Act II. Scene III.


A Room in a Prison.
   
 
Enter DUKE, disguised as 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?      4
  Duke.  Bound by my charity and my bless’d 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      8
The nature of their crimes, that I may minister   
To them accordingly.   
  Prov.  I would do more than that, if more were needful.   
Look, here comes one: a gentlewoman of mine,     12
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,     16
Than die for this.   
 
Enter JULIET.
   
  Duke.  When must he die?   
  Prov.        As I do think, to-morrow.     20
[To JULIET.] I have provided for you: stay a while,   
And you shall be conducted.   
  Duke.  Repent you, fair one, of the sin you carry?   
  Juliet.  I do, and bear the shame most patiently.     24
  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.     28
  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?     32
  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,     36
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,—     40
  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,     44
And I am going with instruction to him.   
God’s grace go with you! Benedicite!  [Exit.   
  Juliet.  Must die to-morrow! O injurious love,   
That respites me a life, whose very comfort     48
Is still a dying horror!   
  Prov.        ’Tis pity of him.  [Exeunt.

Act II. Scene IV.


A Room in ANGELO’S House.
   
 
Enter ANGELO.
   
  Ang.  When I would pray and think, I think and pray   
To several subjects: heaven hath my empty words,      4
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      8
Of my conception. The state, whereon I studied,   
Is like a good thing, being often read,   
Grown fear’d and tedious; yea, my gravity,   
Wherein, let no man hear me, I take pride,     12
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 a we from fools, and tie the wiser souls     16
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 a Servant.
     20
How now! who’s there?   
  Serv.        One Isabel, a sister,   
Desires access to you.   
  Ang.        Teach her the way.  [Exit Servant.     24
O heavens!   
Why does my blood thus muster to my heart,   
Making both it unable for itself,   
And dispossessing all my other parts     28
Of necessary fitness?   
So play the foolish throngs with one that swounds;   
Come all to help him, and so stop the air   
By which he should revive: and even so     32
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.     36
 
Enter ISABELLA.
   
How now, fair maid!   
  Isab.  I am come to know your pleasure.   
  Ang.  That you might know it, would much better please me,     40
Than to demand what ’tis. Your brother cannot live.   
  Isab.  Even so. Heaven keep your honour!   
  Ang.  Yet may he live a while; and, it may be,   
As long as you or I: yet he must die.     44
  Isab.  Under your sentence?   
  Ang.  Yea.   
  Isab.  When, I beseech you? that in his reprieve,   
Longer or shorter, he may be so fitted     48
That his soul sicken not.   
  Ang.  Ha! fie, these filthy vices! It were as good   
To pardon him that hath from nature stolen   
A man already made, as to remit     52
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     56
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     60
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,     64
I had rather give my body than my soul.   
  Ang.  I talk not of your soul. Our compell’d sins   
Stand more for number than for accompt.   
  Isab.        How say you?     68
  Ang.  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:     72
Might there not be a charity in sin   
To save this brother’s life?   
  Isab.        Please you to do’t,   
I’ll take it as a peril to my soul;     76
It is no sin at all, but charity.   
  Ang.  Pleas’d you to do’t, at peril of your soul,   
Were equal poise of sin and charity.   
  Isab.   That I do beg his life, if it be sin,     80
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.     84
  Ang.        Nay, but hear me.   
Your sense pursues not mine: either you are ignorant,   
Or seem so craftily; and that’s not good.   
  Isab.  Let me be ignorant, and in nothing good,     88
But graciously to know I am no better.   
  Ang.  Thus wisdom wishes to appear most bright   
When it doth tax itself; as these black masks   
Proclaim an enshield beauty ten times louder     92
Than beauty could, display’d. But mark me;   
To be received plain, I’ll speak more gross:   
Your brother is to die.   
  Isab.  So.     96
  Ang.  And his offence is so, as it appears   
Accountant to the law upon that pain.   
  Isab.  True.   
  Ang.  Admit no other way to save his life,—    100
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,    104
Could fetch your brother from the manacles   
Of the all-building law; and that there were   
No earthly mean to save him, but that either   
You must lay down the treasures of your body    108
To this suppos’d, or else to 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,    112
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.    116
  Ang.        Then must your brother die.   
  Isab.  And ’twere the cheaper way:   
Better it were a brother died at once,   
Than that a sister, by redeeming him,    120
Should die for ever.   
  Ang.  Were not you then as cruel as the sentence   
That you have slander’d so?   
  Isab.  Ignomy in ransom and free pardon    124
Are of two houses: lawful mercy   
Is nothing kin to foul redemption.   
  Ang.  You seem’d of late to make the law a tyrant;   
And rather prov’d the sliding of your brother    128
A merriment than a vice.   
  Isab.  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,    132
For his advantage that I dearly love.   
  Ang.  We are all frail.   
  Isab.        Else let my brother die,   
If not a feodary, but only he    136
Owe and succeed thy weakness.   
  Ang.  Nay, women are frail too.   
  Isab.  Ay, as the glasses where they view themselves,   
Which are as easy broke as they make forms.    140
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.    144
  Ang.        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;    148
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,    152
By putting on the destin’d livery.   
  Isab.  I have no tongue but one: gentle my lord,   
Let me entreat you speak the former language.   
  Ang.  Plainly conceive, I love you.    156
  Isab.  My brother did love Juliet; and you tell me   
That he shall die for’t.   
  Ang.  He shall not, Isabel, if you give me love.   
  Isab.  I know your virtue hath a licence in’t,    160
Which seems a little fouler than it is,   
To pluck on others.   
  Ang.        Believe me, on mine honour,   
My words express my purpose.    164
  Isab.  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,    168
Or with an outstretch’d throat I’ll tell the world aloud   
What man thou art.   
  Ang.        Who will believe thee, Isabel?   
My unsoil’d name, the austereness of my life,    172
My vouch against you, and my place i’ the state,   
Will so your accusation overweigh,   
That you shall stifle in your own report   
And smell of calumny. I have begun;    176
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    180
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,    184
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 should I complain? Did I tell this,    188
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 curt’sy to their will;    192
Hooking both right and wrong to th’ 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 honour,    196
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.    200
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.    204

