Claud, The Princely Angelo?

Ifab. Oh 'tis the cunning Livery of Hell,
The damned'ft Body to inveft and cover
In Princely Guards, Doft thou think, Claudio,
If I would yield him my Virginity,

Thou might'st be freed?

Cland. Oh Heav'ns, it cannot be.

Ifab. Yes, he would give't thee; from this rank Offence So to offend him ftill. This Night's the time

That I fhould do what I abhor to name,

Or else thou dy'ft to Morrow.
Claud. Thou shalt not do't.
Ifab. Oh, were it but my Life,
I'd throw it down for your Deliverance
As frankly as a Pin.

Claud. Thanks, dear Isabel,

Ifab. Be ready, Claudio, for you Death to Morrow,
Claud. Yes. Has he Affections in him,

That thus can make him bite the Law by th' Nose,
When he would force it? Sure it is no Sin;

Or of the deadly feven it is the least.

Ifab. Which is the leaft?

Claud. If it were damnable, he being so wife,
Why would he for the momentary trick
Be perdurably fin'd? Oh Isabel,

Ifab. What fays my Brother?

Cland. Death is a fearful thing.

Ifab. And fhamed Life a hateful.

Claud. Ay, but to die, and go we know not where:
To lye in cold Obftruction, and to rot;
This fenfible warm Motion, to become
A kneaded Clod; and the delighted Spirit
To bathe in fiery Floods, or to refide
In thrilling Regions of thick-ribbed Ice,
To be imprifon'd in the viewlefs Winds,
And blown with reftlefs violence round about
The pendant World; or to be worse than worst
Of thofe, that lawless and uncertain Thought,
Imagine howling; 'tis too horrible.

The wearieft and most loathed worldly Life
That Age, Ach, Penury, and Imprisonment

Can

Can lay on Nature, is a Paradife
To what we fear of Death.
Ifab. Alas! alas!

Claud. Sweet Sifter, let me live.

What Sin you do to fave a Brother's Life,
Nature difpenfes with the Deed so far,
That it becomes a Virtue.

Ifab. Oh you Beaft!

Oh faithlefs Coward! oh difhoneft Wretch !
Wilt thou be made a Man out of my Vice?

Is't not a kind of Inceft, to take Life

From thine own Sifter's Shame? What fhould I think?
Heav'n fhield my Mother plaid my Father fair:
For fuch a warped flip of Wilderness

Ne'er iffu'd from his Blood. Take my Defiance,
Die, perifh: Might but my bending down
Reprieve thee from thy Fate, it fhould proceed.
I'll pay a thousand Prayers for thy Death;
No Word to fave thee.

Claud. Nay, hear me, Ifabel.

Ifab. Oh, fie, fie, fie,

Thy Sin's not accidental, but a Trade; Mercy to thee would prove it felf a Bawd; 'Tis beft that thou dy't quietly.

Claud. Oh hear me, Isabella.

Enter Duke and Provoft.

Duke. Vouchsafe a Word, young Sifter, but one Word. Ifab. What is your Will?

Duke. Might you difpenfe with your Leifure, I would by and by have fome Speech with you: The Satisfaction I would require, is likewife your own Benefit.

Ifab. I have no fuperfluous Leisure; my Stay must be stolen out of other Affairs: But I will attend you a while.

Duke. Son, I have over-heard what hath paft between you and your Sifter. Angelo had never the Purpose to corrupt her; only he hath made an Effay of her Virtue, to practise his Judgment with the Difpofition of Natures. She, having the truth of Honour in her, hath made him that gracious Denial, which he is most glad to receive: I am Confeffor to Angelo, and I know this to be true; therefore prepare your self to Death. Do not fatisfic your Refolution with Hopes

Q4

that

that are fallible; to Morrow you must die; go to your Knees, and make ready.

Claud. Let me ask my Sifter Pardon; I am fo out of love with Life, that I will fue to be rid of it.

Duke. Hold

you.

[Exit Claud.

you there; farewel. Provost, a Word with

Prov. What's your Will, Father?

Duke. That now you are come, you will be gone; leave me a while with the Maid; my Mind promifes with my Habit, no lofs fhall touch her by my Company.

Prov. In good time.

[Exit Prov. Duke. The Hand that hath made you fair, hath made you good; the Goodness that is cheap in Beauty, makes Beauty brief in Goodness; but Grace being the Soul of your Complexion, fhall keep the Body of it ever fair; the Af fault that Angelo hath made to you, Fortune hath convey'd to my Understanding; and but that Frailty hath Examples for his Falling, I fhould wonder at Angelo: How will you do to content this Subflitute, and to fave your Bro

ther?

Ifab. I am now going to refolve him: I had rather my Brother die by the Law, than my Son fhould be unlawfully born. But, oh, how much is the good Duke deceiv'd in Angelo: If ever he return, and I can speak to him, I will open my Lips in vain, or difcover his Go

vernment.

