Duke.

Away with her.-Poor soul!

She speaks this in th' infirmity of sense.

Isab. O prince, I conjure thee, as thou believ'st There is another comfort than this world,

That thou neglect me not, with that opinion

That I am touch'd with madness: make not impossible That which but seems unlike. 'Tis not impossible, the wicked'st caitiff on the ground,

But one,

May seem as shy, as grave, as just, as absolute,
As Angelo; even so may Angelo,

In all his dressings, characts, titles, forms,
Be an arch-villain. Believe it, royal prince:
If he be less, he 's nothing; but he's more,
Had I more name for badness.

Duke.

By mine honesty,

If she be mad, as I believe no other,
Her madness hath the oddest frame of sense,
Such a dependency of thing on thing,

As e'er I heard in madness.

Isab.
O, gracious duke!
Harp not on that; nor do not banish reason
For incredulity'; but let your reason serve
To make the truth appear, where it seems hid,
And hide the false seems true.

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.-

That's I, an 't like your grace.

Lucio.
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.

Duke. You were not bid to speak.
Lucio.

Nor wish'd to hold my peace.

Duke.

That's he, indeed.

No, my good lord;

I wish you now, then:

Pray you, take note of it; and when you have

1 inequality in f. e.

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.

Isab.

I went

To this pernicious, caitiff deputy.
Duke. That's somewhat madly spoken.
Isab.

The phrase is to the matter.

Pardon it:

Duke. Mended again: the matter?-Now 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 replied,

(For this was of much length) the vile conclusion
Ì 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 debatement,
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, O! you blessed ministers above,

Keep me in patience; and, with ripen'd time,
Unfold the evil which is here wrapt up

1 Probable.

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: 't is 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 meddler,

As he 's reported by this gentleman;

And, on my truth1, a man that never yet

Did, as he vouches, misreport your grace.

Lucio. My lord, most villainously 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 complaint
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,

1 trust in f. e.

Whensoever he's convented. First, for this woman,

To justify this worthy nobleman,

So vulgarly and personally accus'd,

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 impartial1: 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?

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 I come to 't, my lord.

She that accuses him of fornication,

In self-same manner doth accuse my husband;

1 Im, that is, very partial, a common use of the prefix

And charges him, my lord, with such a time,
When, I'll depose, I had him in mine arms,

With all th' effect of love.

Ang.

Mari. Not that I know.
Duke.

Charges she more than me?

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 unmask. [Unveiling.

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 belock'd in thine: this is the body

That took away the match from Isabel,
And did supply thee at thy garden-house1
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 woman; 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, [Kneeling."

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 's 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.

VOL. II.-7

1 Summer-house. 2 Not in f. e.