Act III. Scene I.


A Room in the Prison
   
 
Enter DUKE, as a friar, CLAUDIO, and PROVOST.
   
  Duke.  So then you hope of pardon from Lord Angelo?   
  Claud.  The miserable have no other medicine      4
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:      8
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,     12
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     16
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     20
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,     24
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,     28
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,     32
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     36
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     40
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.   
  Claud.        I humbly thank you.     44
To sue to live, I find I seek to die,   
And, seeking death, find life: let it come on.   
  Isab.  [Within.] What ho! Peace here; grace and good company!   
  Prov.  Who’s there? come in: the wish deserves a welcome.     48
  Duke.  Dear sir, ere long I’ll visit you again.   
  Claud.  Most holy sir, I thank you.   
 
Enter ISABELLA.
   
  Is.  My business is a word or two with Claudio.     52
  Prov.  And very welcome. Look, signior; 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 conceal’d.  [Exeunt DUKE and PROVOST.     56
  Claud.  Now, sister, what’s the comfort?   
  Isab.  Why, as all comforts are; most good, most good indeed.   
Lord Angelo, having affairs to heaven,   
Intends you for his swift ambassador,     60
Where you shall be an everlasting leiger:   
Therefore, your best appointment make with speed;   
To-morrow you set on.   
  Claud.        Is there no remedy?     64
  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:     68
There is a devilish mercy in the judge,   
If you’ll implore it, that will free your life,   
But fetter you till death.   
  Claud.        Perpetual durance?     72
  Isab.  Ay, just; perpetual durance, a restraint,   
Though all the world’s vastidity you had,   
To a determin’d scope.   
  Claude.        But in what nature?     76
  Isab.  In such a one as, you consenting to’t,   
Would bark your honour from that trunk you bear,   
And leave you naked.   
  Claude.        Let me know the point.     80
  Isab.  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?     84
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.     88
  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,     92
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     96
In base appliances. This outward-sainted deputy,   
Whose settled visage and deliberate word   
Nips youth i’ the head, and follies doth enmew   
As falcon doth the fowl, is yet a devil;    100
His filth within being cast, he would appear   
A pond as deep as hell.   
  Claud.        The prenzie Angelo?   
  Isab.  O, ’tis the cunning livery of hell,    104
The damned’st body to invest and cover   
In prenzie guards! Dost thou think, Claudio?   
If I would yield him my virginity,   
Thou mightst be freed.    108
  Claud.        O heavens! it cannot be.   
  Isab.  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,    112
Or else thou diest to-morrow.   
  Claud.        Thou shalt not do’t.   
  Isab.  O! were it but my life,   
I’d throw it down for your deliverance    116
As frankly as a pin.   
  Claud.        Thanks, dear Isabel.   
  Isab.  Be ready, Claudio, for your death tomorrow.   
  Claud.  Yes. Has he affections in him,    120
That thus can make him bite the law by the nose,   
When he would force it? Sure, it is no sin;   
Or of the deadly seven it is the least.   
  Isab.  Which is the least?    124
  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?    128
  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;    132
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;    136
To be imprison’d in the viewless winds,   
And blown with restless violence round about   
The pendant world; or to be worse than worst   
Of those that lawless and incertain thoughts    140
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    144
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,    148
Nature dispenses with the deed so far   
That it becomes a virtue.   
  Isab.        O you beast!   
O faithless coward! O dishonest wretch!    152
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;    156
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.    160
I’ll pray a thousand prayers for thy death,   
No word to save thee.   
  Claud.  Nay, hear me, Isabel.   
  Isab.        O, fie, fie, fie!    164
Thy sin’s not accidental, but a trade.   
Mercy to thee would prove itself a bawd:   
’Tis best that thou diest quickly.  [Going.   
  Claud.        O hear me, Isabella.    168
 
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.    172
  Isab.  I have no superfluous leisure: my stay must be stolen out of other affairs; but I will attend you a while.   
  Duke.  [Aside to CLAUDIO.] Son, I have overheard what hath past 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.   
  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.    176
 
Re-enter PROVOST.
   
Provost, a word with you.   
  Prov.  What’s your will, father?   
  Duke.  That now you are come, you will be gone. Leave me awhile with the maid: my mind promises with my habit no loss shall touch her by my company.    180
  Prov.  In good time.  [Exit.   
  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 conveyed 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 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.    184
  Isab.  Let me hear you speak further. 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?   
  Isab.  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 wracked 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.    188
  Isab.  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, 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 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.    192
  Isab.  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?   
  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 place call upon me, and dispatch with Angelo, that it may be quickly.    196
  Isab.  I thank you for this comfort. Fare you well, good father.  [Exeunt.   

