How I have ever lov'd the life remov'd;
And held in idle price to haunt assemblies,
Where youth and cost, and witless bravery keeps.
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,
And so it is receiv'd: Now, pious sir,

You will demand of me, why I do this?

Fri. Gladly, my lord.

Duke. We have strict statutes, and most biting

laws,

(The needful bits and curbs for head-strong steeds,) Which for these fourteen years we have let sleep; Even like an o'ergrown lion in a cave,

That goes not out to prey: Now, as fond fathers
Having bound up the threat'ning 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.

I have on Angelo impos'd the office;

Who may, in the ambush of my name, strike home,
And yet my nature never in the sight,
To do it slander: And to behold his sway,
I will, as 'twere a brother of your order,
Visit both prince and people: therefore, I pr'ythee,
Supply me with the habit, and instruct me
How I may formally in person bear me
Like a true friar. More reasons for this action,
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
Is more to bread than stone: Hence shall we see,
If power change purpose, what our seemers be.

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

[Exit FRANCISCA. 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.

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

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

Isab. Woe me! For what?

Lucio. For that which if myself might be his

judge,

He should receive his punishment in thanks: His friend's with child by him.

Isab. Sir, make me not your story. 1

Lucio.

It is true.

The duke is very strangely gone from hence ;
Bore many gentlemen, myself being one,

In hand, and hope of action: but we do learn
By those that know the very nerves of state,
His givings out were of an infinite distance
From his true-meant design. Upon his place,
And with full line of his authority,
Governs lord Angelo; a man, whose blood
Is very snow-broth; one who never feels
The wanton stings and motions of the sense ;
But doth rebate and blunt his natural edge
With profits of the mind, study and fast.
He (to give fear to use and liberty,
Which have, for long, run by the hideous law,
As mice by lions,) hath pick'd out an act,
Under whose heavy sense your brother's life
Falls into forfeit! he arrests him on it;
And follows close the rigour of the statute,
To make him an example: all hope is gone,
Unless you have the grace by your fair prayer
To soften Angelo: And that's my pith
Of business 'twixt you and your poor brother.
Isab. Doth he so seek his life?
Lucio.

Has censur'd 3 him
Already; and, as I hear, the provost hath
A warrant for his execution.

Isab. Alas! what poor ability's in me To do him good?

May, in the sworn twelve, have a thief or two

justice,

She's very near her hour. Ang.

Dispose of her

That justice seizes. What know the laws,

That thieves do pass on thieves? "Tis very pregnant,

The jewel that we find, we stoop and take it,
Because we see it; but what we do not see,

We tread upon, and never think of it.

You may not so extenuate his offence,

For I have had such faults; but rather tell me, When I that censure him, do so offend,

Let mine own judgment pattern out my death,
And nothing come in partial. Sir, he must die.

Escal. Be it as your wisdom will.
Ang.

Where is the provost?

Enter LUCIO and ISABELLA.

Prov. Save your honour!

[Offering to retire.

Ang. Stay a little while. - [To ISAB.] You are

welcome: What's your will?

Isab. I am a woeful suitor to your honour :

[Exeunt ANGELO and Provost.

Escal. Well, heaven forgive him; and forgive

Isab. There is a vice that most I do abhor, And most desire should meet the blow of justice; For which I would not plead, but that I must; For which I must not plead, but that I am

At war, 'twixt will, and will not.

Ang.

I had a brother then. - Heaven keep your honour! [Retiring.

Lucio. [To ISAB.] Give't not o'er so: to him again, intreat him;

Kneel down before him, hang upon his gown;
You are too cold: if you should need a pin,
You could not with more tame a tongue desire it :
To him, I say.

Isab. Must he needs die?
Ang.

Maiden, no remedy,
Isab. Yes; I do think that you might pardon him.
And neither heaven, nor man, grieve at the mercy.
Ang. I will not do't.
Isab.
But can you, if you would?
Ang. Look, what I will not, that I cannot do.
Isab. But might you do't, and do the world no
wrong?

If so, your heart were touch'd with that remorse As mine is to him.

Isab. Too late? why, no; I, that do speak a word,
May call it back again: Well believe this,
No ceremony that to great ones 'longs,

Not the king's crown, nor the deputed sword,
The marshal's truncheon, nor the judge's robe,
Become them with one half so good a grace,
As mercy does. If he had been as you,

And you as he, you would have slipt like him;
But he like you, would not have been so stern.

