less foul profanation. LUCIO. [To ISABELLA] Thou'rt i' th' right, girl; more o' that. ISABELLA. That in the captain's but a choleric word Which in the soldier is flat blasphemy. LUCIO. [To ISABELLA] Art avis'd o' that? More on't. ANGELO. Why do you put these sayings upon me? ISABELLA. Because authority, though it err like others, Hath yet a kind of medicine in itself That skins the vice o' th' 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. ANGELO. [Aside] She speaks, and 'tis Such sense that my sense breeds with it.- Fare you well. ISABELLA. Gentle my lord, turn back. ANGELO. I will bethink me. Come again to-morrow. ISABELLA. Hark how I'll bribe you; good my lord, turn back. ANGELO. How, bribe me? ISABELLA. Ay, with such gifts that heaven shall share with you. LUCIO. [To ISABELLA) You had marr'd all else. ISABELLA. Not with fond sicles of the tested gold, Or stones, whose rate 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. ANGELO. Well; come to me to-morrow. LUCIO. [To ISABELLA] Go to; 'tis well; away. ISABELLA. Heaven keep your honour safe! ANGELO. [Aside] Amen; for I Am that way going to temptation Where prayers cross. ISABELLA. At what hour to-morrow Shall I attend your lordship? ANGELO. At any time 'fore noon. ISABELLA. Save your honour! Exeunt all but ANGELO ANGELO. 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 flow'r, 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, fie, fie, fie! 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 wond'red how. Exit SCENE III. A prison Enter, severally, DUKE, disguised as a FRIAR, and PROVOST DUKE. Hail to you, Provost! so I think you are. PROVOST. I am the Provost. What's your will, good friar? DUKE. Bound by my charity and my blest 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. PROVOST. I would do more than that, if more were needful. Enter JULIET Look, here comes one; a gentlewoman of mine, Who, falling in the flaws 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? PROVOST. As I do think, to-morrow. [To JULIET] I have provided for you; stay awhile 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 lest 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 spare 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 JULIET. Must die to-morrow! O, injurious law, That respites me a life whose very comfort Is still a dying horror! PROVOST. 'Tis pity of him. Exeunt SCENE IV. ANGELO'S house Enter ANGELO ANGELO. 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 sere 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? SERVANT. One Isabel, a sister, desires access to you. ANGELO. Teach her the way. [Exit SERVANT] 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 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? ISABELLA. I am come to know your pleasure. ANGELO. That you might know it would much better please me Than to demand what 'tis. Your brother cannot live. ISABELLA. Even so! Heaven keep your honour! ANGELO. Yet may he live awhile, and, it may be, As long as you or I; yet he must die. ISABELLA. Under your sentence? ANGELO. Yea. ISABELLA. When? I beseech you; that in his reprieve, Longer or shorter, he may be so fitted That his soul sicken not. ANGELO. Ha! Fie, these filthy vices! It were as good To pardon him that hath from nature stol'n 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. ISABELLA. 'Tis set down so in heaven, but not in earth. ANGELO. Say you so? Then I shall pose 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? ISABELLA. Sir, believe this: I had rather give my body than my soul. ANGELO. I talk not of your soul; our compell'd sins Stand more for number than for accompt. ISABELLA. How say you? ANGELO. 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? ISABELLA. Please you to do't, I'll take it as a peril to my soul It is no sin at all, but charity. ANGELO. Pleas'd you to do't at peril of your soul, Were equal poise of sin and charity. ISABELLA. 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. ANGELO. Nay, but hear me; Your sense pursues not mine; either you are ignorant Or seem so, craftily; and that's not good. ISABELLA. Let me be ignorant, and in nothing good But graciously to know I am no better. ANGELO. Thus wisdom wishes to appear most bright When it doth tax itself; as these black masks Proclaim an enshielded beauty ten times louder Than beauty could, display'd. But mark me: To be received plain, I'll speak more gross- Your brother is to die. ISABELLA. So. ANGELO. And his offence is so, as it appears, Accountant to the law upon that pain. ISABELLA. True. ANGELO. Admit no other way to save his life, As I subscribe not that, nor any other, But, in the loss 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 supposed, or else to let him suffer- What would you do? ISABELLA. 