Pompey; howsoever you colour it in being a tapfter; are you not? Come tell me true, it fhall be the better for you.

Clown. Truly, Sir, I am a poor fellow that would live.

Efcal. How would you live, Pompey? by being a bawd? What do you think of the trade, Pompey? is it a lawful trade?

Clown. If the law will allow it, Sir.

Efcal. But the law will not allow it, Pompey; nor it fhall not be allowed in Vienna.

Clown. Does your Worship mean to geld and splay all the youth in the city?

Efcal. No, Pompey.

Clown. Truly, Sir, in my poor opinion, they will to't then. If your Worship will take order for the drabs and the knaves, you need not to fear the bawds.

Efcal. There are pretty orders beginning, I can tell you: it is but heading and hanging.

Clown. If you head and hang all that offend that way but for ten years together, you'll be glad to give out a commiflion for more heads: if this law hold in Vienna ten years, I'll rent the fairest house in it, after three pence a bay: if you live to fee this come to pass, say, Pompey told you fo.

:

Efcal. Thank you, good Pompey; and in requital of your prophecy, hark you; I advise you, let me not find you before me again upon any complaint whatfoever; no, not for dwelling where you do if I do, Pompey, I fhall beat you to your tent, and prove a fhrewd Cæfar to you. In plain dealing, Pompey, I shall have you whipt: fo for this time, Pompey, fare thee well.

Clown. I thank your Worship for your good counsel; but I fhall follow it, as the flesh and fortune fhall better determine.

Whip me! no, no; let carman whip his jade;
The valiant heart's not whipt out of his trade.

[Exit.

SCENE

Efcal. Come hither to me, Master Elbow; come hither, Mafter Constable: how long have you been in this place of constable?

Elb. Seven years and a half, Sir.

Efcal. I thought, by your readiness in the office, you had continued in it fome time: you fay feven years together?

Elb. And a half, Sir.

Efcal. Alas! it hath been great pains to you; they do you wrong to put you so oft upon't: are there nat men in your ward fufficient to ferve it?

Elb. Faith, Sir, few of any wit in fuch matters; as they are chofen, they are glad to chuse me for them. I do it for fome piece of money, and go through with all.

Efcal. Look you bring me in the names of some fix or feven, the moft fufficient of your parish.

Elb. To your Worthip's houfe, Sir?

Efcal To my houfe; fare you well. What's o'clock, think you?

Juft. Eleven, Sir.

[Exit Elbow.

Efcal. I pray you, home to dinner with me.

Juft. I humbly thank you.

Efcal. It grieves me for the death of Claudio: But there's no remedy.

Juft. Lord Angelo's fevere.

Efcal. It is but needful:

Mercy is not itself, that oft looks fo;
Pardon is ftill the nurfe of fecond woe:

But yet, poor Claudio! there's no remedy.
Come, Sir.

[Exeunt.

SCENE VI. Enter Provost, and a Servant.

Serv. He's hearing of a caufe; he will come ftraight: I'll tell him of you.

Prov. Pray you, do; I'll know

His pleasure; 't may be he'll relent; alas!

He hath but as offended in a dream:

All fets, all ages fmack of this vice; and he

To die for it!

Enter Angelo.

Ang. Now, what's the matter, Provost?

Prov. Is it your will Claudio fhall die to-morrow? Ang. Did not I tell thee, yea? hadst thou not order? Why doft thou afk again?

Prov. Left I might be too rafh.

Under your good correction, I have feen,
When, after execution, judgment hath
Repented o'er his doom.

Ang. Go to; let that be mine,

Do you your office, or give up your place,
And you fhall well be fpar'd.

Prov. I crave your pardon.

What fhall be done, Sir, with the groning Juliet?
She's very near her hour.

Ang. Difpofe of her

To fome more fitting place, and that with speed.
Serv. Here is the filter of the man condemn'd,
Defires accefs to you.

Ang. Hath he a sister?

Prov Ay, my good Lord, a very virtuous maid, And to be fhortly of a filterhood,

If not already.

Ang. Well; let her be admitted.

See you the fornicatrefs be remov'd;

[Exit Servant.