Act III. Scene II.


The Street before the Prison.
   
 
Enter DUKE, as a friar; to him ELBOW, POMPEY, and Officers.
   
  Elb.  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?      4
  Pom.  ’Twas never merry world, since, of two usuries, the merriest was put down, and the worser allowed by order of law a furred gown to keep him warm; and furred with fox and lamb skins too, to signify that craft, being richer than innocency, stands for the facing.   
  Elb.  Come your way, sir. Bless you, good father friar.   
  Duke.  And you, good brother father. What offence hath this man made you, sir?   
  Elb.  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 pick-lock, which we have sent to the deputy.      8
  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     12
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,     16
So stinkingly depending? Go mend, go mend.   
  Pom.  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;     20
Correction and instruction must both work   
Ere this rude beast will profit.   
  Elb.  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,     24
From our faults, as faults from seeming, free!   
  Elb.  His neck will come to your waist,—a cord, sir.   
  Pom.  I spy comfort: I cry, bail. Here’s a gentleman and a friend of mine.   
 
Enter LUCIO.
     28
  Lucio.  How now, noble Pompey! What, at the wheels of Cæsar? 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 clutched? What reply? ha? What say’st thou to this tune, matter and method? Is’t not drowned i’ the last rain, ha? What sayest 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?   
  Pom.   Troth, sir, she hath eaten up all her beef, and she is herself in the tub.     32
  Lucio.  Why, ’tis good; it is the right of it; it must be so: ever your fresh whore and your powdered bawd: an unshunned consequence; it must be so. Art going to prison, Pompey?   
  Pom.  Yes, faith, sir.   
  Lucio.  Why, ’tis not amiss, Pompey. Farewell. Go, say I sent thee thither. For debt, Pompey? or how?   
  Elb.  For being a bawd, for being a bawd.     36
  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.   
  Pom.  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.     40
  Lucio.  Does Bridget paint still, Pompey, ha?   
  Elb.  Come your ways, sir; come.   
  Pom.  You will not bail me then, sir?   
  Lucio.  Then, Pompey, nor now. What news abroad, friar? What news?     44
  Elb.  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?     48
  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.     52
  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?     56
  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 congealed 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 cod-piece to take away the life of a man! Would the duke that is absent have done this? Ere he would have hanged 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 inclined that way.     60
  Lucio.  O, sir, you are deceived.   
  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.     64
  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 locked 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.     68
  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 darkened in your malice.   
  Lucio.  Sir, I know him, and I love him.   
  Duke.  Love talks with better knowledge, and knowledge with dearer love.     72
  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.     76
  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 hanged first: thou art deceived in me, friar. But no more of this. Canst thou tell if Claudio die to-morrow or no?   
  Duke.  Why should he die, sir?     80
  Lucio.  Why? for filling a bottle with a tundish. I would the duke we talk of were returned again: this ungenitured 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 be were returned! 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     84
Can tie the gall up in the slanderous tongue?   
But who comes here?   
 
Enter ESCALUS, PROVOST, and Officers with MISTRESS OVERDONE.
   
  Escal.  Go; away with her to prison!     88
  Mrs. Ov.  Good my lord, be good to me; your honour is accounted a merciful man; good my lord.   
  Escal.  Double and treble admonition, and still forfeit in the same kind? This would make mercy swear, and play the tyrant.   
  Prov.  A bawd of eleven years’ continuance, may it please your honour.   
  Mrs. Ov.  My lord, this is one Lucio’s information against me. Mistress Kate Keepdown was with child by him in the duke’s time; he promised 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!     92
  Escal.  That fellow is a fellow of much licence: let him be called before us. Away with her to prison! Go to; no more words. [Exeunt Officers with MISTRESS OVERDONE.] Provost, my brother Angelo will not be altered; Claudio must die to-morrow. Let him be furnished with divines, and have all charitable preparation: if my brother wrought by my pity, it should not be so with him.   
  Prov.  So please you, this friar hath been with him, and advised him for the entertainment of death.   
  Escal.  Good even, good father.   
  Duke.  Bliss and goodness on you!     96
  Escal.  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,    100
In special business from his Holiness.   
  Escal.  What news abroad i’ the world?   
  Duke.  None, but there is so great a fever on goodness, that the dissolution of it must cure it: novelty is only in request; and it is as dangerous to be aged in any kind of course, as it is virtuous to be constant in any undertaking: there is scarce truth enough alive to make societies secure, but security enough to make fellowships accursed. 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?   
  Escal.  One that, above all other strifes, contended especially to know himself.    104
  Duke.  What pleasure was he given to?   
  Escal.  Rather rejoicing to see another merry, than merry at anything which professed 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 prepared. 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 is he resolved to die.   
  Escal.  You have paid the heavens your function, and the prisoner the very debt of your calling. I have laboured for the poor gentleman to the extremest shore of my modesty; but my brother justice have I found so severe, that he hath forced me to tell him he is indeed Justice.    108
  Duke.  If his own life answer the straitness of his proceeding, it shall become him well; wherein if he chance to fail, he hath sentenced himself.   
  Escal.  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    112
Should be as holy as severe;   
Pattern in himself to know,   
Grace to stand, and virtue go;   
More nor less to others paying    116
Than by self offences weighing.   
Shame to him whose cruel striking   
Kills for faults of his own liking!   
Twice treble shame on Angelo,    120
To weed my vice and let his grow!   
O, what may man within him hide,   
Though angel on the outward side!   
How many likeness made in crimes,    124
Making practice on the times,   
To draw with idle spiders’ strings   
Most pond’rous and substantial things!   
Craft against vice I must apply:    128
With Angelo to-night shall lie   
His old betrothed but despis’d:   
So disguise shall, by the disguis’d,   
Pay with falsehood false exacting,    132
And perform an old contracting.  [Exit.

