The Works of William Shakespeare

How now, fair maid? Isab. I am come to know your pleasure. Ang. That you might know it, would much better please me

Than to demand what 'tis. Your brother cannot live.

Isab. Even so. Heaven keep your honour! Ang. Yet may he live awhile; and, it may be, As long as you or I: yet he must die. Isab Under your sentence? Ang. Yea.

Isab. When, I beseech you? that in his reprieve,

Longer or shorter, he may be so fitted
That his soul sicken not.

Ang. Ha! fie, these filthy vices! It were as good

To pardon him that hath from nature stolen
A man already made, as to remit

Their saucy sweetness that do coin heaven's image
In stamps that are forbid: 'tis all as easy
Falsely to take away a life true made
As to put metal in restrained means

To make a false one.

Ang. And his offence is so, as it appears, Accountant to the law upon that pain. Isab. True.

Ang. Admit no other way to save his life,As I subscribe not that, nor any other, But in the loss of question,-that you, his sister, Finding yourself desired of such a person, Whose credit with the judge, or own great place, Could fetch your brother from the manacles Of the all-building law; and that there were No earthly mean to save him, but that either You must lay down the treasures of your body To this supposed, or else to let him suffer; What would you do?

100

Isab. As much for my poor brother as myself:
That is, were I under the terms of death,
The impression of keen whips I'ld wear as
rubies,

And strip myself to death, as to a bed
That longing have been sick for, ere I'ld yield
My body up to shame.
Ang.
Then must your brother die.
Isab. And 'twere the cheaper way:
Better it were a brother died at once,
Than that a sister, by redeeming him,

Isab. 'Tis set down so in heaven, but not in Should die for ever. earth.

Ang. Were not you then as cruel as the

I think it well: 130 And from this testimony of your own sex,

What man thou art.
Ang.
Who will believe thee, Isabel?
My unsoil'd name, the austereness of my life,
My vouch against you, and my place i' the state,
Will so your accusation overweigh,
That you shall stifle in your own report
And smell of calumny. I have begun,
And now I give my sensual race the rein:
Fit thy consent to my sharp appetite;
Lay by all nicety and prolixious blushes,

160

If I do lose thee, I do lose a thing

That none but fools would keep: a breath thou art,

Servile to all the skyey influences,

That dost this habitation, where thou keep'st, 10
Hourly afflict: merely, thou art death's fool;
For him thou labour'st by thy flight to shun
And yet runn'st toward him still. Thou art not
noble;

For all the accommodations that thou bear'st
Are nursed by baseness. Thou'rt by no means
valiant;

For thou dost fear the soft and tender fork
Of a poor worm. Thy best of rest is sleep,
And that thou oft provokest; yet grossly fear'st
Thy death, which is no more. Thou art not
thyself;

For thou exist'st on many a thousand grains
That issue out of dust. Happy thou art not;
For what thou hast not, still thou strivest to get,
And what thou hast, forget'st. Thou art not
certain;

For thy complexion shifts to strange effects,
After the moon. If thou art rich, thou'rt poor;

That banish what they sue for; redeem thy For, like an ass whose back with ingots bows,

brother

Thou bear'st thy heavy riches but a journey,
And death unloads thee. Friend hast thou none;
For thine own bowels, which do call thee sire,
The mere effusion of thy proper loins,
Do curse the gout, serpigo, and the rheum,
For ending thee no sooner. Thou hast nor youth

nor age,

Yet hath he in him such a mind of honour,
That, had he twenty heads to tender down

On twenty bloody blocks, he 'ld yield them up,
Before his sister should her body stoop

To such abhorr'd pollution.

Then, Isabel, live chaste, and, brother, die:
More than our brother is our chastity.
I'll tell him yet of Angelo's request,

Enter ISAbella,

And fit his mind to death, for his soul's rest.

[Exit.

Prov. And very welcome.

here's your sister.

Look, signior,

Duke. Provost, a word with you. Prov. As many as you please. Duke. Bring me to hear them speak, where I may be concealed. [Exeunt Duke and Provost, Claud. Now, sister, what's the comfort? Isab.