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 have been sick for, ere I'd yield My body up to shame. ANGELO. Then must your brother die. ISABELLA. And 'twere the cheaper way: Better it were a brother died at once Than that a sister, by redeeming him, Should die for ever. ANGELO. Were not you, then, as cruel as the sentence That you have slander'd so? ISABELLA. Ignominy in ransom and free pardon Are of two houses: lawful mercy Is nothing kin to foul redemption. ANGELO. 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. ISABELLA. 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. ANGELO. We are all frail. ISABELLA. Else let my brother die, If not a fedary but only he Owe and succeed thy weakness. ANGELO. Nay, women are frail too. ISABELLA. 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. ANGELO. 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. ISABELLA. I have no tongue but one; gentle, my lord, Let me intreat you speak the former language. ANGELO. Plainly conceive, I love you. ISABELLA. My brother did love Juliet, And you tell me that he shall die for't. ANGELO. He shall not, Isabel, if you give me love. ISABELLA. I know your virtue hath a license in't, Which seems a little fouler than it is, To pluck on others. ANGELO. Believe me, on mine honour, My words express my purpose. ISABELLA. 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. ANGELO. Who will believe thee, Isabel? My unsoil'd name, th' austereness of my life, My vouch against you, and my place i' th' 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 ling'ring 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 ISABELLA. 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 curtsy to their will; Hooking both right and wrong to th' appetite, To follow as it draws! I'll to my brother. Though he hath fall'n 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. The prison Enter DUKE, disguised as before, CLAUDIO, and PROVOST DUKE. So, then you hope of pardon from Lord Angelo? CLAUDIO. The miserable have no other medicine But only hope: I have hope to Eve, 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 'rt 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 exists 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 blessed 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 moe thousand deaths; yet death we fear, That makes these odds all even. CLAUDIO. I humbly thank you. To sue to live, I find I seek to die; And, seeking death, find life. Let it come on. ISABELLA. [Within] What, ho! Peace here; grace and good company! PROVOST. Who's there? Come in; the wish deserves a welcome. DUKE. Dear sir, ere long I'll visit you again. CLAUDIO. Most holy sir, I thank you. Enter ISABELLA ISABELLA. My business is a word or two with Claudio. PROVOST. And very welcome. Look, signior, here's your sister. DUKE. Provost, a word with you. PROVOST. As many as you please. DUKE. Bring me to hear them speak, where I may be conceal'd. Exeunt DUKE and PROVOST CLAUDIO. Now, sister, what's the comfort? ISABELLA. Why, As all comforts are; most good, most good, indeed. Lord Angelo, having affairs to heaven, Intends you for his swift ambassador, Where you shall be an everlasting leiger. Therefore, your best appointment make with speed; To-morrow you set on. CLAUDIO. Is there no remedy? ISABELLA. None, but such remedy as, to save a head, To cleave a heart in twain. CLAUDIO. But is there any? ISABELLA. 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. CLAUDIO. Perpetual durance? ISABELLA. Ay, just; perpetual durance, a restraint, Though all the world's vastidity you had, To a determin'd scope. CLAUDIO. But in what nature? ISABELLA. In such a one as, you consenting to't, Would bark your honour from that trunk you bear, And leave you naked. CLAUDIO. Let me know the point. ISABELLA. O, I do fear thee, Claudio; and I quake, Lest thou a feverous life shouldst 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. CLAUDIO. Why give you me this shame? Think you I can a resolution fetch From flow'ry tenderness? If I must die, I will encounter darkness as a bride And hug it in mine arms. ISABELLA. 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' th' head, and follies doth enew As falcon doth the fowl, is yet a devil; His filth within being cast, he would appear A pond as deep as hell. CLAUDIO. The precise Angelo! ISABELLA. O, 'tis the cunning livery of hell The damned'st body to invest and cover In precise guards! Dost thou think, Claudio, If I would yield him my virginity Thou mightst be freed? CLAUDIO. O heavens! it cannot be. ISABELLA. 