And try your penitence, if it be found, Juliet. I'll gladly learn. Duke. Love you the man that wrong'd you? Juliet. Yes, as I love the woman that wrong'd him. Duke. So then, it feems, your most offenceful Aft Was mutually committed. Juliet. Mutually. Duke. Then was your fin of heavier kind than his. Duke. 'Tis meet fo, daughter; but repent you not, Juliet. I do repent me, as it is an evil; And take the fhame with joy. Duke. There rest. Your partner, as I hear, muft die to-morrow, And I am going with inftruction to him ; So, grace go with you! benedicite. Juliet. Muft die to-morrow! oh, injurious love, That refpites me a life, whofe very comfort Is ftill a dying horror! [Exit. Prov. 'Tis pity of him. [Exeunt. SCENE changes to the Palace. ・Ang⋅ W Enter Angelo. HEN I would pray and think, I think and pray To fev'ral fubjects: heav'n hath my empty words, Wherein Wherein (let no man hear me) I take pride, Enter Servant. How now, who's there? Serv. One Ifabel, a fifter, defires access to you. Why does my blood thus mufter to my heart, And difpoffeffing all my other parts Of neceffary fitnefs? So play the foolish throngs with one that fwoons; Ifab. I am come to know your pleasure. Ang. That you might know it, would much better please me, Than to demand, what 'tis. Your brother cannot live. Ifab. Ev'n fot-Heav'n keep your Honour! [Going. Ang. Yet may he live a while; and, it may be, As long as you or I; yet he must die. Ifab. Under your fentence? Ang. Yea. Ifab. When, I beseech you? that in his reprieve, Longer or fhorter, he may be fo fitted, That his foul ficken not. Ang. Ha fie, thefe filthy vices! 'twere as good To pardon him, that hath from nature ftol'n A man A man already made, as to remit Their faucy sweetness, that do coin heav'n's image As to put metal in reftrained means, Ifab. 'Tis fet down fo in heav'n, but not in earth. 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 accompt. Ifab. How fay you? Ang. Nay, I'll not warrant that; for I can speak I, now the voice of the recorded law, Ifab. Please you to do't, Ang. Pleas'd you to do't at peril of your foul, Ifab, That I do beg his life, if it be fin, And nothing of your answer. Ang. Nay, but here me: Your fenfe pursues not mine: either, you're ignorant; Or feem fo, craftily; and that's not good. Ijab. Let me be ignorant, and in nothing good, But graciously to know I am no better. Ang. Thus wifdom wishes to appear most bright, When it doth tax itfelf; as thefe black masks Proclaim Proclaim an en-fhield beauty ten times louder, Your brother is to die. Jab. So. Ang. And his offence is fo, as it appears Ang Admit no other way to fave his life, Ifab. As much for my poor brother, as myself; That longing I've been fick for, ere I'd yield Ang. Then muft your brother die. Ang. Were not you then as cruel as the fentence, That you have flander'd fo ? Ifab. An 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 1 fomething do excufe the thing I hate, Ifab. Elfe let my brother die, (9) Ifab. Ay, as the glaffes where they view themselves; And credulous to falfe prints. Ang. I think it well; And from this teftimony of your own sex, (Since, I fuppofe, we're made to be no ftronger, That is, a woman; if you're more, you're none. By all external warrants, fhew it now, By putting on the deftin❜d livery. Ifab. I have no tongue but one; gentle, my lord, (9) Elfe let my Brother die, If not a Feodary, but only He, &c.] This is fo obfcure a Paffage, but fo fine in its Application, that it deferves to be explained. A Feodary was one, that, in the Times of Vaffalage, held Lands of the chief Lord, under the Tenure of paying Rent and Service; which Tenures were called Feuda amongst the Goths. This being premised, let us come to a Paraphrase of our Author's Words. "We are all frail, says Angelo; yes, replies Isabella ; "if all Mankind were not Feodaries, who owe what they have "to this Tenure of Imbecility, and who fucceed each other by "the fame Tenure, as well as my Brother, I would give him "up." And the comparing Mankind, (who, according to fome Divines, lie under the Weight of Original Sin) to a Feodary, who owes Suit and Service to his Lord, is, I think, one of the most beautiful Allufions imaginable. Mr. Warburton, |