plaint whatsoever no, not for dwelling where you! do: If I do, Pompey, I shall beat you to your tent, and prove a shrewd Cæsar to you; in plain dealing, Pom pey, I shall have you whipt: so for this time, Poripey, fare you well.

Clo. I thank your worship for your good counsel; but I shall follow it as the flesh and fortune shall better determine.

Whip me! No, no; let carman whip his jade;
The valiant heart's not whipt out of his trade.

[Exit. Escal. Come hither to me, master Elbow; come hither, master Constable. How long have you been in this place of constable?

Elb. Seven years and a half, sir.

Escal. I thought, by your readiness in the office, you had continued in it some time: You say, seven years together?

Elb. And a half, sir.

Now what's the matter, Provost ? Prov. Is it your will Claudio shall die to-morrow?

Ang. Did I not tell thee, yea? hadst thou not order?

Why dost thou ask again?

Ang. Stay a little while.-[To ISAB. You are welcome: What's your will?

Isab. I am a woeful suitor to your honor: Please but your honor hear me. Ang. Well; what's your suit Isab. There is a vice that most I do abhor, And most desire should meet the blow of justice, For which I would not plead, but that I must; For which I must not plead, but that I am At war, 'twixt will, and will not. Ang. Well; the matter? Isab. I have a brother is condemned to die: I do beseech you, let it be his fault, And not my brother.

Prov. Heaven give thee moving graces! Ang. Condemn the fault and not the actor of it! Why, every fault's condemned, ere it be done: Mine were the very cipher of a function, To fine the faults, whose fine stands in record, And let go by the actor. Isab.

O just, but severe law! I had a brother then.- Heaven keep your honor! [Retiring

Lucio. [To ISAB.] Give 't not o'er so: to im Kneel down before him, hang upon his gown; again, intreat him;

You are too cold; if you should need a pin
You could not with more tame a tongue desire it
To him, I say.

Isab. Must he needs die?
Ang.

Maiden, no remedy. Isub. Yes; I do think that you might pardon him, And neither heaven, nor man, grieve at the mercy. Ang. I will not do 't.

Isab.
But you can, if you would?
Ang. Look, what I will not, that I cannot do.
Isab. But might you do't, and do the world no
wrong?

If so, your heart were touch'd with that remorse
As mine is to him.

Ang.
He's sentenced: 'tis too late.
Lucio. You are too cold.
[To ISABELLA.
Isab. Too late! why, no; I. that do speak a word,
May call it back again: Well believe this,
No ceremony that to great ones 'longs,
Not the king's crown, nor the deputed sword,
The marshall's truncheon, nor the judge's robe,
Become them with one half so good a grace,
As mercy does. If he had been as you,
And you as he, you would have slipt like him;
But he, like you, would not have been so stern.
Ang. Pray you, begone.

Isab. I would to heaven I had your potency,
And you were Isabel! should it then be thus?
No;
would tell what 'twere to be a judge,
And what a prisoner.

Lucio. Ay, touch him: there's the vein, [Aside.
Ang. Your brother is a forfeit of the law,
And you but waste your words.

Isab.

Alas! alas!

Ang.

If He, which is the top of judgment, should But judge you as you are? O, think on that; And mercy then will breathe within your lips,

Ang.

To some more fitter place; and that with speed. Re-enter Servant.

Serv. Here is the sister of the man condemn'd Desires access to you.

Ang.

Hath be a sister?

See you. the fornicatress be remov'd;
Let her have needful, but not lavish, means;
There shall be order for it.

Ang. Be you content, fair maid; It is the law, not I, condemns your brother: Were he my kinsman, brother, or my son, It should be thus with him:- he must die to-mor

row.

Isab. To-morrow? O, that's sudden! Spare him,

spare him:

He's not prepar'd for death! Even for our kitchens We kill the fowl of season; shall we serve heaven With less respect than we do minister

To our gross selves? Good, good my lord, bethink

slept:

Enter Lucio and ISABELLA.

Prov. Save your honor!

And so in progress to be hatch'd and born)
Are now to have no successive degrees,
But, where they live, to end.
Isub.
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.

Thou rather, with thy sharp and sulphurous bolt,
Split'st the unwedgeable and knarled 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 inake the angels weep: who, with our spleens,
Would all themselves laugh mortal.
Lucio. O, to him, to him, wench: he will relent;
He's coming, I perceive 't.

