If not a feodary, but only he,

Owet, and succeed by weakness.
Ang. Nay, women are frail too.

Isab. Ay, as the glasses where they view themselves;

Which are as easy broke as they make forms.
Women!-Help heaven! Men their creation mar
In profiting by them. Nay, call us ten times frail;
For we are soft as our complexions are,

And credulous to false prints.

Ang. I think it well:

And from this testimony of your own sex,

(Since, I suppose, we are made to be no stronger Than faults may shake our frames,) let me be bold;I do arrest 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 express'd
By all external warrants,) shew it now,

By putting on the destined livery.

Isab. I have no tongue but one: gentle my lord, Let me entreat you speak the former language. Ang. Plainly conceive, I love you.

Isab. My brother did love Juliet ; and you tell me, That he shall die for it.

Ang. He shall not, Isabel, if you give me love. Isab. I know, your virtue hath a licence in't, Which seems a little fouler than it is,

To pluck on others.

Ang. Believe me, on mine honour,

My words express my purpose.

Isab. Ha! little honour to be much believed,

And most pernicious purpose !-Seeming, seeming (! I will-proclaim thee, Angelo; look for't:

Sign me a present pardon for my brother,

Or, with an out-stretch'd throat, I'll tell the world Aloud, 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 over-weigh,

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,

That banish what they sue for; redeem thy brother

• Associate. Hypocrisy.

1 Own.
Attestation.

Impressions.
Reluctant.

By yielding up thy body to my will;
Or else he must not only die the death,
But thy unkindness shall his death draw out
To lingering sufferance: answer me to-morrow,
Or, by the affection that now guides me most,
I'll prove a tyrant to him: as for you,

Say what you can, my false o'erweighs your true. [Exit. Isab. To whom should I complain? Did I tell

this,

Who would believe me? O perilous mouths,
That bear in them one and the self-same tongue,
Either of condemnation or approof!

Bidding the law make court'sy to their will;
Hooking both right and wrong to the appetite,
To follow, as it draws! I'll to my brother:
Though he hath fallen by prompture of the blood,
Yet hath he in him such a mind of honour,
That had he twenty heads to tender down
On twenty bloody blocks, he'd 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,

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

ACT III.

SCENE I.—A Room in the Prison.

Enter DUKE, CLAUDIO, and PROVOST.

Duke. So, then, you hope of pardon from lord
Angelo?

Claud. The miserable have no other medicine, But only hope:

I have hope to live, and am prepared to die.

Duke. Be absolute for death; either death or life,

Shall thereby be the sweeter. Reason 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 dost this habitation, where thou keep'st,
Hourly afflict: merely, thou art death's fool;
For him thou labour'st by thy flight to shun,

Determined.

And yet run'st toward him still: thou art not noble;
For all the accommodations that thou bear'st,
Art nursed by baseness: thou art 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 provok'st; yet grossly fear'st
Thy death which is no more. Thou art not thyself;
For shou exist'st on many a thousand grains
That issue out of dust: happy thou art not:
For what thou hast not, still thou striv'st 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 art poor;
For, like an ass, whose back with ingots bows,
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, serpigot, and the rheum,

For ending thee no sooner: thou hast nor youth, nor age;

But, as it were, an after-dinner's sleep,

Dreaming on both for all thy blessed youth
Becomes as aged, and doth beg the alms

Of palsied eld; and when thou art old, and rich,
Thou hast 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
Lie hid more thousand deaths: yet death we fear,
That makes these odds all even.

Claud. I humbly thank you.

To sue to live, I find, I seek to die;

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

Enter ISABELLA.

Isab. What, ho! Peace here; grace and good company!

Prov. Who's there? Come in the wish deserves. a welcome.

Duke. Dear Sir, ere long I'll visit you again.
Claud. Most holy Sir, I thank you.

Isab. My business is a word or two with Claudio.
Prov. And very welcome. Look, Signior, here's

your sister.

Duke. Provost, a word with you.

Affects, affections.

+ Leprous eruptions.

Old age.

3

Prov. As many as you please.

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

Yet hear them.

[Exeunt Duke and Provost.

Claud. Now, sister, what's the comfort?

Isab. Why, as all comforts are; 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.

Claud. 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 word's vastidity you had,
To a determined scope.

Claud. But in what nature?

Isab. In such a one as (you consenting to't) Would bark your honour from that trunk you bear, And leave you naked.

Claud. Let me know the point.

Isab. O, I do fear thee, Claudio; and I quake, Lest thou a feverous life shouldst entertain,

And six or seven winters more respect

Than a perpetual honour. Dar'st thou die?
The sense of death is most in apprehension;
And the poor beetle, that we tread upon,
In corporal sufferance finds a pang as great
As when a giant dies.

Claud. 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 my 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,

* Resident.

+ Preparation.

Vastness of extent.

Whose settled visage and deliberate word
Nips youth i' the head, and follies doth enmew*,
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 princely Angelo?

Isab. O, 'tis the cunning livery of hell,
The damned'st body to invest and cover
In princely guards +! Dost thou think, Claudio,
If I would yield him my virginity,

Thou might'st be freed?

Claud. O, heavens! it cannot be.

Isab. Yes, he will give it thee, from this rank of fence,

So to offend him still this night's the time
That I should do what I abhor to name,
Or else thou diest to-morrow.

Claud. Thou shall not do't.
Isab. O, were it but my life,

I'd throw it down for your deliverance
As frankly as a pin.

Claud. Thanks, dear Isabel.

Isab. Be ready, Claudio, for your death to-morrow. 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;

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 regions of thick-ribbed ice;
To be imprison'd in the viewless winds,

And blown with restless violence round about
The pendant world: or to be worse than worst
Of those, that lawless and incertain thoughts
Imagine howling!-Tis too horrible!

The weariest and most loathed worldly life,

⚫ Shut up.

Lastingly.

+ Laced robes.

1 Freely.

Invisible.