Duke. Many and hearty thanks be to you both: Ang. You make my bonds ftill greater. Duke. Oh, your defert fpeaks loud; and I fhould wrong it, To lock it in the wards of covert bofom, Peter. Now is your time: speak loud, and kneel before him. Ifab. Juftice, O royal Duke; vail your regard 'Till you have heard me in my true complaint, Duke. Relate your wrongs; in what, by whom ♪ be brief: Here is Lord Angelo fhall give you justice; Ifab. Oh, worthy Duke, You bid me feek redemption of the devil: Hear me yourself; for that which I muit fpeak Muft either punish me, not being believ'd, Or wring redress from you: oh, hear me, hear me. Vab Ijab. Courfe of justice! Ang. And the will speak moft bitterly, and ftrange. (28) Ifab. Moft ftrange, but yet most truly, will I fpeak; That Angele's forfworn: is it not trange? That Angelo's a murd'rer: is't not ftrange? Duke. Nay, it is ten times ftrange. Duke. Away with her poor foul, She fpeaks this in th' infirmity of fenfe. Ifab. O Prince, I conjure thee, as thou believ'i There is another comfort than this world, That thou neglect me not; with that opinion That I am touch'd with madnefs. Make not impoffible In all his dreffings, caracts, titles, forms, Duke. By mine honesty, If the be mad, as I believe no other, Her madness hath the oddeft frame of fenfe; As e'er I heard in madness. (28) And he will speak most bitterly.] Thus is the verfe left imperfect by Mr. Rowe and Mr. Pope; tho' the old copies all fill it up, as I have done. I have reftor'd an infinite number of fuch paffages tacitly from the first impreflions: but I thought proper to take notice, ence for all, her, that as Mr. Pope follows Mr Rowe's edition in his errors and omiffions, it gives great fufpicion, notwithstanding the pretended collation of copies, that Mr. Pope, for the generality, took Mr. Rowe's edition as his guide. Ifab. Gracious Duke, Harp not on that; nor do not banish reafon To make the truth appear, where it feems hid; Duke. Many, that are not mad, Ijab. I am the filter of one Claudio, Was fent to by my brother; one Lucio, Lucio. That's I, an't like your Grace : I came to her from Claudio, and defir'd her To try her gracious fortune with Lord Angelo, For her poor brother's pardon. Ifab. That's he, indeed. Duke. You were not bid to fpeak. [To Lucio. Lucio. No, my good Lord, nor wish'd to hold my peace. Duke. I wish you now then; Pray you, take note of it: and when you have Lucio. I warrant your honour. Duke. The warrant's for yourself; take heed to't. Ifab. This gentleman told fomewhat of my tale. Lucio. Right. Duke. It may be right, but you are in the wrong To speak before your time. Proceed. Ifab. I went To this pernicious caitiff Deputy. Duke. That's fomewhat madly spoken. The phrafe is to the matter. Duke. Mended again: the matter;-proceed. How How I perfuaded, how I pray'd and kneel'd, Release my brother; and after much debatement, And I did yield to him: But the next morn betimes, For my poor brother's head. Duke. This is most likely! Ifab. Oh, that it were as like, as it is true! Or elfe thou art fuborn'd against his honour o Thou cam'ft here to complain. Ifab. And is this all? Then, oh, you bleffed minifters above? Keep me in patience; and with ripen'd time, In countenance: heav'n fhield your Grace from woe, Duke. I know you'd fain be gone. An officer; To prifon with her. Shall we thus permit A blafting and a fcandalous breath to fall On him fo near us? this needs must be a practice. Who knew of your intent, and coming hither? Ifab. One that I would were here, Friar Lodowick. Duke. A ghoftly 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, Lucio. But yefternight, my Lord, she and that Friar, Peter. Bleffed be your royal Grace! I have stood by, my Lord, and I have heard Duke. We did believe no lefs. Know you that Friar Lodowick, which the fpeaks of? Peter. I know him for a man divine and holy; Not fcurvy, nor a temporary medier, As he's reported by this gentleman; And, on my trust, a man that never yet Did, as he vouches, mifreport your Grace. Lucio. My Lord, moft villanously; believe it. Peter. Well; he in time may come to clear himself; But at this inftant he is fick, my Lord, Of a ftrange fever. On his mere requeft, (Being come to knowledge that there was complaint Intended 'gainst Lord Angelo) came I hither To fpeak as from his mouth, what he doth know So vulgarly and perfonally accus'd, Her fhall you here difproved to her eyes. "Till the herfelf confefs it. Do Duke. Good Friar, let's hear it. you not smile at this, Lord Angelo? O heav'n! the vanity of wretched fools. |