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

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

Prov As many as you please.

[your fifter.

Duke. Bring them to fpeak where I may be conceal'd, Yet hear them.

[Exeunt Duke and Provoft.

S CEN E II.

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

Ifab Why, as all comforts are; moft good in deed: Lord Angelo, having affairs to heav'n,

Intends you for his fwift ambassador;
Where you fhall be an everlafting leiger.
Therefore your beft appointment make with speed,
To-morrow you fet 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 reftraint, 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, "Let thou a fev'rous life fhould't entertain,

"And fix or seven winters more respect

"Than a perpetual honour. Dar'it 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.

66

Bb

Claud.

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.

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,
Whofe 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 cait, he would appear
A pond as deep as hell.

Claud. The priestly Angelo ?

Ifab. Oh, 'tis the cunning livery of hell,
The damned'ft body to invest and cover
In priestly 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.
Ifab. Oh, were it but my life,

I'd throw it down for your deliverance

As frankly as a pin.

Claud. Thanks, deareft 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;

Or of the deadly feven it is the least.

Ifab Which is the leaft?

Člaud. If it were damnable, he being fo wife,
Why would he for the momentary trick
Be perdurably fin'd? Oh Ifabel !

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

Ifa. And fhamed life a hateful.

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 viewlefs winds,
And blown with reftlefs violence round about
The pendent world; or to be worse than worst
Of those, that lawlefs and uncertain thoughts
Imagine howling; 'tis too horrible!

The wearieft and moft lothed worldly life,
That age, ach, penury, imprisonment
Can lay on nature, is a paradise

To what we fear of death..
fab. 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 should 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 thousand 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, Ifabella:

To them, Enter Duke and Provoft.

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

Duke. Might you dispense 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 purpole to corrupt her; only he hath made an assay of her virtue, to practise his judgment with the difpofition of natures. She, having the truth of honour in her, hath made him that gracious denial, which he is moft 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 muft 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.

[Exit Claud. Duke. Hold you there; farewel. Provost, a word with you.

Prov. What's your will, father !

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 made you good; the goodness that is cheap in beauty, makes beauty brief in goodnefs: 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 understanding; and but that frailty hath examples for his falling, I fhould wonder at Angelo. How will you do to content this substitute, 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 shall not be much amifs; yet as the mat、 ter 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 myself believe, that you may moft 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 shall 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 spirit.

Duke. Virtue is bold, and goodness never fearful : have you not heard fpeak of Mariana, the filter of Frederick, the great 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 perifh'd veffel the dowry of his filter. But mark, how heavily this befel to the poor gentlewoman. There the 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 huf- band, this well-feeming Angelo.

Ifah. 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 dishonour in few, beltow'd her on her own lamentation, which the 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

B b 3

maid