Duke.

Many that are not mad, Have, sure, more lack of reason.-What would

you say?

Isab. I am the sister of one Claudio,
Condemn'd upon the act of fornication
To lose his head; condemn'd by Angelo:
I, in probation of a sisterhood,

Was sent to by my brother: One Lucio
As then the messenger;-

Lucio.
That's I, an't like your grace:
I came to her from Claudio, and desir'd her
To try her gracious fortune with Lord Angelo,
For her poor brother's pardon.

Isab.

That's he, indeed.

Duke. You were not bid to speak.

Lucio.

No, my good lord;

Nor wish'd to hold my peace.

Duke. I wish you now then; 'Pray you, take note of it: and when you have A business for yourself, pray heaven, you then Be perfect.

Lucio. I warrant your honour.

Duke. The warrant's for yourself; take heed to

it.

Isab. This gentleman told somewhat of my tale. Lucio. Right.

Duke. It may be right; but you are in the wrong To speak before your time.-Proceed.

1sab.

To this pernicious caitiff deputy.

I went

Duke. That's somewhat madly spoken.
Isab.
Pardon it:

The phrase is to the matter.

Duke. Mended again: the matter;-Proceed. Isab. In brief,-to set the needless process by, How I persuaded, how I pray'd, and kneel'd, How he refell'd me, and how I reply'd; (For this was of much length), the vile conclusion I now begin with grief and shame to utter: He would not, but by gift of my chaste body To his concupiscible intemperate lust, Release my brother; and, after much debate

ment,

My sisterly remorse confutes mine honour, And I did yield to him. But the next morn betimes,

His purpose surfeiting, he sends a warrant
For my poor brother's head.

Duke.
This is most likely!
Isab. O, that it were as like as it is true!
Duke. By heaven, fond wretch, thou know'st
not what thou speak'st;

Or else thou art suborn'd against his honour,
In hateful practice: First, his integrity
Stands without blemish:-next, it imports no

reason,

That with such vehemency he should pursue Faults proper to himself: if he had so offended, He would have weigh'd thy brother by himself, And not have cut him off: Some one hath set you

on;

Confess the truth, and say by whose advice
Thou cam'st here to complain.

Isab.
And is this all?
Then, oh, you blessed ministers above,

Keep me in patience; and, with ripen'd time,
Unfold the evil which is here wrapt up
In countenance!-Heaven shield your grace
from woe,

As I, thus wrong'd, hence unbelieved go!

Duke. I know, you'd fain be gone:-An officer! To prison with her :-Shall we thus permit A blasting and a scandalous breath to fall On him so near us? This needs must be a practice. -Who knew of your intent, and coming hither? Isab. One that I would, were here, friar Lodowick.

Duke. A ghostly father, belike:-Who knows that Lodowick?

Lucio. My lord, I know him; 'tis a meddling friar;

I do not like the man: had he been lay, my lord, For certain words he spake against your grace In your retirement, I had swing'd him soundly. Duke. Words against me? This a good friar belike!

And to set on this wretched woman here Against our substitute!-Let this friar be found. Lucio. But yesternight, my lord, she and that

friar

I saw them at the prison: a saucy friar,
A very scurvy fellow.

F. Peter. Blessed be your royal grace! I have stood by, my lord, and I have heard Your royal ear abus'd: First, hath this woman, Most wrongfully accus'd your substitute; Who is as free from touch or soil with her, As she from one ungot.

Duke. We did believe no less. Know you that friar Lodowick that she speaks of! F. Peter. I know him for a man divine and holy;

Not scurvy nor a temporary medler,

As he's reported by this gentleman:
And, on my trust, a man that never yet
Did, as he vouches, misreport your grace.
Lucio. My lord, most villanously; believe it.
F. Peter. Well, he in time may come to clear
himself;

But at this instant he is sick, my lord,
Of a strange fever: Upon his mere request
(Being come to knowledge that there was com
plaint

Intended 'gainst lord Angelo) came I hither, To speak, as from his mouth, what he doth know Is true, and false; and what he with his oath, And all probation, will make up full clear, Whensoever he's convented. First, for this wo

man

(To justify this worthy nobleman,

So vulgarly and personally accused);

Her shall you hear disproved to her eyes,
Till she herself confess it.

