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[Offering to go.

Enter Lucio and ISABELLA.
Prot. Save your honour!
Ang. Stay a little while.-[To ISAB.] Y' are wel-
come: 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!
[Going.

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?

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Lucio. [To ISAB.] Thou art 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 '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 God of judgment, should
But judge you as you are? 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 one, 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 shows what future evils
Either new, or by remissness new-conceiv'd,
And so in progress to be hatch'd and born,
Are now to have no successive degrees,
But ere they live to end.
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 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

F

Dost thou desire her foully for those things

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Prov.

He

[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?

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

with you.

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.

[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.

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 offals there? O, fie, fie, fie!
What dost thou, or what art thou, Angelo?

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

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

[Exit.

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,
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.

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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.

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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,

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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

Why does my blood thus muster to my heart,
Making it both 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,
Quit their own path, and in obsequious fondness
Crowd to his presence, where their untaught love
Must needs appear offence.

Enter ISABELLA.

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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,

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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, norage,
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.

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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.

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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,
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.
Claud.

[Going. 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. [Exit CLAUDIO.

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