Th' impreffion of keen Whips, I'd wear as Rubies,
And ftrip my felf to Death, as to à Bed,

That longing I've been fick for, e'er I'd yield
My Body up to Shame.

Ang. Then muft your Brother die.
Ifab. And 'twere the cheaper way;
Better it were a Brother dy'd at once,
Than that a Sifter, by redeeming him,
Should die for ever.

Ang. Were not you then as cruel as the Sentence That you have flander'd fo?

Ifab. Ignominy in Ransom, and free Pardon, Are of two Houfes; lawful Mercy

Is nothing kin to foul Redemption.

Ang. You feem'd of late to make the Law a Tyrant,
And rather prov'd the fliding of your Brother
A Merriment than a Vice.

Ifab. Oh pardon me, my Lord; it oft falls out,
To have what we would have,

We speak not what we mean:

I fomething do excuse the thing I hate
For his advantage that I dearly love.
Ang. We are all frail.

Ifab. Elfe let my Brother die,
If not a Feodary but only he
Owe, and fucceed by Weakness.

Ang. Nay, Women are frail too.

Ifab. Ay, as the Glaffes where they view themselves;
Which are as eafie broke as they make Forms;
Women! Help Heav'n; Men their Creation mar
In profiting by them: Nay, call us ten times frail;
For we are foft, as our Complexions are,
And credulous to falfe Prints.

Ang. I think it well;

And from this Teftimony of your own Sex,
Since I suppose we are made to be no ftronger
Than Faults may shake our Frames, let me be bold;
I do arreft 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 expreft

VOL. I.

Q

By

By all external Warrants, fhew it now,
By putting on the deftin'd Livery.

Ifab. I have no Tongue but one; gentle my Lord,
Let me intreat you speak the former Language.
Ang. Plainly conceive I love you.

Ifab. My Brother did love Juliet;
And you tell me, that he fhall die for't.

Ang. He fhall not, Ifabel, if you give me Love. Ifab. I know your Virtue hath a Licence in't, Which feems a little fouler than it is,

To pluck on others.

Ang. Believe me on mine Honour,

My Words express my Purpose

Ifab. Ha? Little Honour to be much believ'd,
And moft pernicious Purpose: Seeming, feeming.
I will proclaim thee, Angelo; look for't:
Sign me a prefent Pardon for my Brother,

Or with an out-ftretch'd Throat I'll tell the World aloud
What Man thou art.

Ang. Who will believe thee, Ifabel?

My unfoil'd Name, th' Auftereness of
my Life,
My Vouch against you, and my Place i' th' State,
Will fo your Accufation over-weigh,
That you shall ftifle in your own Report,
And smell of Calumny. I have begun,
And now I give my fenfual Race the Rein;
Fit thy Consent to my fharp Appetite,
Lay by all Nicety, and prolixious Blushes
That banish what they fue for; redeem thy Brother
By yielding up thy Body to my Will;
Or elfe he must not only die the Death,
But thy Unkindness fhall his Death draw out
To lingring Sufferance. Anfwer me to Morrow
Or by the Affection that now guides me moft,
I'll prove a Tyrant to him. As for you,

Say what you can, my falfe o'er-weighs your true. [Exit.
Ifab. To whom fhould I complain? Did I tell this,
Who would believe me? O perilous Mouths

That bear in them one and the felf-fame Tongue,

1

Either of Condemnation or Approof,

Bidding the Law make Curtfie to their Will,

Hooking

Hooking both Right and Wrong to th' Appetite,
To follow as it draws. I'll to my Brother;
"Tho' he hath fallen by Prompture of the Blood,
Yet hath he in him fuch a Mind of Honour,
That had he twenty Heads to tender down
On twenty bloody Blocks, he'd yield them up,
Before his Sifter fhould her Body ftoop
To fuch abhorr'd Pollution.

Then Ifabel live chafte, and Brother die;
"More than our Brother is our Chastity.
I'll tell him yet of Angelo's Requeft,

And fit his Mind to Death for his Soul's Reft.

[Exit

Duke.

ACT III. SCENE I.
SCENE The Prifon.

Enter Duke, Claudio and Provoft.

then

Cland. The milerable have no other Medicine
you hope of Pardon from Lord Angelo?