Act IV. Scene I.


The moated Grange at St. Luke’s.
   
 
Enter MARIANA and a Boy: Boy sing

           Take, O take those lips away,
     That so sweetly were forsworn;
   And those eyes, the break of day,
     Lights that do mislead the morn:
   But my kisses bring again,
               bring again,
   Seals of love, but seal’d in vain,
               seal’d in vain.
   
  Mari.  Break off thy song, and haste thee quick away:   
Here comes a man of comfort, whose advice      4
Hath often still’d my brawling discontent.  [Exit Boy.   
 
Enter DUKE, disguised as before.
   
I cry you mercy, sir; and well could wish   
You had not found me here so musical:      8
Let me excuse me, and believe me so,   
My mirth it much displeas’d, but pleas’d my woe.   
  Duke.  ’Tis good; though music oft hath such a charm   
To make bad good, and good provoke to harm.     12
I pray you tell me, hath anybody inquired for me here to-day? much upon this time have I promised here to meet.   
  Mari.  You have not been inquired after: I have sat here all day.   
  Duke.  I do constantly believe you. The time is come even now. I shall crave your forbearance a little; may be I will call upon you anon, for some advantage to yourself.   
  Mari.  I am always bound to you.  [Exit.     16
 
Enter ISABELLA.
   
  Duke.  Very well met, and well come.   
What is the news from this good deputy?   
  Isab.  He hath a garden circummur’d with brick,     20
Whose western side is with a vineyard back’d;   
And to that vineyard is a planched gate,   
That makes his opening with this bigger key;   
This other doth command a little door     24
Which from the vineyard to the garden leads;   
There have I made my promise   
Upon the heavy middle of the night   
To call upon him.     28
  Duke.  But shall you on your knowledge find this way?   
  Isab.  I have ta’en a due and wary note upon’t:   
With whispering and most guilty diligence,   
In action all of precept, he did show me     32
The way twice o’er.   
  Duke.        Are there no other tokens   
Between you ’greed concerning her observance?   
  Isab.  No, none, but only a repair i’ the dark;     36
And that I have possess’d him my most stay   
Can be but brief; for I have made him know   
I have a servant comes with me along,   
That stays upon me, whose persuasion is     40
I come about my brother.   
  Duke.         ’Tis well borne up.   
I have not yet made known to Mariana   
A word of this. What ho! within! come forth.     44
 
Re-enter MARIANA.
   
I pray you, be acquainted with this maid;   
She comes to do you good.   
  Isab.        I do desire the like.     48
  Duke.  Do you persuade yourself that I respect you?   
  Mari.  Good friar, I know you do, and oft have found it.   
  Duke.  Take then this your companion by the hand,   
Who hath a story ready for your ear.     52
I shall attend your leisure: but make haste;   
The vaporous night approaches.   
  Mari.        Will ’t please you walk aside?  [Exeunt MARIANA and ISABELLA.   
  Duke.  O place and greatness! millions of false eyes     56
Are stuck upon thee: volumes of report   
Run with these false and most contrarious quests   
Upon thy doings: thousand escapes of wit   
Make thee the father of their idle dream,     60
And rack thee in their fancies!   
 
Re-enter MARIANA and ISABELLA.
   
        Welcome! How agreed?   
  Isab.  She’ll take the enterprise upon her, father,     64
If you advise it.   
  Duke.        It is not my consent,   
But my entreaty too.   
  Isab.        Little have you to say     68
When you depart from him, but, soft and low,   
‘Remember now my brother.’   
  Mari.        Fear me not.   
  Duke.  Nor, gentle daughter, fear you not at all.     72
He is your husband on a pre-contract:   
To bring you thus together, ’tis no sin,   
Sith that the justice of your title to him   
Doth flourish the deceit. Come, let us go:     76
Our corn’s to reap, for yet our tithe’s to sow.  [Exeunt.   

Act IV. Scene II.


A Room in the Prison.
   
 
Enter PROVOST and POMPEY.
   
  Prov.  Come hither, sirrah. Can you cut off a man’s head?   
  Pom.  If the man be a bachelor, sir, I can; but if he be a married man, he is his wife’s head, and I can never cut off a woman’s head.      4
  Prov.  Come, sir, leave me your snatches, and yield me a direct answer. To-morrow morning are to die Claudio and Barnardine. Here is in our prison a common executioner, who in his office lacks a helper: if you will take it on you to assist him, it shall redeem you from your gyves; if not, you shall have your full time of imprisonment, and your deliverance with an unpitied whipping, for you have been a notorious bawd.   
  Pom.  Sir, I have been an unlawful bawd time out of mind; but yet I will be content to be a lawful hangman. I would be glad to receive some instruction from my fellow partner.   
  Prov.  What ho, Abhorson! Where’s Abhorson, there?   
 