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. CLAUDIO. Thou shalt not do't. ISABELLA. O, were it but my life! I'd throw it down for your deliverance As frankly as a pin. CLAUDIO. Thanks, dear Isabel. ISABELLA. Be ready, Claudio, for your death to-morrow. CLAUDIO. Yes. Has he affections in him That thus can make him bite the law by th' nose When he would force it? Sure it is no sin; Or of the deadly seven it is the least. ISABELLA. Which is the least? CLAUDIO. If it were damnable, he being so wise, Why would he for the momentary trick Be perdurably fin'd?- O Isabel! ISABELLA. What says my brother? CLAUDIO. Death is a fearful thing. ISABELLA. And shamed life a hateful. CLAUDIO. 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 thought 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. ISABELLA. Alas, alas! CLAUDIO. 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. ISABELLA. 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, No word to save thee. CLAUDIO. Nay, hear me, Isabel. ISABELLA. 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. CLAUDIO. O, hear me, Isabella. Re-enter DUKE DUKE. Vouchsafe a word, young sister, but one word. ISABELLA. 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. ISABELLA. I have no superfluous leisure; my stay must be stolen out of other affairs; but I will attend you awhile. [Walks apart] DUKE. Son, I have overheard what hath pass'd between you and your sister. Angelo had never the purpose to corrupt her; only he hath made an assay 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. CLAUDIO. 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] Provost, a word with you. Re-enter PROVOST PROVOST. 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. PROVOST. In good time. Exit PROVOST DUKE. The hand that hath made you fair hath made you good; the goodness that is cheap 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? ISABELLA. 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 deceiv'd 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. ISABELLA. Let me hear you speak farther; I have spirit to do anything 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? ISABELLA. I have heard of the lady, and good words went with her name. DUKE. She should this Angelo have married; 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 wreck'd at sea, having in that perished vessel the dowry of his sister. But mark how heavily this befell 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. ISABELLA. 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, bestow'd 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. ISABELLA. 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. ISABELLA. Show me how, good father. DUKE. This forenamed 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: 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. 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? ISABELLA. 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 Saint Luke's; there, at the moated grange, resides this dejected Mariana. At that place call upon me; and dispatch with Angelo, that it may be quickly. ISABELLA. I thank you for this comfort. Fare you well, good father. Exeunt severally Scene II. The street before the prison Enter, on one side, DUKE disguised as before; on the other, ELBOW, and OFFICERS with POMPEY ELBOW. 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. O heavens! what stuff is here? POMPEY. 'Twas never merry world since, of two usuries, 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 on lamb-skins too, to signify that craft, being richer than innocency, stands for the facing. ELBOW. Come your way, sir. Bless you, good father friar. DUKE. And you, good brother father. What offence hath this man made you, sir? ELBOW. 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 picklock, 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. POMPEY. 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. ELBOW. 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 his faults from seeming, free. ELBOW. His neck will come to your waist- a cord, sir. Enter LUCIO POMPEY. I spy comfort; I cry bail. Here's a gentleman, and a friend of mine. LUCIO. How now, noble Pompey! What, at the wheels of Caesar? Art thou led in triumph? What, is there none of Pygmalion's images, newly made woman, to be had now for putting the hand in the pocket and extracting it clutch'd? What reply, ha? What say'st thou to this tune, matter, and method? Is't not drown'd i' th' last rain, ha? What say'st thou, trot? Is the world as it was, man? Which is the way? Is it sad, and few words? or how? The trick of it? DUKE. Still thus, and thus; still worse! LUCIO. How doth my dear morsel, thy mistress? Procures she still, ha? POMPEY. Troth, sir, she hath eaten up all her beef, and