Why, As all comforts are; most good, most good indeed. Lord Angelo, having affairs to heaven, Intends you for his swift ambassador, Where you shall be an everlasting leiger: Therefore your best appointment make with speed; To-morrow you set on. Cland.

Is there no remedy?

Isab. None, but such remedy as, to save a head,

To cleave a heart in twain.

Claud.

But is there any?
Isab. 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.

Claud
Perpetual durance?
Isab. Ay, just; perpetual durance, a restraint,
Though all the world's vastidity you had,
To a determined scope.

Claud

But in what nature? 70 Isab. In such a one as, you consenting to't, Would bark your honour from that trunk you bear,

Claud Yes. Has he affections in him, That thus can make him bite the law by the nose, When he would force it? Sure, it is no sin; 110 Or of the deadly seven it is the least. Isab. Which is the least?

Claud. If it were damnable, he being so wise, Why would he for the momentary trick Be perdurably fined? O Isabel! Isab What says my brother? Claud.

Death is a fearful thing. Isab. And shamed life a hateful. Claud. Ay, but to die, and go we know not

where:

To lie in cold obstruction and to rot;
This sensible warm motion to become
A kneaded clod; and the delighted spirit
To bathe in fiery floods, or to reside
In thrilling region of thick-ribbed ice;
To be imprison'd in the viewless winds,

And blown with restless violence round about
The pendent world; or to be worse than worst
Of those that lawless and incertain thought
Imagine howling: 'tis too horrible!
The weariest and most loathed worldly life
That age, ache, penury and imprisonment
Can lay on nature is a paradise
To what we fear of death.
Isab. Alas, alas!
Claud.

Sweet sister, let me live:
What sin you do to save a brother's life,
Nature dispenses with the deed so far
That it becomes a virtue.

Isab

O you beast! 80 O faithless coward! O dishonest wretch! Wilt thou be made a man out of my vice? Is't not a kind of incest, to take life

Why give you me this shame? Think you I can a resolution fetch From flowery tenderness? If I must die,

I will encounter darkness as a bride,

And hug it in mine arms.

Isab. There spake my brother; there
father's grave

Did utter forth a voice. Yes, thou must die:
Thou art too noble to conserve a life

In base appliances. This outward-sainted deputy,
Whose settled visage and deliberate word
Nips youth i' the head and follies doth emmew
As falcon doth the fowl, is yet a devil;
His filth within being cast, he would appear
A pond as deep as hell.
Claud.

The prenzie Angelo!
Isab. O, 'tis the cunning livery of hell,
The damned'st body to invest and cover

In prenzie guards! Dost thou think, Claudio?
If would yield him my virginity,
Thou mightst be freed.

120

130

From thine own sister's shame? What should I think?

140

Heaven shield my mother play'd my father fair!
For such a warped slip of wilderness
Ne'er issued from his blood. Take my defiance!
Die, perish! Might but my bending down
Reprieve thee from thy fate, it should proceed:
I'll pray a thousand prayers for thy death,
No word to save thee.

Claud. Nay, hear me, Isabel.
Isab

O, fie, fie, fie!

one word.

Isab. What is

your will?

Duke. Might you dispense with your leisure, I would by and by have some speech with you: the satisfaction I would require is likewise your own benefit.

Isab. I have no superfluous leisure; my stay

must be stolen out of other affairs; but I will
attend you awhile.
[Walks apart.
Duke. Son, I have overheard what hath passed
between you and your sister. Angelo had never
the purpose to corrupt her: only he hath made
an assay of her virtue to practise his judgement,
with the disposition of natures: she, having the
truth of honour in her, hath made him that gra-
cious denial which he is most glad to receive. I
am confessor to Angelo, and I know this to be
true; therefore prepare yourself to death: do not
satisfy your resolution with hopes that are fal-
lible: to-morrow you must die; go to your knees
and make ready.

Claud Let me ask my sister pardon. I am so out of love with life that I will sue to be rid of it

Duke. Hold you there: farewell. Claudio.] Provost, a word with you!

Re-enter PROVOST.

was wrecked at sea, having in that perished vessel the dowry of his sister. But mark how heavily this befell to the poor gentlewoman: there she lost 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 marriagedowry; with both, her combinate husband, this well-seeming Angelo.