Enter ABHORSON.
      8
  Abhor.  Do you call, sir?   
  Prov.  Sirrah, here’s a fellow will help you to-morrow in your execution. If you think it meet, compound with him by the year, and let him abide here with you; if not, use him for the present, and dismiss him. He cannot plead his estimation with you; he hath been a bawd.   
  Abhor.  A bawd, sir? Fie upon him! he will discredit our mystery.   
  Prov.  Go to, sir; you weigh equally; a feather will turn the scale.  [Exit.     12
  Pom.  Pray, sir, by your good favour—for surely, sir, a good favour you have, but that you have a hanging look,—do you call, sir, your occupation a mystery?   
  Abhor.  Ay, sir; a mystery.   
  Pom.  Painting, sir, I have heard say, is a mystery; and your whores, sir, being members of my occupation, using painting, do prove my occupation a mystery: but what mystery there should be in hanging, if I should be hanged, I cannot imagine.   
  Abhor.  Sir, it is a mystery.     16
  Pom.  Proof?   
  Abhor.  Every true man’s apparel fits your thief.   
  Pom.  If it be too little for your thief, your true man thinks it big enough; if it be too big for your thief, your thief thinks it little enough: so, every true man’s apparel fits your thief.   
 
Re-enter PROVOST.
     20
  Prov.  Are you agreed?   
  Pom.  Sir, I will serve him; for I do find that your hangman is a more penitent trade than your bawd, he doth often ask forgiveness.   
  Prov.  You, sirrah, provide your block and your axe to-morrow four o’clock.   
  Abhor.  Come on, bawd; I will instruct thee in my trade; follow.     24
  Pom.  I do desire to learn, sir; and, I hope, if you have occasion to use me for your own turn, you shall find me yare; for, truly, sir, for your kindness I owe you a good turn.   
  Prov.  Call hither Barnardine and Claudio:  [Exeunt POMPEY and ABHORSON.   
The one has my pity; not a jot the other,   
Being a murderer, though he were my brother.     28
 
Enter CLAUDIO.
   
Look, here’s the warrant, Claudio, for thy death:   
’Tis now dead midnight, and by eight to-morrow   
Thou must be made immortal. Where’s Barnardine?     32
  Claud.  As fast lock’d up in sleep as guiltless labour   
When it lies starkly in the traveller’s bones;   
He will not wake.   
  Prov.        Who can do good on him?     36
Well, go; prepare yourself. [Knocking within.]   
But hark, what noise?—   
Heaven give your spirits comfort!—[Exit CLAUDIO.] By and by.   
I hope it is some pardon or reprieve     40
For the most gentle Claudio.   
 
Enter DUKE, disguised as before.
   
        Welcome, father.   
  Duke.  The best and wholesom’st spirits of the night     44
Envelop you, good provost! Who call’d here of late?   
  Prov.  None since the curfew rung.   
  Duke.  Not Isabel?   
  Prov.        No.     48
  Duke.        They will, then, ere’t be long.   
  Prov.  What comfort is for Claudio?   
  Duke.  There’s some in hope.   
  Prov.        It is a bitter deputy.     52
  Duke.  Not so, not so: his life is parallel’d   
Even with the stroke and line of his great justice:   
He doth with holy abstinence subdue   
That in himself which he spurs on his power     56
To qualify in others: were he meal’d with that   
Which he corrects, then were he tyrannous;   
But this being so, he’s just.—[Knocking within.]   
        Now are they come.  [Exit PROVOST.     60
This is a gentle provost: seldom when   
The steeled gaoler is the friend of men.  [Knocking.   
How now! What noise? That spirit’s possess’d with haste   
That wounds the unsisting postern with these strokes.     64
 
Re-enter PROVOST.
   
  Prov.  There he must stay until the officer   
Arise to let him in; he is call’d up.   
  Duke.  Have you no countermand for Claudio yet,     68
But he must die to-morrow?   
  Prov.        None, sir, none.   
  Duke.  As near the dawning, provost, as it is,   
You shall hear more ere morning.     72
  Prov.        Happily   
You something know; yet, I believe there comes   
No countermand: no such example have we.   
Besides, upon the very siege of justice,     76
Lord Angelo hath to the public ear   
Profess’d the contrary.   
 
Enter a Messenger.
   