But only Hope: I've hope to live, and am prepar'd to die.
Duke. Be abfolute for Death; either Death or Life
Shall thereby be the fweeter. Reafon thus with Life;
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 doft this Habitation where thou keep'ft
Hourly afflict: Meerly thou art Death's Fool
For him thou labour'ft by thy flight to fhun,
And yet runn'it toward him ftill. Thou art not noble;
For all th' Accommodations that thou bear'ft,
Are nurs'd by Baseness: Thou'rt no way valiant;
For thou doft fear the foft and tender Fork
Of a poor Worm. Thy beft of Reft is Sleep,
And that thou oft provok'ft, yet grofly fear'st
Thy Death, which is no more. Thou art not thy felf;
For thou exifts on many a thousand Grains
That iffue out of Duft. Happy thou art not;
For what thou haft not, ftill thou ftriv'ft to get,
And what thou haft forgett'ft. Thou art not certain,

Q 2

For

For thy Complexion shifts to strange Effects,
After the Moon. If thou art rich, thou'rt poor;
For like an Afs, whofe Back with Ingots bows,
Thou bear'ft thy heavy Riches but a Journey,
And Death unloads thee. Friend haft thou none,
For thine own Bowels which do call thee Sire,
The meer Effufion of thy proper Loins,
Do curfe the Gout, Serpigo, and the Rheum,

For ending thee no fooner. Thou haft not Youth, nor Age;
But, as it were, an after-dinner's Sleep,

Dreaming on both; for all thy bleffed Youth

Becomes as aged, and doth beg the Alms

Of palfied-Eld; and when thou art old, and rich,
Thou haft 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
Lye hid more thousand Deaths; yet Death we fear,
That makes these odds all even.

Claud. I humbly thank you.

To fue to live, I find I feek to die,

And feeking Death, find Life: Let it come on.

Enter Ifabella.

Ifab. What hoa? Peace here; Grace and good Com pany.

Prov. Who's there? Come in: The Wish deserves a Welcome.

Duke. Dear Sir, e'er long I'll vifit you again.

Cland. Molt holy Sir, I thank you.

Ifab. My bufinefs is a Word or two with Claudio

Prov. And very welcome. Look Signior, here's your Sifter.

Duke. Provoft, a Word with you.

Prov. As many as you please.

Duke. Bring them to speak where I may be conceal'd,

yet hear them.

Exeunt Duke and Provoft.

Claud. Now, Sifter, what's the Comfort?
Ifab. Why,

As all Comforts are; moft good, most good indeed:
Lord Angelo having Affairs to Heav'n,
Intends you for his fwift Ambaffador;
Where you fhall be an everlasting Leiger.

Therefore

Therefore your best Appointment make with speed,

To Morrow you set on.

Claud. Is there no Remedy?

Ijab. None but fuch Remedy, as to fave a Head To cleave a Heart in twain.

Cland. But is there any?

Ifab. 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,

Cland. Perpetual Durance!

Ifab. Ay juft, perpetual Durance, a Reftraint
Through all the World's Vaftidity you had
To a determin'd Scope.

Cland. But in what Nature?

Ifab. In fuch a one, as you confenting to't, Would bark your Honour from that Trunk you bear, And leave you naked.

Claud. Let me know the Point.

Ifab. Oh, I do fear thee, Claudio, and I quake,
Left thou a fev'rous Life fhouldft entertain,
And fix or feven Winters more respect

Than a perpetual Honour. Dar'ft thou die?
The Senfe of Death is most in Apprehenfion,
And the poor Beetle that we tread upon,
In corporal Sufferance, finds a Pang as great
As when a Giant dies.

Cland. Why give you me this Shame ?
Think you I can a Refolution fetch.
From flow'ry Tenderness? If I must die,

I will encounter Darkness as a Bride,

And hug it in mine Arms.

Ifab. There fpake my Brother; there my Father's Grave Did utter forth a Voice. Yes, thou must die:

Thou art too noble to conserve a Life

In bafe Appliances. This outward fainted Deputy,
Whofe fettled Vifage and deliberate Word

Nips Youth i'th' Head, and Follies doth emmew,
As Faulcon doth the Fowl, is yet a Devil;
His Filth within being caft, he would appear
A Pond as deep as Hell.

Q3

Cland