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Duke. Many and hearty thanks be to you both:
We've made enquiry of you, and we hear
Such goodness of your juftice, that our foul
Cannot but yield you forth to public thanks,
Forerunning more requital.

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,
When it deferves with characters of brafs
A forted refidence, 'gainst the tooth of time
And razure of oblivion. Give me your hand,
And let the fubjects fee, to make them know
That outward courtefies would fain proclaim
Favours that keep within. Come, Efcalus;
You must walk by us on our other hand:
And good fupporters are you. [As the Duke is going out.
Enter Peter and Isabella.

Peter. Now is your time: speak loud, and kneel

before him.

Ifab. Juftice, O royal Duke; vail your regard
Upon a wrong'd, I'd fain have faid, a maid:
Oh, worthy Prince, difhonour not your eye
By throwing it on any other object,

'Till you have heard me in my true complaint,
And given me juftice, juftice, juftice, justice.

Duke. Relate your wrongs; in what, by whom ♪ be brief:

Here is Lord Angelo fhall give you justice;
Reveal yourself to him.

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.
Ang. My Lord, her wits, I fear me, are not firm:
She hath been a fuitor to me for her brother,
Cut off by course of justice.

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?
That Angelo is an adult'rous thief,
An hypocrite, a virgin-violater:
Is it not ftrange and ftrange?

Duke. Nay, it is ten times ftrange.
Ijab. It is not truer he is Angelo,
Than this is all as true, as it is strange:
Nay, it is ten times true; for truth is truth
To th' end of reckoning.

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
That, which but feems unlike; 'tis not impoffible,
But one, the wicked'ft caitiff on the ground,
May seem as fhy, as grave, as just, as absolute,
As Angelo; even fo may Angelo,

In all his dreffings, caracts, titles, forms,
Be an arch-villain: believe it, royal Prince,
If he be lefs, he's nothing; but he's more,
Had I more name for badness.

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Duke. By mine honesty,

If the be mad, as I believe no other,

Her madness hath the oddeft frame of fenfe;
Such a dependency of thing on thing,

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
For inequality; but let your reason ferve

To make the truth appear, where it feems hid;
Not hide the falfe, teems true.

Duke. Many, that are not mad,
Have, fure, more lack of reafon.
What would you say?

Ijab. I am the filter of one Claudio,
Condemn'd upon the act of fornication
To lose his head; condemn'd by Angelo:
I, in probation of a fifterhood,

Was fent to by my brother; one Lucio,
As then the meffenger,

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
A bufinefs for yourself, pray heav'n, you then
Be perfect.

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.
Ifab. Pardon it:

The phrafe is to the matter.

Duke. Mended again: the matter;-proceed.
Ifab, In brief; (to fet the needless process by,

How

How I perfuaded, how I pray'd and kneel'd,
How he repell'd me, and how I reply'd;
For this was of much length) the vile conclufion
I now begin with grief and fhame to utter.
He would not, but by gift of my chafte body
To his concupifcent intemperate luft,

Release my brother; and after much debatement,
My fifterly remorfe confutes mine honour,

And I did yield to him: But the next morn betimes,
His purpofe furfeiting, he fends a warrant

For my poor brother's head.

Duke. This is most likely!

Ifab. Oh, that it were as like, as it is true!
Duke. By heav'n, fond wretch, thou know'ft not
what thou speak'ft;

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Or elfe thou art fuborn'd against his honour o
In hateful practice. Firft, his integrity
Stands without blemish; next, it imports s no reason,
That with fuch vehemence he should pursue
Faults proper to himfelf: if he had fo offended,
He would have weigh'd thy brother by himself,
And not have cut him off. Some one hath fet you on;
Confefs the truth, and fay, by whofe advice

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,
Unfold the evil which is here wrapt up

In countenance: heav'n fhield your Grace from woe,
As I, thus wrong'd, hence unbelieved go.

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,
For certain words he spake against your Grace
In your retirement, I had fwing'd him foundly,
Duke. Words against me? this is a good Friar, belike;
And to fet on this wretched woman here
Against our fubflitute! let this Friar be found.

Lucio. But yefternight, my Lord, she and that Friar,
I faw them at the prifon a fawcy Friar,
A very fcurvy fellow.

Peter. Bleffed be your royal Grace!

I have stood by, my Lord, and I have heard
Your royal ear abus'd. First, hath this woman
Moft wrongfully accus'd your fubftitute;
Who is as free from touch or foil with her,
As fhe from one ungot.

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
Is true, and falfe; and what he with his oath
By all probation will make up full clear,
Whenever he's conven'd. First, for this woman;
To juftify this worthy nobleman,

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.

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