        This is his lordship’s man.     80
  Duke.  And here comes Claudio’s pardon.   
  Mes.  [Giving a paper.] My lord hath sent you this note; and by me this further charge, that you swerve not from the smallest article of it, neither in time, matter, or other circumstance. Good morrow; for, as I take it, it is almost day.   
  Prov.  I shall obey him.[Exit.Messenger.   
  Duke.  [Aside.] This is his pardon, purchased by such sin     84
For which the pardoner himself is in;   
Hence hath offence his quick celerity,   
When it is borne in high authority.   
When vice makes mercy, mercy’s so extended,     88
That for the fault’s love is the offender friended.   
Now, sir, what news?   
  Prov.  I told you: Lord Angelo, belike thinking me remiss in mine office, awakens me with this unwonted putting on; methinks strangely, for he hath not used it before.   
  Duke.  Pray you, let’s hear.     92
  Prov.  Whatsoever you may hear to the contrary, let Claudio be executed by four of the clock; and, in the afternoon, Barnardine. For my better satisfaction, let me have Claudio’s head sent me by five. Let this be duly performed; with a thought that more depends on it than we must yet deliver. Thus fail not to do your office, as you will answer it at your peril. What say you to this, sir?   
  Duke.  What is that Barnardine who is to be executed this afternoon?   
  Prov.  A Bohemian born, but here nursed up and bred; one that is a prisoner nine years old.   
  Duke.  How came it that the absent duke had not either delivered him to his liberty or executed him? I have heard it was ever his manner to do so.     96
  Prov.  His friends still wrought reprieves for him; and, indeed, his fact, till now in the government of Lord Angelo, came not to an undoubtful proof.   
  Duke.  It is now apparent?   
  Prov.  Most manifest, and not denied by himself.   
  Duke.  Hath he borne himself penitently in prison? How seems he to be touched?    100
  Prov.  A man that apprehends death no more dreadfully but as a drunken sleep; careless, reckless, and fearless of what’s past, present, or to come; insensible of mortality, and desperately mortal.   
  Duke.  He wants advice.   
  Prov.  He will hear none. He hath evermore had the liberty of the prison: give him leave to escape hence, he would not: drunk many times a day, if not many days entirely drunk. We have very oft awaked him, as if to carry him to execution, and showed him a seeming warrant for it: it hath not moved him at all.   
  Duke.  More of him anon. There is written in your brow, provost, honesty and constancy: if I read it not truly, my ancient skill beguiles me; but, in the boldness of my cunning I will lay myself in hazard. Claudio, whom here you have warrant to execute, is no greater forfeit to the law than Angelo who hath sentenced him. To make you understand this in a manifested effect, I crave but four days’ respite, for the which you are to do me both a present and a dangerous courtesy.    104
  Prov.  Pray, sir, in what?   
  Duke.  In the delaying death.   
  Prov.  Alack! how may I do it, having the hour limited, and an express command, under penalty, to deliver his head in the view of Angelo? I may make my case as Claudio’s to cross this in the smallest.   
  Duke.  By the vow of mine order I warrant you, if my instructions may be your guide. Let this Barnardine be this morning executed, and his head borne to Angelo.    108
  Prov.  Angelo hath seen them both, and will discover the favour.   
  Duke.  O! death’s a great disguiser, and you may add to it. Shave the head, and tie the beard; and say it was the desire of the penitent to be so bared before his death: you know the course is common. If anything fall to you upon this, more than thanks and good fortune, by the saint whom I profess, I will plead against it with my life.   
  Prov.  Pardon me, good father; it is against my oath.   
  Duke.  Were you sworn to the duke or to the deputy?    112
  Prov.  To him, and to his substitutes.   
  Duke.  You will think you have made no offence, if the duke avouch the justice of your dealing?   
  Prov.  But what likelihood is in that?   
  Duke.  Not a resemblance, but a certainty. Yet since I see you fearful, that neither my coat, integrity, nor persuasion can with ease attempt you, I will go further than I meant, to pluck all fears out of you. Look you, sir; here is the hand and seal of the duke: you know the character, I doubt not, and the signet is not strange to you.    116
  Prov.  I know them both.   
  Duke.  The contents of this is the return of the duke: you shall anon over-read it at your pleasure, where you shall find within these two days, he will be here. This is a thing that Angelo knows not, for he this very day receives letters of strange tenour; perchance of the duke’s death; perchance, his entering into some monastery; but, by chance, nothing of what is writ. Look, the unfolding star calls up the shepherd. Put not yourself into amazement how these things should be: all difficulties are but easy when they are known. Call your executioner, and off with Barnardine’s head: I will give him a present shrift and advise him for a better place. Yet you are amaz’d, but this shall absolutely resolve you. Come away; it is almost clear dawn.  [Exeunt.   

Act IV. Scene III.


Another Room in the Same.
   
 
Enter POMPEY.
   
  Pom.  I am as well acquainted here as I was in our house of profession: one would think it were Mistress Overdone’s own house, for here be many of her old customers. First, here’s young Master Rash; he’s in for a commodity of brown paper and old ginger, nine-score and seventeen pounds, of which he made five marks, ready money: marry, then ginger was not much in request, for the old women were all dead. Then is there here one Master Caper, at the suit of Master Three-pile the mercer, for some four suits of peach-colour’d satin, which now peaches him a beggar. Then have we young Dizy, and young Master Deep-vow, and Master Copperspur, and Master Starve-lackey the rapier and dagger man, and young Drop-heir that kill’d lusty Pudding, and Master Forthlight, the tilter, and brave Master Shoe-tie the great traveller, and wild Half-can that stabbed Pots, and, I think, forty more; all great doers in our trade, and are now ‘for the Lord’s sake.’   
 
Enter ABHORSON.
      4
  Abhor.  Sirrah, bring Barnardine hither.   
  Pom.  Master Barnardine! you must rise and be hanged, Master Barnardine.   
  Abhor.  What ho! Barnardine!   
  Barnar.  [Within.] A pox o’ your throats! Who makes that noise there? What are you?      8
  Pom.  Your friends, sir; the hangman. You must be so good, sir, to rise and be put to death.   
  Barnar.  [Within.] Away! you rogue, away! I am sleepy.   
  Abhor.  Tell him he must awake, and that quickly too.   
  Pom.  Pray, Master Barnardine, awake till you are executed, and sleep afterwards.     12
  Abhor.  Go in to him, and fetch him out.   
  Pom.  He is coming, sir, he is coming; I hear his straw rustle.   
  Abhor.  Is the axe upon the block, sirrah?   
  Pom.  Very ready, sir.     16
 
Enter BARNARDINE.
   