Isab. Can this be so? did Angelo so leave her? Duke. Left her in her tears, and dried not one of them with his comfort; swallowed his vows whole, pretending in her discoveries of dishonour: in few, bestowed her on her own lamentation, which she yet wears for his sake; and he, a marble to her tears, is washed with them, but relents not.

Isab. What a merit were it in death to take this poor maid from the world! What corruption [Exit in this life, that it will let this man live! But how out of this can she avail?

Prev. In good time.

[Exit Provost. Isabella comes forward. 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, shall keep the body of it ever fair. The assault that Angelo hath made to you, fortune hath conveyed to my understanding; and, but that frailty hath examples for his falling, I should wonder at Angelo. How will you do to content this substitute, and to save your brother?

Isab I am now going to resolve him: I had rather my brother die by the law than my son should be unlawfully born. But, O, how much is the good duke deceived in Angelo! If ever he return and I can speak to him, I will open my lies in vain, or discover his government.

Duke. That shall not be much amiss: yet, as the matter now stands, he will avoid your accusstion; he made trial of you only. Therefore fasten your ear on my advisings: to the love I bare in doing good a remedy presents itself.

Duke. It is a rupture that you may easily heal: and the cure of it not only saves your brother, but keeps you from dishonour in doing it. Isab. Show me how, good father.

Duke. This forenamed maid hath yet in her the continuance of her first affection: his unjust unkindness, that in all reason should have quenched her love, hath, like an impediment in the current, made it more violent and unruly. Go you to Angelo; answer his requiring with a plausible obedience; agree with his demands to the point; only refer yourself to this advantage, first, that your stay with him may not be long; that the time may have all shadow and silence in it; and the place answer to convenience. This being granted in course,-and now follows all,-we shall advise this wronged maid to stead up your appointment, go in your place; if the encounter acknowledge itself hereafter, it may compel him to her recompense: and here, by this, is your brother saved, your honour untainted, the poor Mariana advantaged, and the corrupt deputy scaled. The maid will I frame and make fit for his attempt. If you think well to carry this as you may, the doubleness of the benefit defends the deceit from reproof. What think you of it?

Isab. The image of it gives me content already; and I trust it will grow to a most prosperous perfection.

Haste

Duke. It lies much in your holding up. you speedily to Angelo: if for this night he entreat you to his bed, give him promise of satisfaction. I will presently to Saint Luke's: there, at the moated grange, resides this dejected Mariana. At that place call upon me; and dispatch with Angelo, that it may be quickly.

Isab I thank you for this comfort. Fare you well, good father. [Exeunt severally. 281

SCENE II. The street before the prison.

Enter, on one side, DUKE disguised as before; on the other, ELBOW, and Officers with POMPEY.

Elb. Nay, if there be no remedy for it, but that you will needs buy and sell men and women like beasts, we shall have all the world drink brown and white bastard.

Duke. O heavens ! what stuff is here? Pom. 'Twas never merry world since, of two usuries, the merriest was put down, and the wors-1

er allowed by order of law a furred gown to keep him warm; and furred with fox and lamb-skins too, to signify, that craft, being richer than innocency, stands for the facing.

Elb. Come your way, sir. 'Bless you, good father friar.

Duke. And you, good brother father. What offence hath this man made you, sir?

Elb. Marry, sir, he hath offended the law: and, sir, we take him to be a thief too, sir; for we have found upon him, sir, a strange picklock, which we have sent to the deputy.

Duke. Fie, sirrah! a bawd, a wicked bawd! The evil that thou causest to be done, That is thy means to live. Do thou but think What 'tis to cram a maw or clothe a back From such a filthy vice: say to thyself, From their abominable and beastly touches I drink, I eat, array myself, and live. Canst thou believe thy living is a life,

So stinkingly depending? Go mend, go mend. Pom. Indeed, it does stink in some sort, sir; but yet, sir, I would prove

30 Duke. Nay, if the devil have given thee proofs for sin,

Thou wilt prove his. Take him to prison, officer:
Correction and instruction must both work
Ere this rude beast will profit.