she is herself in the tub. LUCIO. Why, 'tis good; it is the right of it; it must be so; ever your fresh whore and your powder'd bawd- an unshunn'd consequence; it must be so. Art going to prison, Pompey? POMPEY. Yes, faith, sir. LUCIO. Why, 'tis not amiss, Pompey. Farewell; go, say I sent thee thither. For debt, Pompey- or how? ELBOW. For being a bawd, for being a bawd. LUCIO. Well, then, imprison him. If imprisonment be the due of a bawd, why, 'tis his right. Bawd is he doubtless, and of antiquity, too; bawd-born. Farewell, good Pompey. Commend me to the prison, Pompey. You will turn good husband now, Pompey; you will keep the house. POMPEY. I hope, sir, your good worship will be my bail. LUCIO. No, indeed, will I not, Pompey; it is not the wear. I will pray, Pompey, to increase your bondage. If you take it not patiently, why, your mettle is the more. Adieu trusty Pompey. Bless you, friar. DUKE. And you. LUCIO. Does Bridget paint still, Pompey, ha? ELBOW. Come your ways, sir; come. POMPEY. You will not bail me then, sir? LUCIO. Then, Pompey, nor now. What news abroad, friar? what news? ELBOW. Come your ways, sir; come. LUCIO. Go to kennel, Pompey, go. Exeunt ELBOW, POMPEY and OFFICERS What news, friar, of the Duke? DUKE. I know none. Can you tell me of any? LUCIO. Some say he is with the Emperor of Russia; other some, he is in Rome; but where is he, think you? DUKE. I know not where; but wheresoever, I wish him well. LUCIO. It was a mad fantastical trick of him to steal from the state and usurp the beggary he was never born to. Lord Angelo dukes it well in his absence; he puts transgression to't. DUKE. He does well in't. LUCIO. A little more lenity to lechery would do no harm in him; something too crabbed that way, friar. DUKE. It is too general a vice, and severity must cure it. LUCIO. Yes, in good sooth, the vice is of a great kindred; it is well allied; but it is impossible to extirp it quite, friar, till eating and drinking be put down. They say this Angelo was not made by man and woman after this downright way of creation. Is it true, think you? DUKE. How should he be made, then? LUCIO. Some report a sea-maid spawn'd him; some, that he was begot between two stock-fishes. But it is certain that when he makes water his urine is congeal'd ice; that I know to be true. And he is a motion generative; that's infallible. DUKE. You are pleasant, sir, and speak apace. LUCIO. Why, what a ruthless thing is this in him, for the rebellion of a codpiece to take away the life of a man! Would the Duke that is absent have done this? Ere he would have hang'd a man for the getting a hundred bastards, he would have paid for the nursing a thousand. He had some feeling of the sport; he knew the service, and that instructed him to mercy. DUKE. I never heard the absent Duke much detected for women; he was not inclin'd that way. LUCIO. O, sir, you are deceiv'd. DUKE. 'Tis not possible. LUCIO. Who- not the Duke? Yes, your beggar of fifty; and his use was to put a ducat in her clack-dish. The Duke had crotchets in him. He would be drunk too; that let me inform you. DUKE. You do him wrong, surely. LUCIO. Sir, I was an inward of his. A shy fellow was the Duke; and I believe I know the cause of his withdrawing. DUKE. What, I prithee, might be the cause? LUCIO. No, pardon; 'tis a secret must be lock'd within the teeth and the lips; but this I can let you understand: the greater file of the subject held the Duke to be wise. DUKE. Wise? Why, no question but he was. LUCIO. A very superficial, ignorant, unweighing fellow. DUKE. Either this is envy in you, folly, or mistaking; the very stream of his life, and the business he hath helmed, must, upon a warranted need, give him a better proclamation. Let him be but testimonied in his own bringings-forth, and he shall appear to the envious a scholar, a statesman, and a soldier. Therefore you speak unskilfully; or, if your knowledge be more, it is much dark'ned in your malice. LUCIO. Sir, I know him, and I love him. DUKE. Love talks with better knowledge, and knowledge with dearer love. LUCIO. Come, sir, I know what I know. DUKE. I can hardly believe that, since you know not what you speak. But, if ever the Duke return, as our prayers are he may, let me desire you to make your answer before him. If it be honest you have spoke, you have courage to maintain it; I am bound to call upon you; and I pray you your name? LUCIO. Sir, my name is Lucio, well known to the Duke. DUKE. He shall know you better, sir, if I may live to report you. LUCIO. I fear you not. DUKE. O, you hope the Duke will return no more; or you imagine me too unhurtful an opposite. But, indeed, I can do you little harm: you'll forswear this again. LUCIO. I'll be hang'd first. Thou