SCENE III. A monastery.

Enter DUKE and FRIAR THOMAS.

Duke. No, holy father; throw away that thought; Believe not that the dribbling dart of love Can pierce a complete bosom. Why I desire thee To give me secret harbour, hath a purpose More grave and wrinkled than the aims and ends Of burning youth.

Fri. T.

May your grace speak of it?

Duke. My holy sir, none better knows than you

How I have ever loved the life removed,

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And held in idle price to haunt assemblies

Where youth, and cost, and witless bravery keeps.

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I have deliver'd to Lord Angelo,

A man of stricture and firm abstinence,

My absolute power and place here in Vienna,
And he supposes me travell'd to Poland;

For so I have strew'd it in the common ear,

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And so it is received. Now, pious sir,

You will demand of me why I do this.

Fri. T. Gladly, my lord.

Duke. We have strict statutes and most biting laws,

The needful bits and curbs to headstrong weeds,

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Which for this fourteen years we have let slip;
Even like an o'ergrown lion in a cave,

That goes not out to prey. Now, as fond fathers,
Having bound up the threatening twigs of birch,
Only to stick it in their children's sight
For terror, not to use, in time the rod
Becomes more mock'd than fear'd; so our decrees,
Dead to infliction, to themselves are dead;
And liberty plucks justice by the nose;
The baby beats the nurse, and quite athwart

Goes all decorum.

Fri. T.

It rested in your Grace

To unloose this tied-up justice when you pleased:
And it in you more dreadful would have seem'd

Than in Lord Angelo.

Duke.

I do fear, too dreadful:
Sith 'twas my fault to give the people scope,
'Twould be my tyranny to strike and gall them
For what I bid them do: for we bid this be done,
When evil deeds have their permissive pass,
And not the punishment. Therefore, indeed, my father,
I have on Angelo imposed the office;

Who may, in the ambush of my name, strike home,
And yet my nature never in the fight

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To do in slander. And to behold his sway,
I will, as 'twere a brother of your order,
Visit both prince and people: therefore, I prithee,
Supply me with the habit, and instruct me
How I may formally in person bear me
Like a true friar. Moe reasons for this action

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At our more leisure shall I render you;
Only, this one: Lord Angelo is precise;
Stands at a guard with envy; scarce confesses
That his blood flows, or that his appetite

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Is more to bread than stone: hence shall we see,

[Exeunt.

If power change purpose, what our seemers be.

SCENE IV. A nunnery.

Enter ISABELLA and FRANCISCA.

Isab. And have you nuns no farther privileges?
Fran. Are not these large enough?

Isab. Yes, truly: I speak not as desiring more;

But rather wishing a more strict restraint
Upon the sisterhood, the votarists of Saint Clare.
Lucio [within]. Ho! Peace be in this place!
Isab.

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Who's that which calls?

Fran. It is a man's voice. Gentle Isabella, Turn you the key, and know his business of him; You may, I may not; you are yet unsworn.

When you have vow'd, you must not speak with men 10 But in the presence of the prioress :

Then, if you speak, you must not show your face;

Or, if you show your face, you must not speak.
He calls again; I pray you, answer him.

[Exit.

Isab. Peace and prosperity! Who is't that calls?

Enter LUCIO.

Lucio. Hail, virgin, if you be, as those cheek-roses Proclaim you are no less! Can you so stead me As bring me to the sight of Isabella,

A novice of this place, and the fair sister

To her unhappy brother Claudio ?

Isab. Why, 'her unhappy brother'? let me ask The rather, for I now must make you know

I am that Isabella and his sister.

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Lucio. Gentle and fair, your brother kindly greets you :

Not to be weary with you, he's in prison.

Isab. Woe me! for what?

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Lucio. For that which, if myself might be his judge,

He should receive his punishment in thanks :

He hath got his friend with child.

Isab. Sir, make me not your story.
Lucio.

It is true.

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I would not though 'tis my familiar sin
With maids to seem the lapwing, and to jest,
Tongue far from heart-play with all virgins so :
I hold you as a thing ensky'd and sainted;
By your renouncement, an immortal spirit;

And to be talk'd with in sincerity,

As with a saint.

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Isab. You do blaspheme the good in mocking me.
Lucio. Do not believe it. Fewness and truth, 'tis thus:-

Your brother and his lover have embraced :
As those that feed grow full,-as blossoming time,
That from the seedness the bare fallow brings
To teeming foison, even so her plenteous womb
Expresseth his full tilth and husbandry.

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Isab. Some one with child by him? - My cousin Juliet? Lucio. Is she your cousin ?

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Isab. Adoptedly; as school-maids change their names

By vain, though apt, affection.
Lucio.

Isab. O, let him marry her.
Lucio.

The duke is very strangely
30 make me not your story] mock me
not:-your story Malone. make me
not your scorn Collier, ed. 2 (Collier
MS. after Davenant). make...sport
Singer. make...mockery Gould conj.
It is true] Steevens. 'Tis true Ff
(reading 'Tis...sin as one line). om.
Pope. Nay, 'tis true Capell.

She it is.

This is the point. gone from hence ;

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