Now took your brother's life; or, to redeem him,
Give up your body to fuch fweet uncleanness,
As fhe that he hath ftain'd?

Ifab. Sir, believe this,

I had rather give my body than my foul.

Ang. I talk not of your foul; our compell'd fins Stand more for number than account.

Ifab. How fay you?

Ang. Nay, I'll not warrant that; for I can speak Against the thing I fay.

Anfwer to this.

I, now the voice of the recorded law,

Pronounce à fentence on your brother's life.
Might there not be a charity in fin,

To fave this brother's life?

Ifab. Please you to do't,

I'll take it as a peril to my foul;
It is no fin at all, but charity.

Ang. Pleas'd you to do't at peril of your soul,
Were equal poize of fin and charity.

Ifab. That I do beg his life, if it be fin, Heav'n, let me bear it; you, granting my fuit, If that be fin, I'll make it my morn-pray'r

To have it added to the faults of mine,

And nothing of your answer.

Ang. Nay, but hear me :

Your fenfe purfues not mine: either you're ignorant, Or feem fe craftily; and that's not good.

Ifab. Let me be ignorant, and in nothing good, But gracioufly to know I am no better.

Ang. Thus wifdom wishes to appear most bright, When it doth tax itself; as thefe black masks Proclaim an en-fhield beauty ten times louder, Than beauty could difplay'd. But mark me, To be received plain, I'll speak more gross; Your brother is to die.

Ifab. So.

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

Ang. Admit no other way to fave his life,
(As I fubfcribe not that, nor any other,
But in the loss of queftion), that you his fifter,

Finding

Finding yourself defir'd of fuch a perfon,
Whofe credit with the judge, or own great place,
Could fetch your brother from the manacles
Of the all-holding law; and that there were
No earthly mean to fave him, but that either
You must lay down the treasures of your body
To this fuppos'd, or elfe to let him fuffer;
What would you do?

Ifab. As much for my poor brother as myself:
That is, were I under the terms of death,
Th' impreffion of keen whips I'd wear as rubies,
And ftrip myself to death, as to a bed

That longing I've been fick for, ere I'd yield
My body up to fhame.

Ang. Then muft your brother die.
Ifab. And 'twere the cheaper way;
Better it were, a brother dy'd at once,
Than that a fifter, by redeeming him,
Should die for ever.

Ang. Were not you then as cruel as the fentence, That you have flander'd fo?

Ifab. As ignominious ranfom, and free pardon, Are of two houfes; lawful mercy, fure,

Is nothing kin to foul redemption.

Ang. You feem'd of late to make the law a tyrant, And rather prov'd the fliding of your brother A merriment, than a vice.

Ifab. Oh pardon me, my Lord; it oft falls out, To have what we would have, we speak not what we

mean.

I fomething do excufe the thing I hate,
For his advantage that I dearly love.
Ang. We are all frail.

Ifab. Elfe let my brother die.
If not a feodary, but only he,
Owe, and fucceed by weakness!

Ang. Nay, women are fail too.

Ifab. Ay, as the glaffes where they view themfelves; Which are as eafy broke, as they make forms. Women! help heav'n; men their creation mar, In profiting by them: nay, call us ten times frail; For we are foft as our complexions arc,

And

And credulous to falfe prints.

Ang. I think it well;

And from this teftimony of your own fex,

(Since I fuppofe we're made to be no ftronger, 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'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, speak the formal * language. Ang. Plainly conceive I love you.

Ifab. My brother did love Juliet;

And you tell me that fhe fhall die for it.

Ang. He fhall not, Ifabel, 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.

Ifa. Ha! little honour to be much believ'd, And moft pernicious purpose ! 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, Ifabel?

My unfoil'd name, th' aufterenefs of my life,
My vouch against you; and my place i'th' state,
Will fo your accufation overweigh,

That you fhall ftifle in your own report,
And finell of calumny. I have begun;
And now I give my fenfual race the rein.
Fit thy confent to my fharp appetite,
Lay by all nicety, and prolixious blushes,
That banith what they fue for; redeem thy brother
By yielding up thy body to my will:

Or else he must not only die the death,

But thy unkindness fhall his death draw out

To ling'ring fufferance. Answer me to-morrow;
Or by th' affection that now guides me moft,

*formal, for plain, direct,

I'll

I'll prove a tyrant to him.

As for you,

Say what you can; my falfe o'erweighs you true.

[Exit. Ifab. To whom should I complain? did I tell this, Who would believe me? O molt 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.
EN

Duke.

The prifon.

Enter Duke, Claudio, and Provoft.

So,

O, then you hope of pardon from Lord Angelo?

Claud. The miferable have no other medicine,

But only hope I've hop'd to live, and am prepar'd

:

to die.

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

Shall thereby be the fweeter.

Reafon thus with life;

If I do lofe thee, I do lofe a thing

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

That do this habitation, where thou keep'it,
Hourly afflict; merely thou art death's fool+;

6 For

Approof here is to be taken in the sense of approbation. In the fimplicity of the ancient fhews upo ur ftage, it was ommon to bring in two figures, one reprefenting a fool, the other death

For him thou labour'ft by thy flight to fhun,

• And yet runn'ft tow'rd him still. Thou art not noble; For all th' accommodations, that thou bear'st,

• Are nurs'd by bafenefs: thou'rt by no means valiant ; For thou doft fear the foft and tender fork

<

Of a poor worm. Thy beft of rest is fleep,

And that thou oft provok'it; yet grofsly 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't to get;
And what thou haft, forget'ft. Thou art not certain;
For thy complexion fhifts to strange effects,
After the moon. If thou art rich, thou'rt poor;

For, like an afs, whofe 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 fire,
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,
Dreaming on both; for pall'd, thy blazed youth
Becomes affuaged, and doth beg the alms

[age;

Of palfied Eld; and when thou'rt old and rich,
Thou haft neither heat, affection, limb, nor bounty,
To make thy riches pleafant. What's yet in this
That bears the name of life? yet in this life
Lie hid more thoufand 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, feeking 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 with deferves a

welcome.

:

or fate. The turn and contrivance of the piece was to make the fool jay many ftratagens to avoid death, which yet brought him more im mediately into the jaws of it.