Lucio. I warrant your honour. Duke. The warrant's for yourself; take heed to it. Isab. This gentleman told somewhat of my tale. Lucio. Right. Duke. It may be right; but you are in the wrong To speak before your time.-Proceed. Isab. To this pernicious caitiff deputy. Duke. That's somewhat madly spoken. The phrase is to the matter. I went Pardon it; Duke. Mended again: the matter:-Proceed. Isab. In brief,-to set the needless process by, How I persuaded, how I pray'd, and kneel'd, How he refell'd* me, and how I reply'd; (For this was of much length), the vile conclusion I now begin with grief and shame to utter: He would not, but by gift of my chaste body To his concupiscible intemperate lust, Release my brother; and, after much debatement, My sisterly remorset confutes mine honour, And I did yield to him: But the next morn betimes, His purpose surfeiting, he sends a warrant For my poor brother's head. Duke. This is most likely! Isab. O, that it were as like, as it is true! Duke. By Heaven, fond‡ wretch, thou know'st not what thou speak'st; Or else thou art suborn'd against his honour, Thou cam'st here to complain. Isab. And is this all? • Refuted. Pity. Foolish. § Conspiracy. Then, oh, you blessed ministers above, Keep me in patience; and, with ripen'd time, In countenance!-Heaven shield your grace from woe, As I, thus wrong'd, hence unbelieved go! Duke. I know, you'd fain be gone:-An officer! To prison with her:-Shall we thus permit A blasting and a scandalous breath to fall On him so near us? This needs must be a practice. -Who knew of your intent, and coming hither? Isab. One that I would were here, friar Lodowick. Duke. A ghostly father, belike:-Who knows that Lodowick? Lucio. My lord, I know him; 'tis a medling friar; I do not like the man: had he been lay, my lord, For certain words he spake against your grace In your retirement, I had swing'd* him soundly. Duke. Words against me? This' a good friar, belike! And to set on this wretched woman here Against our substitute?-Let this friar be found. Lucio. But yesternight, my lord, she and that friar I saw them at the prison: a sawcy friar, A very scurvy fellow. F. Peter. Blessed be your royal grace! I have stood by, my lord, and I have heard Duke. We did believe no less. Know you that friar Lodowick, that she speaks of? F. Peter. I know him for a man divine and holy; Not scurvy, nor a temporary medler, As he's reported by this gentleman; And, on my trust, a man that never yet Did, as he vouches, misreport your grace. Lucio. My lord, most villainously; believe it. * Beat. F. Peter. Well, he in time may come to clear him. self; But at this instant he is sick, my lord, Of a strange fever: Upon his mere* request So vulgarly and personally accus'd), Her shall you hear disproved to her eyes, Duke. Good friar, let's hear it. [Isabella is carried off, guarded; and Do you not smile at this, lord Angelo ?- Of your own cause. Is this the witness, friar? Duke. What, are you married? Are nothing then :-Neither maid, widow, nor wife? Lucio. My lord, she may be a punk; for many of them are neither maid, widow, nor wife. Duke. Silence that fellow: I would, he had some Lucio. Well, my lord. Mari. My lord, I do confess I ne'er was married; And, I confess, besides, I am no maid: I have known my husband; yet my husband knows not, That ever he knew me. Lucio. He was drunk then, my lord; it can be no better. Duke. For the benefit of silence, 'would thou wert so too. Lucio. Well, my lord. Duke. This is no witness for lord Angelo. She, that accuses him of fornication, In self-same manner doth accuse my husband; With all the effect of love. Ang. Charges she more than me? Mari. Not that I know. No? you say, your husband. Mari. Why, just, my lord, and that is Angelo, Who thinks, he knows, that he ne'er knew my body, But knows, he thinks, that he knows Isabel's. Ang. This is a strange abuse* :-Let's see thy face. Mari. My husband bids me; now I will unmask. [Unveiling. This is that face, thou cruel Angelo, That took away the match from Isabel, Aud did supply thee at thy garden-house, Duke. Know you this woman? Lucio. Carnally, she says. * Deception. Sirrah, no more. Lucio. Enough, my lord. Ang. My lord, I must confess, I know this wo man; And, five years since, there was some speech of marriage Betwixt myself and her; which was broke off, I never spake with her, saw her, nor heard from her, Mari. Noble prince, As there comes light from heaven, and words from breath, As there is sense in truth, and truth in virtue, As words could make up vows: and, my good lord, Let me in safety raise me from my knees; Or else for ever be confixed here, A marble monument! I did but smile till now; Ang. Now, good my lord, give me the scope of justice; My patience here is touch'd: I do perceive, These poor informal† women are no more But instruments of some more mightier member, That sets them on: Let me have way, my lord, To find this practice‡ out. Duke. Ay, with my heart; And punish them unto your height of pleasure. Thou foolish friar; and thou pernicious woman, Compact with her that's gone! think'st thou, thy oaths, Though they would swear down each particular saint, Her fortune fell short. + Conspiracy. + Crazy. |