Ang. Pray you, begone.

Isab. I would to heaven I had your potency, And you were Isabel! should it then be thus? No; I would tell what 'twere to be a judge, And what a prisoner.

Lucio. Ay, touch him: there's the vein. [Aside. Ang. Your brother is a forfeit of the law,

And you but waste your words.

Isab.

Alas! alas!

If the first man that did the edict infringe,
Had answer'd for his deed: now, 'tis awake;
Takes note of what is done; and, like a prophet,
Looks in a glass, that shows what future evils,
(Either now, or by remissness new-conceiv'd,
And so in progress to be hatch'd and born,)
Are now to have no successive degrees,
But, where they live, to end.
Isab.

Yet show some pity.

Ang. I show it most of all, when I show justice; For then I pity those I do not know, Which a dismiss'd offence would after gall; And do him right, that answering one foul wrong, Lives not to act another. Be satisfied; Your brother dies to-morrow: be content.

Isab. So you must be the first that gives this sentence;

And he, that suffers: O, it is excellent
To have a giant's strength; but it is tyrannous
To use it like a giant.

Thou rather, with thy sharp and sulphurous bolt, Split'st the unwedgeable and gnarled 7 oak,

Than the soft myrtle; - O, but man, proud man!
Drest in a little brief authority;

Most ignorant of what he's most assur'd,
His glassy essence, - like an angry ape,
Plays such fantastic tricks before high heaven,
As make the angels weep.

Luc. O, to him, to him, wench: he will relent;
He's coming, I perceive't.
Prov.

Pray heaven she win him!

Isab. We cannot weigh our brother with yourself: Great men may jest with saints: 'tis wit in them; But, in the less, foul profanation.

Lucio. Thou'rt in the right, girl; more o' that. Isab. That in the captain's but a choleric word,

Which in the soldier is flat blasphemy.

Lucio. Art advis'd o'that? more on't.

Ang. Why do you put these sayings upon me? Isab. Because authority, though it err like others,

Hath yet a kind of medicine in itself,

That skins the vice o' the top: Go to your bosom;
Knock there; and ask your heart, what it doth know
That's like my brother's fault: if it confess
A natural guiltiness, such as is his,
Let it not sound a thought upon your tongue
Against my brother's life.

Ang.

She speaks, and 'tis

Such sense, that my sense breeds with it. - Fare you well.

Isab. Gentle my lord, turn back.

Ang. I will bethink me: Come again to

morrow.

At any time 'fore-noon.

[Exeunt Lucio, ISABELLA, and Provost.

Ang. From thee; even from thy virtue! What's this? what's this? Is this her fault or mine? The tempter, or the tempted, who sins most? ha! Not she; nor doth she tempt: but it is I,

That lying by the violet, in the sun,

Do, as the carrion does, not as the flower,

Corrupt with virtuous season.

Can it be,

That modesty may more betray our sense

As that the sin hath brought you to this shame, Which sorrow is always toward ourselves, not heaven;

Showing, we'd not spare heaven, as we love it,
But as we stand in fear.

Juliet. I do repent me, as it is an evil;

And take the shame with joy.

Duke.

enough,

Shall we desire to raze the sanctuary,

And pitch our evils there? O, fye, fye, fye!

What dost thou? or what art thou, Angelo?

O, let her brother live :

Thieves for their robbery have authority,
When judges steal themselves. What? do I love her,
That I desire to hear her speak again,

And feast upon her eyes? What is't I dream on ?
O cunning enemy, that, to catch a saint,

With saints dost bait thy hook! Most dangerous
Is that temptation, that doth goad us on
To sin in loving virtue; never could the strumpet
Once stir my temper; but this virtuous maid
Subdues me quite; - Ever, till now,

When men were fond, I smil'd, and wonder'd how.

SCENE III. - A Room in a Prison.

[Eait.

[Exit.

Juliet. Must die to-morrow! O, injurious love,

That respites me a life, whose very comfort
Is still a dying horror!
Prov.

'Tis pity of him. [Exeunt.

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 case, thy habit,
Wrench awe from fools, and tie the wiser souls
To thy false seeming ?