For we are soft as our complexions are, * And credulous to false prints.

Ang. I think it well;

And from this teftimony of your own fex,
(Since I suppose we're made to be no stronger,
Than faults may shake our frames) let me be bold;
I do arreft words: be That you are,

your

That is, a women; if you're more, you're none.
If you be one, as you are well exprefs'd
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, fpeak the formal language. Ang. Plainly conceive, I love you.

Ifab. My brother did love Juliet;

And you tell me, that he fhall die for it.

Ang. He fhall not, Isabel, 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 exprefs my purpose.

Ifab. Ha! little honour to be much believ'd, And moft pernicious purpofe! feeming, 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, Isabel?

My unfoil'd name, th' aufterenefs of my life,

My vouch against you, and my place i'th' ftate, Will fo your accufation over-weigh,

you

That fhall ftifle in your own report,
And fmell of calumny. I have begun ;
And now I give my fenfual race the rein.

And credulous to falfe prints.] i. e. take any Impreffion.

+ ---Speak the former language.] We should read formal which he here uses for plain, direct.

Fit thy consent to my sharp 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 muft not only die the death,
But thy unkindness shall his death draw out
To ling'ring fufferance. Answer me to-morrow;
Or by th' affection that now guides me moft,
I'll prove a tyrant to him. As for you,
Say what you can; my falfe o'erweighs your true. [Ex.
Ifab. To whom fhould I complain? did I tell this,
Who would believe me? Omoft perilous mouths,
That bear in them one and the self-fame tongue,
Either of condemnation or approof;

Bidding the law make curtfy to their will;
Hooking both right and wrong to th' appetite,
To follow, as it draws. I'll to my brother.
Tho' he hath fall'n 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 fifter fhould her body stoop

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 request;

And fit his mind to death, for his foul's Reft. [Exit.

ACT III.

SCENE I.

The PRISON.

Enter Duke, Claudio, and Provost.

DUKE.

O, then you hope of pardon from lord Angelo? Claud. The miferable have no other medicine, But only Hope: I've hope to live, and am prepar'd to die.

Duke. Be abfolute for death: or death, or life,

Shall thereby be the sweeter. Reason thus with life; If I do lose thee, I do lofe a thing,

That none but fools would reck; a breath thou art,
Servile to all the skiey influences,

That do this habitation, where thou keep'ft,
Hourly afflict; merely thou art Death's Fool;
For him thou labour'ft by thy flight to fhun,
And yet runn'ft tow'rd him ftill. Thou art not noble;
For all th' accommodations, that thou bear'st,
Are nurs'd by baseness: thou'rt by no means valiant;
For thou doft fear the foft and tender fork

Of a poor worm. Thy beft of Reft is fleep,
And that thou oft provok'ft; yet grofly fear'ft
Thy death, which is no more. Thou'rt not thyself;
For thou exift'ft 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 forget'ft. Thou art not certain;
For thy complexion fhifts to ftrange effects,
After the moon. If thou art rich, thou'rt poor;
For, like an afs, whose back with ingots bows,
Thou bear'ft thy heavy riches but a journey,
And death unloadeth thee. Friend thou haft none;
For thy own bowels, which do call thee Sire,
The mere effufion of thy proper loins,
Do curfe the Gout, Serpigo, and the Rheum,

For ending thee no fooner. Thou haft nor youth, nor
But as it were an after-dinner's fleep,

[age; Dreaming on both; for pall'd, thy blazed youth Becomes affuaged, and doth beg the alms

Of palfied Eld; and when thou'rt old and rich, Thou haft neither * heat, affection, limb, nor bounty

heat, affection, limb, nor beauty] But how does Beauty make Riches pleafant? We should read Bounty, which completes the Sense, and is this; Thou haft neither the Pleasure of enjoying Riches thyself, for thou wanteft Vigour: Nor of feeing it enjoyed by others, for thou wanteft Bounty. Where the making the Want of Bounty as infeparable from old Age as the Want of Health, is extremely fatirical tho' not altogether just.

Το

To make thy riches pleasant. What's yet in this,
That bears the name of life? yet in this life
Lie hid more thousand deaths; yet death we fear,
That makes thefe odds all even.

Claud. I humbly thank you.

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

And, seeking death, find life: let it come on.
Enter Ifabella.

Ifab. What, ho? peace here, grace and good com-
pany!

Prov. Who's there? come in: the wifh deferves a welcome.

Duke. Dear Sir, ere long I'll vifit you again.
Claud. Moft holy Sir, I thank you.

Ifab. My Bufinefs is a word, or two, with Claudio. Prov. And very welcome. Look, Signior, here's your fifter.

Duke. Provost, a word with you.
Prov. As many as you please.

Duke. Bring them to speak where I may be con

ceal'd,

Yet hear them.

[Exeunt Duke and Provost.

SCENE

II.

Claud.

OW, fifter, what's the comfort?
Ifab. Why, as all comforts are; most good

in Deed:

Lord Angelo, having affairs to heav'n,

Intends you for his fwift ambaffador;

Where you fhall be an everlafting leiger.

Therefore your best appointment make with speed, To-morrow you fet on.

Claud. Is there no remedy?

Ifab. None, but fuch remedy, as, to save a head, To cleave a heart in twain.

Claud.

Claud. 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.

Claud. Perpetual durance?

Ifab. Ay, juft; perpetual durance: a restraint, Tho' all the world's vaftidity you had,

To a determin'd fcope.

Claud. 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 fhould'ft entertain,
And fix or seven Winters`more respect

Than a perpetual Honour. Dar'ft thou die?
The fenfe of death is most in apprehenfion;
And the poor Beetle, that we tread upon,
In corp'ral fufferance finds a pang as great,
As when a giant dies.

Claud. 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.

[grave

Ifab. There fpake my brother; there my father's Did utter forth a voice. Yes, thou must die : Thou art too noble to conserve a life

In bafe appliances. This outward-fainted Deputy,
Whose settled visage and delib'rate 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.

Claud.