  Barnar.  How now, Abhorson! what’s the news with you?   
  Abhor.  Truly, sir, I would desire you to clap into your prayers; for, look you, the warrant’s come.   
  Barnar.  You rogue, I have been drinking all night; I am not fitted for ’t.     20
  Pom.  O, the better, sir; for he that drinks all night, and is hang’d betimes in the morning, may sleep the sounder all the next day.   
  Abhor.  Look you, sir; here comes your ghostly father: do we jest now, think you?   
 
Enter DUKE, disguised as before.
   
  Duke.  Sir, induced by my charity, and hearing how hastily you are to depart, I am come to advise you, comfort you, and pray with you.     24
  Barnar.  Friar, not I: I have been drinking hard all night, and I will have more time to prepare me, or they shall beat out my brains with billets. I will not consent to die this day, that’s certain.   
  Duke.  O, sir, you must; and therefore, I beseech you look forward on the journey you shall go.   
  Barnar.  I swear I will not die to-day for any man’s persuasion.   
  Duke.  But hear you.     28
  Barnar.  Not a word: if you have anything to say to me, come to my ward; for thence will not I to day.[Exit.   
 
Enter PROVOST.
   
  Duke.  Unfit to live or die. O, gravel heart!   
After him fellows: bring him to the block.  [Exeunt ABHORSON and POMPEY.     32
  Prov.  Now, sir, how do you find the prisoner?   
  Duke.  A creature unprepar’d, unmeet for death;   
And, to transport him in the mind he is   
Were damnable.     36
  Prov.        Here in the prison, father,   
There died this morning of a cruel fever   
One Ragozine, a most notorious pirate,   
A man of Claudio’s years; his beard and head     40
Just of his colour. What if we do omit   
This reprobate till he were well inclin’d,   
And satisfy the deputy with the visage   
Of Ragozine, more like to Claudio?     44
  Duke.  O, ’tis an accident that heaven provides!   
Dispatch it presently: the hour draws on   
Prefix’d by Angelo. See this be done,   
And sent according to command, whiles I     48
Persuade this rude wretch willingly to die.   
  Prov.  This shall be done, good father, presently.   
But Barnardine must die this afternoon:   
And how shall we continue Claudio,     52
To save me from the danger that might come   
If he were known alive?   
  Duke.        Let this be done:   
Put them in secret holds, both Barnardine and Claudio:     56
Ere twice the sun hath made his journal greeting   
To the under generation, you shall find   
Your safety manifested.   
  Prov.  I am your free dependant.     60
  Duke.  Quick, dispatch,   
And send the head to Angelo. [Exit PROVOST.   
Now will I write letters to Angelo,—   
The provost, he shall bear them,—whose contents     64
Shall witness to him I am near at home,   
And that, by great injunctions, I am bound   
To enter publicly: him I’ll desire   
To meet me at the consecrated fount     68
A league below the city; and from thence,   
By cold gradation and well-balanc’d form,   
We shall proceed with Angelo.   
 
Re-enter PROVOST.
     72
  Prov.  Here is the head; I’ll carry it myself.   
  Duke.  Convenient is it. Make a swift return,   
For I would commune with you of such things   
That want no ear but yours.     76
  Prov.        I’ll make all speed.  [Exit.   
  Isab.  [Within.] Peace, ho, be here!   
  Duke.  The tongue of Isabel. She’s come to know   
If yet her brother’s pardon be come hither;     80
But I will keep her ignorant of her good,   
To make her heavenly comforts of despair,   
When it is least expected.   
 
Enter ISABELLA.
     84
  Isab.        Ho! by your leave.   
  Duke.  Good morning to you, fair and gracious daughter.   
  Isab.  The better, given me by so holy a man.   
Hath yet the deputy sent my brother’s pardon?     88
  Duke.  He hath releas’d him, Isabel, from the world:   
His head is off and sent to Angelo.   
  Isab.  Nay, but it is not so.   
  Duke.  It is no other: show your wisdom, daughter,     92
In your close patience.   
  Isab.  O! I will to him and pluck out his eyes!   
  Duke.  You shall not be admitted to his sight.   
  Isab.  Unhappy Claudio! Wretched Isabel!     96
Injurious world! Most damned Angelo!   
  Duke.  This nor hurts him nor profits you a jot;   
Forbear it therefore; give your cause to heaven.   
Mark what I say, which you shall find    100
By every syllable a faithful verity.   
The duke comes home to-morrow; nay, dry your eyes:   
One of our covent, and his confessor,   
Gives me this instance: already he hath carried    104
Notice to Escalus and Angelo,   
Who do prepare to meet him at the gates,   
There to give up their power. If you can, pace your wisdom   
In that good path that I would wish it go,    108
And you shall have your bosom on this wretch,   
Grace of the Duke, revenges to your heart,   
And general honour.   
  Isab.        I am directed by you.    112
  Duke.  This letter then to Friar Peter give;   
’Tis that he sent me of the duke’s return:   
Say, by this token, I desire his company   
At Mariana’s house to-night. Her cause and yours,    116
I’ll perfect him withal, and he shall bring you   
Before the duke; and to the head of Angelo   
Accuse him home, and home. For my poor self,   
I am combined by a sacred vow    120
And shall be absent. Wend you with this letter.   
Command these fretting waters from your eyes   
With a light heart: trust not my holy order,   
If I pervert your course. Who’s here?    124
 
Enter LUCIO.
   
