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;
Whilst my invention, hearing not my tongue,
Anchors on Isabel: Heaven in my mouth,
As if I did but only chew his name;

And in my heart, the strong and swelling evil
Of my conception: The state, whereon I studied,
Is like a good thing, being often read,

Grown fear'd and tedious; yea, my gravity,
Wherein (let no man hear me) I take pride,
Could I, with boot*, change for an idle plume,
Which the air beats for vain. O place; O form!
How often dost thou with thy caset, thy habit,
Wrench awe from fools, and tie the wiser souls
To thy false seeming? Blood, thou still art blood:
Let's write good angel on the devil's horn,
'Tis not the devil's crest.

Why does my blood thus muster to my heart;

Making both it unable for itself,

And dispossessing all the other parts

Of necessary fitness?

So play the foolish throngs with one that swoons; Come all to help him, and so stop the air

By which he should revive: and even so

The general*, subject to a well-wish'd king,
Quit their own part, and in obsequious fondness
Croud to his presence, where their untaught love
Must needs appear offence.

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,

Than to demand what 'tis. Your brother cannot live. Isab. Even so Heaven keep your honour!

[Retiring. Ang. Yet may he live a while; and, it may be, As long as you, or I: Yet he must die.

Isab. Under your sentence?

Ang. Yea.

Isab. When, I beseech you? that in his reprieve, Longer, or shorter, he may be so fitted,

That his soul sicken not.

Ang. Ha! Fye, these filthy vices! It were as good To pardon him, that hath from nature stolen

A man already made, as to remit

Their sawcy 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 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 poze you quickly.
Which had you rather, That the most just law
Now took your brother's life; or, to redeem him,

• People.

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 sins Stand more for number than accompt.

Isab.

How say you?

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:
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,

It is no sin at all, but charity.

Ang. Pleas'd you to do't, at peril of your soul, Were equal poize of sin and charity.

Isab. That I do beg his life, if it be sin,

Heaven, let me bear it! you granting of my suit,

If that be sin, I'll make it my morn prayer

To have it added to the faults of mine,

And nothing of your, answer.

Ang.

Nay, but hear me :

Your sense pursues not mine: either you are igno

rant,

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

Isub. Let me be ignorant, and in nothing good, 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 Than beauty could displayed.—But mark me; To be receiv'd plain, I'll speak more gross: Your brother is to die.

Isab. So.

Ang. And his offence is so, as it appears Accountant to the law upon that paint.

Enshielded, covered... + Penalty.

Isab. True.

Ang. Admit no other way to save his life
(As I subscribe* not that, nor any other,
But in the loss of questiont), 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 ydur 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 rubies,
And strip myself to death, as to a bed

That louging I have been sick for, ere I'd yield
My body up to shame.

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

Then must your brother die.

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,

Are of two houses: lawful mercy is

Nothing akin to foul redemption..

Ang. You seem'd of late to make the law a ty

rant,

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 we

mean:

I something do excuse the thing I hate,

For his advantage that I dearly love.

Ang. We are all frail,

Isab.

Else let my brother die,

Ignominy.

* Agree to. + Conversation.

If not a feodary*, but only he,
Owet, and succeed by weakness.

Ang.

Nay, women are frail too. Isub. Ay, as the glasses where they view themselves;

Which are as easy broke as they make forms. Women!-Help heaven! men their creation mar In profiting by them. Nay, call us ten times frail; For we are soft as our complexions are,

And credulous to false printst.

Ang. I think it well: And from this testimony of your own sex

(Since, I suppose, we are made to be no stronger Thau faults may shake our frames), let me be bold; I do arrest your words; Be that you are,

That is, a woman; if you be more, you're none;
If you be one (as you are well express'd

By all external warrants), show it now,

By putting on the destin'd livery.

Isab. I have no tongue but one: gentle my lord, Let me intreat you speak the former language. Ang. Plainly conceive, I love you.

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 licence in't, Which seems a little fouler than it is,

To pluck on others.

Ang.

Believe me, on mine honour,

My words express my purpose.

Isab. Ha! little honour to be much believ'd,

And most pernicious purpose !-Seeming, seemings!

I will proclaim thee, Angelo; look for't:

Sign me a present pardon for my brother,

Or, with an outstretch'd throat, I'll tell the world Aloud, what man thou art.

Ang.

Who will believe thee, Isabel?

My unsoil'd name, the austereness of my life,

• Associate.

§ Hypocrisy.

+ Own.

Impressions.