The Plays of Shakespeare

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! will relent:

He's coming; I perceive't.
Prov.

[Aside.] Pray heaven, she win him! Isab. You cannot weigh our brother with yourself: 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?

Dost thou desire her foully for those things
That make her good? O, let her brother live!
Thieves for their robbery have authority,

Isab. Ay, with such gifts, that heaven shall share

with you.

When judges steal themselves. What! do I love her, That I desire to hear her speak again,

Lucio. [Aside.] You had marr'd all else. Isab. Not with fond circles 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.

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.-Even from youth till now,
When men were fond, I smil'd, and wonder'd how.

[Going. [Aside.] Amen:

For I am that way going to temptation,

Where prayers cross.

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

Isab. Save your honour!

[Exit.

SCENE III.-A Room in a Prison.
Enter DUKE, as 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.

At any time 'fore noon.
[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 offals there? O, fie, fie, fie!
What dost thou, or what art thou, Angelo?

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,
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

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;
Which sorrow is always toward ourselves, not heaven,
Showing, we would not serve 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.
Grace go with you! Benedicite!

[Exit.

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 intention, 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 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. 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 :
Let's write good angel on the devil's horn,
'Tis not the devil's crest.
Enter Servant.

How now! who's there?

Serv.

Desires access to you.
Ang.

O heavens!

One Isabel, a sister,

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; and that is 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 itself: as these black masks

Teach her the way. [Exit Serv. Proclaim an inshell'd beauty ten times louder

Than beauty could displayed.-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 force of question) 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-binding 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?

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've been sick for, ere I'd yield
My body up to shame.

Ang.

Your brother die.

Then must

Isab. And 'twere the cheaper way.

Ang. Ha! Fie, these filthy vices! It were as good Better it were, a brother died at once,

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?

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, and free pardon,
Are of two houses: lawful mercy is

Nothing akin 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. 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,
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 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 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,
May 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? 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 do 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,
The mere effusion of thy proper loins,
Do curse the gout, serpigo, 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 boasted youth
Becomes as aged, and doth beg the alms

Of palsied eld: 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.

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
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 priestly Angelo?
Isab. O, 'tis the cunning livery of hell,
The damned'st body to invest and cover

In priestly garb! 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. 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, 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
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,

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. [Exit CLAUDIO.

Re-enter Provost. Provost, a word with you.

Prov. What's your will, father? Duke. That now you are come, you will be gone. Leave me awhile with the maid: my mind promises with my habit no loss shall touch her by my company. Prov. In good time. [Exit Provost. Duke. The hand that hath made you fair hath made you good: the goodness that is chief in beauty makes beauty brief in goodness; 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.-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.

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: 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 un-
tainted, the poor Mariana advantaged, and the cor-
rupt deputy scaled. 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?

Duke. Her should this Angelo have married; he was affianced to her by oath, 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, 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, as marble to her tears, is washed with them, but relents not.

Isab. The image of it gives me content already,
and, I trust, it will grow to a most prosperous perfec-
tion.

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 pre-
sently 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.
[Exeunt.

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.

SCENE II.-The Street before the Prison.
Enter DUKE, as a Friar; to him ELBOW, Clown, and
Officers.

Elb. Nay, if there be no remedy for it, but that you
will needs buy and sell men and women like beasts,
we shall have all the world drink brown and white
bastard.

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

Duke. O, heavens! what stuff is here?

Clo. "Twas never merry world, since, of two usances, the merriest was put down, and the worser allow'd by order of law a furr'd gown to keep him warm; and furr'd with fox and lamb-skins too, to signify that craft, being richer than innocency, stands for the facing.

Elb. Come your way, sir.-Bless you, good father friar.

Duke. And you, good brother father. What offence hath this man made you, sir?

Elb. Marry, sir, he hath offended the law: and, sir, we take him to be a thief too, sir; for we have found upon him, sir, a strange pick-lock, which we have sent to the deputy.

Duke. Fie, sirrah: a bawd, a wicked bawd!
The evil that thou causest to be done,
That is thy means to live. Do thou but think
What 'tis to cram a maw, or clothe a back,
From such a filthy vice: say to thyself,
From their abominable and beastly touches
I drink, I eat, array myself, and live.
Canst thou believe thy living is a life,
So stinkingly depending? Go mend, go mend.

Clo. Indeed, it does stink in some sort, sir; but yet, sir, I would prove

Duke. Nay, if the devil have given thee proofs for sin, Thou wilt prove his. Take him to prison, officer: Correction and instruction must both work, Ere this rude beast will profit.

Elb. He must before the deputy, sir; he has given him warning. The deputy cannot abide a whoremaster: if he be a whoremonger, and comes before him, he were as good go a mile on his errand.

Duke. That we were all, as some would seem to be, From our faults, as faults from seeming, free!

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The Plays of Shakespeare: The Text Regulated by the Old Copies, and by the ...