Duke.

Good friar, let's hear it. [ISABELLA is carried off, guarded; and MARIANA comes forward. Do you not smile at this, lord Angelo?O heaven! the vanity of wretched fools!Give us some seats.-Come, cousin Angelo; In this I'll be impartial; be you judge

Of your own cause. Is this the witness, friar? First, let her show her face; and, after, speak. Mari. Pardon, my lord; I will not show my

face

Until my husband bid me.

Duke. What, are you married?

Mari. No, my lord.

Duke.

VOL. 1.

Are you a maid?

Mari.

No, my lord.

Duke. A widow then?

Mari.

Neither, my lord?

Why, you

Duke.

Are nothing then :-Neither maid, widow, nor

wife?

Lucio. My lord, she may be a punk; for many of them are neither maid, widow, nor wife. Duke. Silence that fellow; I would he had some

cause

To prattle for himself.

Lucio. Well, my lord.

Mari. My lord, I do confess I ne'er was married;

And, I confess, besides, I am no maid:

I have known my husband; yet my husband knows not,

That ever he knew me.

Lucio. He was drunk then, my lord; it can be no better.

Duke. For the benefit of silence, 'would, thou wert so too.

Lucio. Well, my lord.

Duke. This is no witness for lord Angelo.
Mari. Now come to't, my lord:

She, that accuses him of fornication,

In selfsame manner doth accuse my husband; And charges him, my lord, with such a time, When I'll depose I had him in mine arms, With all the effect of love.

Ang.

Charges she more than me?

Mari. Not that I know.

Duke.

No? you say, your husband.

Mari. Why, just, my lord, and that is Angelo, Who thinks, he knows, that he ne'er knew my body,

But knows, he thinks, that he knows Isabel's. Ang. This is a strange abuse:-Let's see thy face.

Mari. My husband bids me; now I will un[Unveiling.

mask.

This is that face, thou cruel Angelo,
Which, once thou swor'st, was worth the looking

on:

This is the hand, which, with a vow'd contract, Was fast belockid in thine: this is the body

That took away the match from Isabel,
And did supply thee at thy garden-house,
In her imagin'd person.

Duke.

Know you this woman?

Lucio. Carnally, she says.
Duke.

Lucio. Enough, my lord.

Sirrah, no more.

Ang. My lord, I must confess, I know this wo

man;

And, five years since, there was some speech of marriage

Betwixt myself and her; which was broke off,
Partly, for that her promised proportions
Came short of composition; but, in chief,
For that her reputation was disvalued
In levity since which time of five years,
I never spake with her, saw her, nor heard from
her,

Upon my faith and honour.

Mari.

Noble prince, As there comes light from heaven, and words from breath,

As there is sense in truth, and truth in virtue,
I am affianc'd this man's wife, as strongly
As words could make up vows: and, my good
lord,

But Tuesday night last gone, in his garden-house,
He knew me as a wife: As this is true

Let me in safety raise me from my knees;
Or else for ever be confixed here,

A marble monument!
Ang.
I did but smile till now;
Now, good my lord, give me the scope of justice;
My patience here is touch'd: I do perceive,
These poor informal women are no more
But instruments of some more mightier member,
That sets them on: Let me have way, my lord,
To find this practice out.

Duke.
Ay, with all my heart;
And punish them unto your height of pleasure.-
Thou foolish friar; and thou pernicious woman,
Compact with her that's gone! think'st thou, thy
oaths,

Though they would swear down each particular saint,

Were testimonies against his worth and credit,