Duke. That shall not be much amifs; yet, as the Matter now ftands, he will avoid your Accufation; He made Trial of you only. Therefore faften your Ear on my Advifings, to the Love I have in doing good; a Remedy presents it self, I do make my felf believe that you may moft uprighteoufly do a poor wronged Lady a merited Benefit; redeem your Brother from the angry Law; do no Stain to your own gracious Perfon, and much please the abfent Duke, if peradventure he fhall ever return to have hearing of this Bufinefs,

Ifab. Let me hear you fpeak, Father: I have Spirit to do any thing that appears not foul in the Truth of my Spirit. Duke. Virtue is bold, and Goodnefs never fearful: Have you not heard fpeak of Mariana, the Sifter of Frederick, the great Soldier, who mifcarry'd at Sea?

2

Ifab. I have heard of the Lady, and good Words went with her Name,

Duke. She fhould this Angelo have marry'd; was affianc'd to her by Oath, the Nuptial appointed: Between which time of the Contract, and limit of the Solemnity, her Brother Frederick was wrackt at Sea, having in that perifh'd Veffel the Dowry of his Sifter. But mark how heavily this befel to the poor Gentlewoman; there fhe loft a noble and renowned Brother, in his Love toward her ever most kind and natural; with him the Portion and Sinew of her Fortune, her Marriage-dowry; with both, her Combinate-husband, this well-feeming Angelo.

Ifab. Can this be fo? Did Angelo fo leave her?

Duke, Left her in her Tears, and dry'd not one of them with his Comfort; fwallow'd his Vows whole, pretending in her Discoveries of Dishonour: In few Words, bestow'd her on her own Lamentation, which the yet wears for his fake; and he, a Marble to her Tears, is washed with them, but relents not..

Ifab. What a Merit were it in Death to take this poor Maid from the World! What Corruption in this Life, that it will let this Man live! But how out of this can fhe a vail?

Duke. It is a Rupture that you may eafily heal; and the Cure of it not only faves your Brother, but keeps you from Dishonour in doing it.

Ifab. Shew me how, good Father.

Duke. This fore-nam'd Maid hath yet in her the Continuance of her first Affection; his unjust Unkindness, that in all Reafon fhould have quenched her Love, hath, like an Impediment in the Current, made it more violent and unruly. Go you to Angelo, anfwering his requiring with a plaufible Obedience; agree with his Demands to the Point: Only refer your felf to this Advantage; firft, that your Stay with him may not be long; that the Time may have all Shadow and Silence in it; and the Place anfwer to Convenience. This being granted in Courfe; and now follows all: We shall advise this wronged Maid to fteed up your Appointment, go in your place; if the Encounter acknowledge it felf hereafter, it may compel him to her Recompence; and here, by this is your Brother faved, your Honour un

tainted

Lucio. Well, then imprison him; if Imprisonment be the due of a Bawd, why, 'tis his right. Bawd is he doubt, lefs, and of Antiquity too; Bawd born. Farewel, good Pompey: Commend me to the Prison, Pompey; you will turn good Husband now, Pompey; you will keep the House. Clown. I hope, Sir, your good Worship will be my Bail. Lucio. No indeed will I not, Pompey; it is not the wear; I will pray, Pompey, to encrease your Bondage, if you take it not patiently: Why, your Mettle is the more: Adieu, truty Pompey.

Blefs you, Friar.

Duke. And you.

Lucio. Does Bridget paint ftill, Pompey? Ha?

Elb. Come your ways, Sir, come.

Clown. You will not bail me then, Sir?

Lucio. Then, Pompey, nor now. What News abroad, Friar? What News?

Elb. Come your ways, Sir, come.

Lucio. Go to Kennel, Pompey, go;

Exeunt Elbow, Clown and Officers.

tell me any

?

What News, Friar, of the Duke?
Duke. I know none: Can you
Lucio. Some fay, he is with the Emperor of Ruffia; other
fome, he is in Rome; But where is he think you?

Duke. I know not where; but wherefoever, I wish him well.

Lucio. It was a mad fantastical Trick of him, to fteal from the State, and ufurp the Beggary he was never born to; Lord Angelo Dukes it well in his Abfence; he puts Tranfgreffion to't.

Duke. He does well in't.

Lucio. A little more Lenity to Leachery would do no harm in him; fomething too crabbed that way, Friar.

Duke. It is too general a Vice, and Severity muft cure it. Lucio. Yes, in good footh, the Vice is of great Kindred; it is well ally'd; but it is impoffible to extirp it quite, Friar, 'till eating and drinking be put down. They fay, this Angelo was not made by Man and Woman, after this downright way of Creation; is it true, think you?

Duke. How fhould he be made then?