Prov.
Pray heaven, she win him!
Isab. We cannot weigh our brother with ourself:
Great men may jest with saints: 'tis wit in them;
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;
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.

Ang.

She speaks, and 'tis

Such sense, that my sense breeds with it.-Fare you well.

Isab. Gentle my lord, turn back.

Ang. I will bethink me:-Come again to-mor

And feast upon her eyes! What is 't I dream on?
O cunning enemy, that to catch a saint,
With saints dost bait thy hcok! Most dangerous
Is that temptation, that doth goad us on

To sin in loving virtue; never could the strumpet
With all her double vigor, 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 are. Prov. I am the provost: What's your will, good friar?

Duke. Bound by my charity, and my bless'd order, Here in the prison: do me the common right I come to visit the afflicted spirits To let me see them; and to make me know The nature of their crimes, that I may minister To the accordingly.

Pro I would do more than that, if more were needful.

Duke. Love you the man that wrong'd you? Jutiet. Yes, as I love the woman that wrong'd him. Dake. 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

heaven;

Showing, we'd 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! Bene.licile!

\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.

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 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 true.
[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-sa:ne tongue
Either of condemnation or approof!
Bidding the law make court'sy 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,
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

SCENE L-A Room in the Prison. Enter Duke, CLAUDIO, and Provost. Duke. So, then you hope of pardon from lord Angelo!

Claud. The miserable have no other medicine, But only hope:

I have hope to live, 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 skiey influences.)

That dost this habitation, where thou keep'st,
Hourly afflict: merely, thou art death's fool;
For him thou labor'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 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 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, serpio. and the rheum.
"or 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 aims
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 more thousand deaths: yet death we fear.

That makes these odds all even.
Claud.
I humbly thank you.
To sue to live, I find. I seek to die;
And seeking death, find life: Let it come on.

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. Isob. 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 honor. Dar'st thou d'e? 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 shams? Think you I can a resolution fetch From flowery tenderness? If I must die, will encounter darkness as a bride, And hug it in mine arms.

Isab. There spake my brother; there my father's

Isab. Be ready, Claudio, for your death to-morrow. Cloud. Yes. Has he affections in him, That thus can make him bite the law by the nose, When he would force it? Sure it is no sin; fr 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 fin'd?-O Isabel! Isab. What says my brother! Claud.

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

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 uncertain 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.

Isab.

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.

Claud. Nay, hear me, Isabel.

Isab.

O, fye, fye, fye!

Thy sin's not accidental, but a trade:
Mercy to thee would prove itself a bawd:
'Tis best that thou diest quickly.
Claud.

[Going O hear me, Isabella. Re-enter Duke.

Duke. Vouchsafe a word, young sister, but one word.

Isab. 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.

Isab. I have no superfluous leisure; my stay must be stolen out of other affairs; but I will attend you awhile.

Duke. [To CLAudio, aside.] Son, I have overheard what hath passed between you and your sister. Angelo had never the purpose to corrupt her; only he hath made an essay of her virtue, to practice his judgment with the disposition of natures; she, having the truth of honor 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.

Claud. 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.

beauty, makes beauty brief in goodness: but grace, being the soul of your complexion, should 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 would you do to content this substitute, and to save your brother?

Isab. 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 deceived 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 do ing 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.

Isab. Let me hear you speak further; I have spirit to do any thing 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?

Isab. I have heard of the lady, and good words went with her name.

Duke. Her should this Angelo have married; was affianced to her by oath, and the nuptual appointed: between which time of the contract, and limit of the solemnity, her brother Frederick was wrecked at sea, having in that perished vessel the dowry of his sister. But mark, how heavily this befel 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.

Isab. Can this be so? Did Angelo so leave her? Duke. Left her in her tears, and dry'd not one of them with his comfort; swallowed his vows whole, pretending in her discoveries of dishonor: in few, bestowed 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.

Isab. What a merit were it in death, to take this poor maiden 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 dishonor in doing it.

Isab. Show me how, good father.

Duke. This fore-named 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, 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 honor 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?

Isab. 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 St. Luke's; there, at the moated grange, resides this dejected Mariana: At that Over reached.

• Betrothed.