art deceiv'd in me, friar. But no more of this. Canst thou tell if Claudio die to-morrow or no? DUKE. Why should he die, sir? LUCIO. Why? For filling a bottle with a tun-dish. I would the Duke we talk of were return'd again. This ungenitur'd agent will unpeople the province with continency; sparrows must not build in his house-eaves because they are lecherous. The Duke yet would have dark deeds darkly answered; he would never bring them to light. Would he were return'd! Marry, this Claudio is condemned for untrussing. Farewell, good friar; I prithee pray for me. The Duke, I say to thee again, would eat mutton on Fridays. He's not past it yet; and, I say to thee, he would mouth with a beggar though she smelt brown bread and garlic. Say that I said so. Farewell. Exit DUKE. No might nor greatness in mortality Can censure scape; back-wounding calumny The whitest virtue strikes. What king so strong Can tie the gall up in the slanderous tongue? But who comes here? Enter ESCALUS, PROVOST, and OFFICERS with MISTRESS OVERDONE ESCALUS. Go, away with her to prison. MRS. OVERDONE. Good my lord, be good to me; your honour is accounted a merciful man; good my lord. ESCALUS. Double and treble admonition, and still forfeit in the same kind! This would make mercy swear and play the tyrant. PROVOST. A bawd of eleven years' continuance, may it please your honour. MRS. OVERDONE. My lord, this is one Lucio's information against me. Mistress Kate Keepdown was with child by him in the Duke's time; he promis'd her marriage. His child is a year and a quarter old come Philip and Jacob; I have kept it myself; and see how he goes about to abuse me. ESCALUS. That fellow is a fellow of much license. Let him be call'd before us. Away with her to prison. Go to; no more words. [Exeunt OFFICERS with MISTRESS OVERDONE] Provost, my brother Angelo will not be alter'd: Claudio must die to-morrow. Let him be furnish'd with divines, and have all charitable preparation. If my brother wrought by my pity, it should not be so with him. PROVOST. So please you, this friar hath been with him, and advis'd him for th' entertainment of death. ESCALUS. Good even, good father. DUKE. Bliss and goodness on you! ESCALUS. Of whence are you? DUKE. Not of this country, though my chance is now To use it for my time. I am a brother Of gracious order, late come from the See In special business from his Holiness. ESCALUS. What news abroad i' th' world? DUKE. None, but that there is so great a fever on goodness that the dissolution of it must cure it. Novelty is only in request; and, as it is, as dangerous to be aged in any kind of course as it is virtuous to be constant in any undertakeing. There is scarce truth enough alive to make societies secure; but security enough to make fellowships accurst. Much upon this riddle runs the wisdom of the world. This news is old enough, yet it is every day's news. I pray you, sir, of what disposition was the Duke? ESCALUS. One that, above all other strifes, contended especially to know himself. DUKE. What pleasure was he given to? ESCALUS. Rather rejoicing to see another merry than merry at anything which profess'd to make him rejoice; a gentleman of all temperance. But leave we him to his events, with a prayer they may prove prosperous; and let me desire to know how you find Claudio prepar'd. I am made to understand that you have lent him visitation. DUKE. He professes to have received no sinister measure from his judge, but most willingly humbles himself to the determination of justice. Yet had he framed to himself, by the instruction of his frailty, many deceiving promises of life; which I, by my good leisure, have discredited to him, and now he is resolv'd to die. ESCALUS. You have paid the heavens your function, and the prisoner the very debt of your calling. I have labour'd for the poor gentleman to the extremest shore of my modesty; but my brother justice have I found so severe that he hath forc'd me to tell him he is indeed Justice. DUKE. If his own life answer the straitness of his proceeding, it shall become him well; wherein if he chance to fail, he hath sentenc'd himself. ESCALUS. I am going to visit the prisoner. Fare you well. DUKE. Peace be with you! Exeunt ESCALUS and PROVOST He who the sword of heaven will bear Should be as holy as severe; Pattern in himself to know, Grace to stand, and virtue go; More nor less to others paying Than by self-offences weighing. Shame to him whose cruel striking Kills for faults of his own liking! Twice treble shame on Angelo, To weed my vice and let his grow! O, what may man within him hide, Though angel on the outward side! How may likeness, made in crimes, Make a practice on the times, To draw with idle spiders' strings Most