Let her have needful, but not lavish, means;
There fhall be order for it.

SCENE

VII. Enter Lucio and Ifabella.

Prov. 'Save your honour.

Ang. Stay yet a while.

your will?

Y'are welcome; what's

Ifab. I am a woful fuitor to your Honour, Pleafe but your Honour hear me.

Ang Well; what's your fuit?

Ifab There is a vice that most I do abhor, And most defire fhould meet the blow of justice; For which I would not plead, but that I must; For which I mult not plead, but that I am

At war, 'twixt will, and will not.

Ang. Well; the matter?

Ifab I have a brother is condemn'd to die; I do befeech you, let it be his fault,

And not my brother.

Prev. Heav'n give thee moving graces!

Ang. Condemn the fault, and not the actor of it?
Why, every fault's condemn'd ere it be done;
Mine were the very cypher of a function,

To find the faults, whofe fine ftands in record,
And let go by the actor.

Ifab. O juft, but fevere law!

I had a brother then;

Heaven keep your

Honour !

Lucio. Give not o'er fo: to him again, intreat him,
Kneel down before him, hang upon his gown;
You are too cold: if you fhould need a pin,

You could not with more tame a tongue desire it.
To him, I fay.

Ifab. Muft he needs die ?

Ang. Maiden, no remedy.

Ijab. Yes; I do think that you might pardon him; And neither Heav'n nor man grieve at the mercy. Ang. I will not do't.

Ifab. But can you, if you would?

Ang. Look, what I will not, that I cannot do. Ifab. But might you do't, and do the world no wrong, If fo your heart were touch'd with that remorse, As mine is to him?

Ang. He's fentence'd; 'tis too late.

Lucio. You are too cold.

Ifab. Too late? why, no; I that do speak a word, May call it back again: well believe this, "No ceremony that to great ones 'longs, "Not the King's crown, nor the deputed fword, "The Marshal's truncheon, nor the judge's robe, "Become them with one half to good a grace, "As mercy does. If he had been as you, And you as he, you would have flipt like him; But he, like you, would not have been fo ftern. Ang. Pray you, be gone

Ifab. I wou'd to Heav'n I had your potency, And you were Ifabel; fhould it then be thus? No: I would tell what 'twere to be a judge, And what a prifoner.

Lucio. Ay, touch him; there's the vein.
Ang. Your brother is a forfeit of the law,
And you but waste
your words.
Ifab. Alas! alas!

Why, all the fouls that are, were forfeit once: "And he that might the 'vantage beft have took, "Found out the remedy. How would you be, "If he, which is the top of judgment, fhould "But judge you as you are? Oh, think on that; "And mercy then will breathe within your lips, Like man new made.

Ang. Be you content, fair maid;

It is the law, not I, condemns your brother.
Were he my kinfman, brother, or my fon,
It fhould be thus with him; he dies to-morrow.
Ifab. To-morrow? Oh! that's fudden.

fpare him.

Spare him,

He's not prepar'd for death: even for our kitchens We kill the fowl of feafon; fhall we ferve Heav'n With lefs refpect, than we do minister

To our grofs felves? Good, good my Lord, bethink Who is it that hath dy'd for this offence?

There's many have committed it.

Lucio. Ay, well faid.

[you:

Ang. The law hath not been dead, tho' it hath flept: Thofe many had not dar'd to do that evil,

If the first man that did th' edict infringe.

Had answer'd for his deed. Now, 'tis awake;
Takes note of what is done; and, like a prophet,
Looks in a glafs that fhews what future evils,
Or new, or by remiffness new-conceiv'd,

And fo in progrefs to be hatch'd and born,
Are now to have no fucceffive degrees;
But ere they live, to end.

Ifab. Yet fhew fome pity.

Ang. "I fhew it most of all, when I fhew juftice; "For then I pity thofe I do not know;

Which a difmifs'd offence would after gall;

And do him right, that, anfwering one foul wrong, Lives not to act another. Be fatisfy'd;

Your brother dies to-morrow; be content.

Ifab. So you must be the first that gives this fentences

And