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Ifab. My brother did love Juliet ; And you tell me, that he shall die for it.

Ang. He fhall not, Isabel, 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 express my purpose.

Ifab. Ha little honour to be much believ'd,
And most pernicious purpofe! 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, Isabel?
My unfoil'd name, th' auftereness of my life,
My vouch against you, and my place i'th' state,
Will fo your accufation over-weigh,
That you fhall ftifle in your own report,
And fmell 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 banish 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. Anfwer me to-morrow;
Or by th' affection that now guides me moft,
I'll prove a tyrant to him.
As for you,
Say what you can; my falfe o'erweighs your true.

[Exit.
Ifab. To whom should I complain? did I tell this,
Who would believe me? O moft perilous mouths,
That bear in them one and the felf-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

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 filter fhould her body ftoop
To fuch abhorr'd pollution.

Then, Ijabel, live chatte; 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.

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АСТ III.

SCENE, the Prifon.

Enter Duke, Claudio, and Provost:

DUKE.

then you hope of pardon from lord Angelo? Claud. The miferable have no other medicine, But only Hope I've hope to live, and am prepar'd to die. Duke. Be abfolute for death: or death, or life, Shall thereby be the fweeter. Reason thus with life; (10)

(10)

Reafon thus with Life;

If I do lofe thee, I do lofe a Thing

That none but Fools would keep.] But this Reading is not only contrary to all Senfe and Reafon; but to the Drift of this moral Difcourfe. The Duke, in his affumed Character of a Friar, is endeavouring to inftil into the condemned Prisoner a Refignation of Mind to his Sentence; but the Senfe of the Lines, in this Reading, is a direct Perfuafive to Suicide: I make no doubt, but the Poet wrote,

That none but Fools would reck.

i. e. care for, be anxious about, regret the Lofs of.

Mr. Warburton:

If I do lose thee, I do lofe a thing,

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

That doft this habitation, where thou keep'ft,
Hourly afflict; meerly thou art death's fool;
For him thou labour'ft by thy flight to fhun,
And yet run'ft tow'rd him ftill. 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 reft is fleep,
And that thou oft provok'ft; yet grofly fear'st
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, still thou ftriv'ft to get;
And what thou haft forget'ft. Thou art not certain;
For thy complexion fhifts to ftrange 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 Sire,
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 age;
But as it were an after-dinner's fleep,

Dreaming on both; for all thy bleffed youth
Becomes as aged, and doth beg the alms

Of paled Eld; and when thou'rt old and rich,
Thou haft neither heat, affection, limb, nor beauty
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

Enter Ifabella.

Ifab. What, ho peace here, grace and good company! Prov. Who's there? come in the wifh deferves a welcome.

Duke. Dear Sir, ere long I'll vifit you again,

Claud. Moft holy Sir, I thank you.

Ifab. My bufinefs is a word, or two, with Claudio. Prov. And very welcome.

your fifter.

Look, Signior, here's

Duke. Provoft, a word with you.

Prov. As many as you please.

Duke. Bring them to speak where I may be conceal'd,

Yet hear them.

[Exeunt Duke and Provost.

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 ambaffador;

Where you shall 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 save 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 ?

Ijab. Ay, juft; perpetual durance; a refraint, Tho' all the world's vaftidity you had,

To a determin'd fcope.

Claud. But in what nature?

Ijab. 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 should'st entertain,
And fix or seven winters more respect

Than a perpetual honour. Dar'ft thou die?
The fenfe of death is most in apprehenfion;
And the poor Beetle, that we tread upon,
In corp'ral fufferance finds a pang as great,
As when a Giant dies.

Claud. Why give you me this fhame ?
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 spake my brother; there my father's grave Did utter forth a voice. Yes, thou muft 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 caft, he would appear
A pond as deep as hell.

Claud. The princely Angelo?

Ifab. Oh, 'tis the cunning livery of hell,
The damned'ft body to invest and cover

In princely guards. Doft thou think, Claudio,
If I would yield him my virginity,

Thou might't be freed?

Claud. Oh, heav'ns! it cannot be.

Ifab. Yes, he would give't thee; from this rank offence This night's the time

So to offend him still.

That I should do what I abhor to name,

Or else 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, dearest Ifabel.

Ijab. Be ready, Claudio, for your death to-n orrow.

Claud.

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