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

Ang. Then must your brother die.
Isa. And 'twere the cheaper way:
Better it were a brother died at once,
Than that a sister, by redeeming him,
Should die for ever.

Ang. Were not you then as cruel as the sentence That you have slandered so?

Isa. Ignominy 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 proved the sliding of your brother
A merriment than a vice.

.

Isa. 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.

Isa.

Else let my brother die.

Ang. Nay, women are frail too.

Isa. Ay, as the glasses where they view them

selves;

Which are as easy broke as they make forms.
Nay, call us ten times frail;

For we are soft as our complexions are,

And credulous to false prints.

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;

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

VOL. II.

E

By all external warrants,) show it now,
By putting on the destined livery.

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

Isa. My brother did love Juliet; and That he shall die for it.

you

tell me,

Ang. He shall not, Isabel, if you give me love. Isa. 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.

Isa. Ha! little honour to be much believed,

And most pernicious purpose! - Seeming, seeming!

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

Sign me a present pardon for my brother,

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

Ang. Who will believe thee, Isabel?

My unsoil'd name, the austereness of my life,
May 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;
And now I give my sensual race the rein:
Fit thy consent to my sharp appetite;
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.
[Exit ANGELO.
Isa. To whom should I complain? Did I tell this,
Who would believe me? O perilous mouths,
That bear in them one and the self-same tongue,
Either of condemnation or approof!

Bidding the law make 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 fall'n by prompture of the blood,
Yet hath he in him such a mind of honour,

That had he twenty heads to tender down
On twenty bloody blocks he'd yield them up,
Before his sister should her person stoop
To such abhorr'd pollution.

I'll tell him yet of Angelo's request,

And fit his mind to death, for his soul's rest. [Exit.

ACT THE THIRD.

SCENE I.

A Room in the Prison.

Enter the DUKE, as a Friar, CLAUDIO and

Provost.

Duke. So, then you hope of pardon from Lord Angelo?

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

I have hope to live, and am prepared to die.

Duke. Be absolute for death; either death, or life, Shall thereby be the sweeter.

Reason thus with

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 labour'st by thy flight to shun,

And yet runn'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.

Happy thou art not;

For what thou hast not, still thou striv'st to get;
And what thou hast, forget'st.

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 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,
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. Isa. [Without.] What ho! peace here; grace and good company!

Prov. Who's there? Come in: the wish deserves

a welcome.

[Exit Provost.

Duke. Dear sir, ere long I'll visit you again.

Claud. Most holy sir, I thank you.

Isa. [Without.] My business is a word or two with Claudio.

Prov. [Without.] And very welcome.

Enter Provost, and ISABELLA.

Look, signior, here's your sister.
Duke. Provost, a word with you.

Bring me to hear them speak, where I may be

Conceal'd.

[Exeunt the DUKE and Provost.

Claud.

Now, sister, what is the comfort ?

Isa. Lord Angelo, having affairs to heaven, Intends you for his swift ambassador,

Where you shall be an everlasting lieger':

Therefore your best appointment make with speed; To-morrow you set on.

Claud.

Is there no remedy?

Isa. None, but such remedy, as, to save a head, To cleave a heart in twain.

Claud.

But is there any?
Isa. Yes, brother, you may live ;

There is a devilish mercy in the judge,
If you'll implore it, that will free your life,
But fetter you till death.

Claud.

But in what nature?

Isa. In such a one as (you consenting to't) Would bark your honour from that trunk you bear, And leave you naked.

Claud.

Let me know the point. Isa. O, I do fear thee, Claudio; and I quake, Lest thou a feverous life should'st entertain, And six or seven winters more respect Than a perpetual honour. Darest thou die ? 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.

If I must die,

Why give you me this shame ?

Did utter forth a voice! Yes, thou must die:
Thou art too noble to conserve a life

In base appliances. This outward-sainted deputy,
Whose settled visage and deliberate word

9 Resident.