That is, a woman; if you be more, you're none: By all external warrants,) show it now, By putting on the destined livery. Isab. I have no tongue but one: gentle my lord, 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 license in't, Which seems a little fouler than it is, To pluck on others. Ang. Believe me, on mine honor, My words express my purpose. Isab. Ha! Little honor to be much believed, 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, Ang. That you shall stifle in your own report, That banish what they sue for; redeem thy brother Or else he must not only die the death, [Exit. Isab. To whom shall 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 courtesy to their will; Hooking both right and wrong to the 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 honor, Then, Isabel, live chaste, and, brother, die: And fit his mind to death, for his soul's rest. [Exit. ACT III. SCENE I. A Room in the Prison. Enter Duke, CLAUDIO, and Provost. Duke. So, then you hope for pardon from lord Angelo? Claud. The miserable have no other medicine, But only hope: I have hope to live, and am prepared 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, That dost this habitation, where thou keep'st, And yet runn'st toward him still. Thou art not noble; Of a poor worm. Thy best of rest is sleep, For thine own bowels, which do call thee sire, Of palsied eld; and when thou art old, and rich, Claud. I humbly thank you. To sue to live, I find, I seek to die: Enter ISABELLA. Isab. What ho! Peace here; grace and good company! Prov. Who's there? welcome. Come in; the wish deserves a Duke. Dear sir, ere long I'll visit you again. Claud. Most holy sir, I thank you. Isab. My business is a word or two with Claudio. Prov. And very welcome. Look, seignior, here's your sister. Duke. Provost, a word with you. Prov. As many as you please. Duke. Bring me to hear them speak, where I may be concealed, Yet hear them. [Exeunt Duke and Provost. Claud. Now, sister, what's the comfort? Isab. Why, as all comforts are, 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; Claud. Is there no remedy? Isab. None, but such remedy, as to save a head, To cleave a heart in twain. Claud. But is there any? Isab. Yes, brother, you may live; Claud. Perpetual durance? Claud. But in what nature? Isab. In such a one as (you consenting to't) Would bark your honor from that trunk you bear, And leave you naked. Claud. Let me know the point. Claud. 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 deputy- Nips youth i' the head, and follies doth enmew Claud. The princely Angelo? In princely guards! Dost thou think, Claudio, 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. Isab. O, were it but my life, Claud. Thanks, my dear Isabel. Isab. Be ready, Claudio, for your death to-morrow. Claud. Yes. Has he affections in him, That thus can make him bite the law by the nose, Or of the deadly seven it is the least. Isab. Which is the least? Claud. If it were damnable, he, being so wise, Why, would he, for the momentary trick, Be perdurably fined?-O Isabel! Isab. What says my brother? Death is a fearful thing. 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 The weariest and most loathed worldly life, 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, That it becomes a virtue. Isab. O, you beast! 0, 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 played my father fair? For such a warped slip of wilderness Ne'er issued from his blood. Take my defiance: Claud. Nay, hear me, Isabel. |