriage-dowry; with both, her combinate husband^{7 note}, this well-seeming Angelo.

Isab.

Can this be so? Did Angelo so leave her?

Duke.

Left her in her tears, and dried not one of them with his comfort; swallowed his vows whole, pretending in her discoveries of dishonour: in few, bestowed her on her own lamentation, which she yet wears for his sake, and he, a marble to her tears, is washed with them, but relents not.

Isab.

What a merit were it in death to take this poor maid from the world! What corruption in this life, that it will let this man live!—But how out of this can she avail?

Duke.

It is a rupture that you may easily heal; and the cure of it not only saves your brother, but keeps you from dishonour in doing it.

Isab.

Show me how, good father.

Duke.

This fore-named maid hath yet in her the continuance of her first affection: his unjust unkindness, that in all reason should have quenched her love, hath, like an impediment in the current, made it more violent and unruly. Go you to Angelo: answer his requiring with a plausible obedience: agree with his demands to the point; only refer yourself to this advantage,—first, that your stay with him may not be long, that the time may have all shadow and silence in it, and the place answer to convenience. This being granted in course, and now follows all^{8 note}: we shall advise this wronged maid to stead up your appointment, go in your place; if the encounter acknowledge itself hereafter, it may compel him to her recompense; and

here by this is your brother saved, your honour untainted, the poor Mariana advantaged, and the corrupt deputy scaled^{9 note}. The maid will I frame, and make fit for his attempt. If you think well to carry this, as you may, the doubleness of the benefit defends the deceit from reproof. What think you of it?

Isab.

The image of it gives me content already, and, I trust, it will grow to a most prosperous perfection.

Duke.

It lies much in your holding up. Haste you speedily to Angelo: if for this night he entreat you to his bed, give him promise of satisfaction. I will presently to St. Luke's; there, at the moated grange, resides this dejected Mariana: at that place call upon me, and despatch with Angelo, that it may be quickly.

Isab.

I thank you for this comfort. Fare you well, good father.