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

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

Prov. As many as you please.

[your fifter.

Duke. Bring them to speak where I may be conceal'd, Yet hear them. [Exeunt Duke and Provost,

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Claud. Now, 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 ambassador;
Where you fhall be an everlasting leiger.

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

Claud. Is there no remedy?

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

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, Though all the world's vaftidity you had,

To a determin'd scope.

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't entertain, "And fix or seven winters more respect

"Than a perpetual honour. Dar'st thou die?
The fenfe of death is moft in apprehenfion;
"And the poor beetle that we tread upon,
"In corp'ral fufferance finds a pang as great,
As when a giant dies.
VOL. I.

Claud.

Claud. Why give you me this fhame?
Think you I can a refolution fetch

From flow'ry tendernefs? If I must die,
I will encounter darkness as a bride,

And hug it in mine arms.

Ifab. "There fpake my brother; there my father's

grave

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

In bafe appliances. This outward-fainted deputy,
Whose fettled 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. The priestly Angelo?

Ijab. Oh, 'tis the cunning livery of hell,
The damned'ft body to inveft and cover
In prieftly guards. Doft thou think, Claudio,
If I would yield him my virginity,

Thou might't be freed?

Claud. Oh, heavens! it cannot be.

Ifab. Yes, he would give thee for this rank offence, So to offend him ftill. This night's the time

That I fhould do what I abhor to name,

Or elfe thou dy't to-morrow.

Claud. Thou shalt not do't.
Ifah. Oh, were it but my life,

I'd throw it down for your deliverance

As frankly as a pin.

Claud. Thanks, dearest Ifabel.

Ifab. Be ready, Claudio. for your death to-morrow.
Claud. Yes. Has he affections in him,

That thus can make him bite the law by th' nofe,
When he would force it? Sure it is no fin;

Ór of the deadly feven it is the least.

Ifab. Which is the least?

Claud If it were damnable, he being fo wife,

Why would he for the momentary trick

Be perdurably fin'd? Oh Ifabel!

Ifab. What fays my brother?
Claud. Death's a fearful thing.

Hab.

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Ifad. And fhamed life a hateful.

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Claud. Ay, but to die, and go we know not where; To lie in cold obstruction, and to rot;

• This fenfible warm motion to become

A kneaded clod; and the delighted fpirit

To bathe in fiery floods, or to refide

In thrilling regions of thick-ribbed ice;
To be imprifon'd in the viewless winds,
And blown with reftlefs violence round about
The pendent world; or to be worse than worst
Of those, that lawless and uncertain thoughts
Imagine howling; 'tis too horrible !

The weariest and most lothed worldly life,
That age, ach, penury, imprisonment

• Can lay on nature, is a paradise

To what we fear of death.

Ifab. Alas! alas !

Claud. Sweet fifter, let me live; What fin you do to fave a brother's life, Nature difpenfes with the deed fo far, That it becomes a virtue.

Ifa. Oh, you beast !

Oh, faithlefs coward! oh, difhoneft wretch !

Wilt thou be made a man out of my vice?

Is't not a kind of inceft, to take life

From thine own fifter's fhame? What fhould I think?
Heav'n grant, my mother play'd my father fair!
For fuch a warped flip of wilderness

Ne'er iffu'd from his blood. Take my defiance,
Die, perifh might my only bending down
Reprieve thee from thy fate, it should proceed.
I'll pray a thoufand prayers for thy death;
No word to fave thee.

Claud. Nay, hear me, Ifabel.
Ifab. Oh, fie, fie, fie!

Thy fin's not accidental, but a trade;

Mercy to thee, would prove itself a bawd;

'Tis beft that thou dy't quickly.

Claud. Oh hear me, Isabella.

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To them, Enter Duke and Provost.

Duke. Vouchfafe a word, young fifter; but one word. Ifab. What is your will?

Duke. Might you difpenfe with your leifure, I would by and by have fome fpeech with you; the fatisfaction I would require, is likewise your own benefit.

Ifab. I have no fuperfluous leifure; my stay must be ftolen out of other affairs: but I will attend you a while.

Duke. Son, I have overheard what hath paffed between you and your fifter. Angelo had never the purpofe to corrupt her; only he hath made an affay of her virtue, to practife his judgment with the difpofition of natures. She, having the truth of honour in her, hath made him that gracious denial, which he is most glad to receive. I am confeffor to Angelo, and I know this to be true; therefore prepare yourself to death. Do not falfify your refolution with hopes that are fallible; to-morrow you must die; go to your knees, and make ready.

Claud. Let me ask my fifter pardon; I am so out of love with life, that I will fue to be rid of it.

Duke. Hold you there; farewel. with you.

Prov. What's your will, father!

[Exit Claud. Provoft, a word

Duke. That now you are come, you will be gone ; leave me a while with the maid: my mind promises with my habit, no lofs fhall touch her by my company. Prov. In good time. [Exit Prov.

Duke. The hand that hath made you fair, hath madẹ you good; the goodness that is cheap in beauty, makes beauty brief in goodness: but grace, being the foul of your complexion, fhall keep the body of it ever fair. The affault that Angelo hath made on you, fortune hath convey'd to my underftanding; and but that frailty hath examples for his falling, I fhould wonder at Angelo. How will you do to content this fubftitute, and to fave your brother?

Ifab. I am now going to refolve him: I had rather

my

my brother die by the law, than my fon fhould be unlawfully born. But, oh, how much is the good Duke deceiv'd in Angelo? If ever he return, and I can speak to him, I will open my lips in vain, or difcover his government.

Duke. That fhall not be much amifs; yet as the matter now ftands, he will avoid your accufation; he made trial of you only. Therefore faften your ear on my advifings to the love I have in doing good, a remedy prefents itself. I do make myfelf believe, that you may most uprightly do a poor wronged lady a merited benefit; redeem your brother from the angry law; do no ftain to your own gracious perfon; and much please the abfent Duke, if peradventure he fhall ever return to have hearing of this business.

Ifab. Let me hear you speak farther; I have fpirit to do any thing that appears not foul in the truth of my fpirit.

Duke. Virtue is bold, and goodness never fearful: have you not heard fpeak of Mariana, the fifter of Frederick, the gre2: foldier who mifcarried at fea?

Ifab. I have heard of the lady, and good words went with her name.

Duke. Her fhould this Angelo have marry'd; was affiance'd to her by oath, and the nuptial appointed: between which time of the contract, and limit of the folemnity, her brother Frederick was wreck'd at fea, having in that perish'd veffel the dowry of his fifter. But mark, how heavily this befel to the poor gentlewoman. There fhe loft a noble and renowned bro, ther, in his love toward her ever most kind and natural; with him the portion and finew of her fortune, her marriage-dowry; with both, her combinate hufband, this well-feeming Angelo.

Ifab. Can this be fo? did Angelo fo leave her?

Duke. Left her in tears, and dry'd not one of them with his comfort; fwallow'd his vows whole, pretending, in her, discoveries of difhonour: in few, beflow'd her on her own lamentation, which fhe yet wears for his fake; and he, a marble to her tears, is washed with them, but relents not.

Ifab. What a merit were it in death to take this poor

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