Elb. He must before the deputy, sir; he has given him warning: the deputy cannot abide a whoremaster: if he be a whoremonger, and comes before him, he were as good go a mile on his errand.

born. Farewell, good Pompey. Commend me to the prison, Pompey: you will turn good husband now, Pompey; you will keep the house. Pom. 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 increase your bondage: if you take it not patiently, why, your mettle is the more. Adicu, trusty Pompey 'Bless you, friar.

Duke. And you.

Lucio. Does Bridget paint still, Pompey, ha? Elb. Come your ways, sir; come. Pom. You will not bail me, then, sir? Lucio. Then, Pompey, nor now. abroad, friar? what news?

What news

Elb. Come your ways, sir; come. Lucio. Go to kennel, Pompey; go. [Exeunt Elbow, Pompey and Officers.] What news, friar,

of the duke?

Duke. I know none. Can you tell me of any? Lucio. Some say he is with the Emperor of Russia; other some, he is in Rome: but where is he, think you?

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

Lucio. It was a mad fantastical trick of him to steal from the state, and usurp the beggary he was never born to. Lord Angelo dukes it well in his absence; he puts transgression to't. Duke. He does well in 't.

ΙΟΙ

Lucio. A little more lenity to lechery would do no harm in him: something too crabbed that way, friar. Duke. 40 must cure it.

Duke. That we were all, as some would seem to be,

From our faults, as faults from seeming, free! Elb. His neck will come to your waist,-a cord, sir.

Pom. I spy comfort; I cry bail. gentleman and a friend of mine.

Enter LUCIO.

Here's a

Lucio. How now, noble Pompey! What, at the wheels of Cæsar? art thou led in triumph? What, is there none of Pygmalion's images, newly made woman, to be had now, for putting the hand in the pocket and extracting it clutched? What reply, ha? What sayest thou to this tune, matter and method? Is't not drowned i' the last rain, ha? What sayest thou, Trot? Is the world as it was, man? Which is the way? Is it sad, and few words? or how? The trick of it?

Duke. Still thus, and thus; still worse! Lucio. How doth my dear morsel, thy mistress? Procures she still, ha?

Pom. Troth, sir, she hath eaten up all her beef,

and she is herself in the tub.

It is too general a vice, and severity

Lucio. Yes, in good sooth, the vice is of a great kindred; it is well allied: but it is impossible to extirp it quite, friar, till eating and drinking be down. They say this Angelo was not made by man and woman after this downright way of creation: is it true, think you?

Duke. How should he be made, then?

Lucio. Some report a sea-maid spawned him ; some, that he was begot between two stock-fishes. But it is certain that when he makes water his urine is congealed ice; that I know to be true: and he is a motion generative; that's infallible.

Duke. You are pleasant, sir, and speak apace. Lucio. Why, what a ruthless thing is this in him, for the rebellion of a codpiece to take away the life of a man! Would the duke that is absent have done this? Ere he would have hanged a man for the getting a hundred bastards, he would have paid for the nursing a thousand: he had some feeling of the sport; he knew the service, and that instructed him to mercy.

Duke. I never heard the absent duke much

131

Lucio. Why, 'tis good; it is the right of it; it must be so ever your fresh whore and your pow-detected for women; he was not inclined that way. dered bawd: an unshunned consequence; it must be so. Art going to prison, Pompey? Pom. Yes, faith, sir.

Lucio. Why, 'tis not amiss, Pompey. Farewell: go, say I sent thee thither. For debt, Pompey? or how?

Elb. For being a bawd, for being a bawd. Lucio. Well, then, imprison him: if imprison ment be the due of a bawd, why, 'tis his right: bawd is he doubtless, and of antiquity too; bawd

Lucio. O, sir, you are deceived. Duke. 'Tis not possible.

Lucio. Who, not the duke? yes, your beggar of fifty; and his use was to put a ducat in her clack-dish: the duke had crotchets in him. would be drunk too; that let me inform you. Duke. You do him wrong, surely. Lucio. Sir, I was an inward of his. A shy fellow was the duke: and I believe I know the cause of his withdrawing.

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The Works of William Shakespeare, Band 1