  Lucio.  Good even. Friar, where is the provost?   
  Duke.  Not within, sir.   
  Lucio.  O pretty Isabella, I am pale at mine heart to see thine eyes so red: thou must be patient. I am fain to dine and sup with water and bran; I dare not for my head fill my belly; one fruitful meal would set me to ’t. But they say the duke will be here to-morrow. By my troth, Isabel, I loved thy brother: if the old fantastical duke of dark corners had been at home, he had lived. [Exit ISABELLA.    128
  Duke.  Sir, the duke is marvellous little beholding to your reports; but the best is, he lives not in them.   
  Lucio.  Friar, thou knowest not the duke so well as I do: he’s a better woodman than thou takest him for.   
  Duke.  Well, you’ll answer this one day. Fare ye well.   
  Lucio.  Nay, tarry; I’ll go along with thee: I can tell thee pretty tales of the duke.    132
  Duke.  You have told me too many of him already, sir, if they be true; if not true, none were enough.   
  Lucio.  I was once before him for getting a wench with child.   
  Duke.  Did you such a thing?   
  Lucio.  Yes, marry, did I; but I was fain to forswear it: they would else have married me to the rotten medlar.    136
  Duke.  Sir, your company is fairer than honest. Rest you well.   
  Lucio.  By my troth, I’ll go with thee to the lane’s end. If bawdy talk offend you, we’ll have very little of it. Nay, friar, I am a kind of burr; I shall stick.  [Exeunt.   

Act IV. Scene IV.


A Room in ANGELO’S House.
   
 
Enter ANGELO and ESCALUS.
   
  Escal.  Every letter he hath writ hath disvouched other.   
  Ang.  In most uneven and distracted manner. His actions show much like to madness: pray heaven his wisdom be not tainted! And why meet him at the gates, and redeliver our authorities there?      4
  Escal.  I guess not.   
  Ang.  And why should we proclaim it in an hour before his entering, that if any crave redress of injustice, they should exhibit their petitions in the street?   
  Escal.  He shows his reason for that: to have a dispatch of complaints, and to deliver us from devices hereafter, which shall then have no power to stand against us.   
  Ang.  Well, I beseech you, let it be proclaim’d:      8
Betimes i’ the morn I’ll call you at your house;    
Give notice to such men of sort and suit   
As are to meet him.   
  Escal.  I shall, sir: fare you well.     12
  Ang.  Good night.— [Exit ESCALUS.   
This deed unshapes me quite, makes me unpregnant   
And dull to all proceedings. A deflower’d maid,   
And by an eminent body that enforc’d     16
The law against it! But that her tender shame   
Will not proclaim against her maiden loss,   
How might she tongue me! Yet reason dares her no:   
For my authority bears so credent bulk,     20
That no particular scandal once can touch:   
But it confounds the breather. He should have liv’d,   
Save that his riotous youth, with dangerous sense,   
Might in the times to come have ta’en revenge,     24
By so receiving a dishonour’d life   
With ransom of such shame. Would yet he had liv’d!   
Alack! when once our grace we have forgot,   
Nothing goes right: we would, and we would not.  [Exit.     28

Act IV. Scene V.


Fields without the Town.
   
 
Enter DUKE, in his own habit, and FRIAR PETER.
   
  Duke.  These letters at fit time deliver me.  [Giving letters.   
The provost knows our purpose and our plot.      4
The matter being afoot, keep your instruction,   
And hold you ever to our special drift,   
Though sometimes you do blench from this to that,   
As cause doth minister. Go call at Flavius’ house,      8
And tell him where I stay: give the like notice   
To Valentinus, Rowland, and to Crassus,   
And bid them bring the trumpets to the gate;   
But send me Flavius first.     12
  F. Peter.        It shall be speeded well.  [Exit.   
 
Enter VARRIUS.
   
  Duke.  I thank thee, Varrius; thou hast made good haste.   
Come, we will walk. There’s other of our friends     16
Will greet us here anon, my gentle Varrius.  [Exeunt.

Act IV. Scene VI.


Street near the City Gate.
   
 
Enter ISABELLA and MARIANA.
   
  Isab.  To speak so indirectly I am loath:   
I would say the truth; but to accuse him so,      4
That is your part: yet I’m advis’d to do it;   
He says, to veil full purpose.   
  Mari.        Be rul’d by him.   
  Isab.  Besides, he tells me that if peradventure      8
He speak against me on the adverse side,   
I should not think it strange; for ’tis a physic   
That’s bitter to sweet end.   
  Mari.  I would, Friar Peter—     12
  Isab.        O, peace! the friar is come.   
 
Enter FRIAR PETER.
   
  F. Peter.  Come; I have found you out a stand most fit,   
Where you may have such vantage on the duke,     16
He shall not pass you. Twice have the trumpets sounded:   
The generous and gravest citizens   
Have hent the gates, and very near upon   
The duke is ent’ring: therefore hence, away!  [Exeunt.     20