Lucio. 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 man that did the 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 now, or by remissness new-conceiv'd,
And so in progress to be hatch'd and born,)
Are now to have no súccessive degrees,
But, where 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 it is tyrannous
To use it like a giant.

Lucio. 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 Merciful heaven! [thunder. Thou rather, with thy sharp and sulphurous bolt,

Split'st the unwedgeable and gnarledt oak,
Than the soft myrtle: -0, but man, proud man!
Drest in a little brief authority;

Most ignorant of what he's most assur'd,
His glassy essence, like an angry ape,
Plays such fantastic tricks before high heaven,
As make the angels weep; who, with our spleens,
Would all themselves laugh mortal.

[lent;

Lucio. O, to him, to him, wench: he will reHe's coming, I perceive't. Prov. Pray heaven, she win him! Isab. We cannot weigh our brother with

ourself:

[them; Great men may jest with saints: 'tis wit in But, in the less, foul profanation.

Lucio. 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. Art advis'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; [know Knock there; and ask your heart, what it doth 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. She speaks, and 'tis

Such sense, that my sense breeds with it.

Fare you well.

Isab. Gentle my lord, turn back.

[Aside to ISABELLA.

Isab. Heaven keep your honour safe!

Ang. 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!

mine?

[Aside.

[Exeunt Lucio, ISABELLA, and PROVOST. Ang. From thee; even from thy virtue!What's this? what's this? Is this her fault, or [Ha! The tempter, or the tempted, who sins most? 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 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 [pet,
To sin in loving virtue: never could the strum-
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 wonder'd
how.
[Exit.

SCENE III.-A Room in a Prison.

Enter Duke, habited like a Friar, and Provost.

Duke. Hail to you, provost! so, I think you

Ang. I will bethink me:-Come again to

Enter JULIET.

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

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

share with you.

Sce 2 Kings x. 27.

1

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'd not spare heaven, as we love 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.

[it,

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

love,

That respites me a life, whose very comfort Is still a dying horror!

Prov. 'Tis pity of him.

[Exeunt.

To several subjects: heaven hath my empty
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

good

To pardon him, that hath from nature stolen
A man already made, as to remit
[image
Their saucy sweetness, that do coin heaven's
In stamps that are forbid: 'tis all as easy
Falsely to take away a life true made,
As to put mettle 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 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?

Isab. Sir, believe this,

I had rather give my body than my soul.
Ang. I talk not of your soul: Our compell'd
Stand more for number than accompt.

Isab. How say you?

[sins

Ang. Nay, I'll not warrant that; for I can

1

my

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
Or seem so, craftily; and that's not good.

[iguorant,

Isab. Let me be ignorant, and in nothing But graciously to know I am no better. [good, Ang. Thus wisdom wishes to appear most

bright,

When it doth tax itself: as these black masks Proclaim an enshield beauty ten times louder

Outside.

+ Enshielded, covermi

To be received plain, I'll speak more gross: Your brother is to die.

Isab. So.

Ang. Admit no other way to save his life,

(As I subscribet 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 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,

The impression of keen whips I'd wear as And strip myself to death, as to a bed [rubies, That longing I have been sick for, ere I'd yield My body up to shame.

Ang. Then must your brother dic.

Isab. And 'twere the cheaper way: Better it were, a brother died at once, Than that a sister, by redeeming him, Should die for ever.

Ang. Were not you then as cruel as the senThat you have slander'd so?

[tence Isab. Ignomys in ransom, and free pardon, Are of two houses: lawful mercy is Nothing akin to foul redemption.

To pluck on others.

Ang. Believe me, on mine honour,

My words express my purpose.

Isub. Ha! little honour to be much believ'd, And most pernicious purpose! Seeming, seem

ing!*

throat, I'll tell the [world

I will proclaim thee, Angelo; look for't:
Sign me a present pardon for my brother,
Or, with an outstretch d
Aloud, what man thou art.
Ang. Who will believe thee, Isabel?
My unsoil'd name, the austereness of my life,
My voucht against you, and my place i'the
Will so your accusation overweigh, [state,
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
By yielding up thy body to my will; [brother
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
[Exit.

true.

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'd have, we speak not what

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.

ACT III.

[Exit.

SCENE J.-A Room in the Prison. Enter DUKE, CLAUDIO, and PROVOST. Duke. So, then you hope of pardon from lord Angelo?

[art,

Claud. The miserable have no other medicine, But only hope: I have hope to live, and am prepar'd to die. Duke. Be absolutes for death; either death, or life, [life,Shall thereby be the sweeter. Reason thus with If I do lose thee, I do lose a thing That none but fools would keep: a breath thou (Servile to all the skiey 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 the 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 are not certain;

For thy complexion shifts to strange effects,* After the moon: If thou art rich, thou art 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,
[this,
To make thy riches pleasant. What's yet in
That bears the name of life? Yet in this life
Lie hid more thousand deaths: yet death we
That makes these odds all even.

Claud. I humbly thank you.

To sue to live, I find, I seek to die:

[fear,

And, seeking death, find life: Let it come on.

Isab. O, I do fear thee, Claudio; and I quake
Lest thou a feverous life should'st 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.

Claud. Why give you me this shame?
Think you I can a resolution fetch
From flowery tenderness? If I must die,
I will encounter darkness as a bride,
And hug it in mine arms.

Isab. 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 de
puty,-

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 princely Angelo?

Isab. O, 'tis the cunning livery of hell, The damned'st body to invest and cover In princely guards ! 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 it 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.
Isub. O, were it but my life,
I'd throw it down for your deliverance
As frankly as a pin.

Claud. Thanks, dear Isabel.

Isab. Be ready, Claudio, for your death to

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 regions 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.

+ Laced robes. ‡ Freely.