Isab. When, I beseech you? that in his reprieve, Longer, or shorter, he may be so fitted, That his soul sicken not.

Ang. Ha! Fie, these filthy vices! It were as good To pardon him, that hath from nature stolen A man already made, as to remit Their sawcy sweetness, that do coin heaven's image, In stamps that are forbid.

Isab. 'Tis set down so in heaven, but not in earth. Ang. Say you so ? then I shall poze you quickly. Which had you rather, -That the most just law Now took your brother's life; or, to redeem him, Give up your person to such sweet uncleanness, As she that he hath stain'd?

Isab. Sir, believe this,

I had rather give my body than my soul.

Ang. I talk not of your soul; our compell'd sins Stand more for number than for accompt.

Isab. How say you?

Ang. Nay, I'll not warrant that; for I can speak
Against the thing I say. Answer to this ;-
I, now the voice of the recorded law,
Pronounce a sentence on your brother's life:
Might there not be a charity in sin,
To save this brother's life?

Isab. Please you to do't,
I'll take it as a peril to my soul,
It is no sin at all, but charity.

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

Isab. That I do beg his life, if it be sin, Heaven, let me bear it! you granting of my suit, If that be sin, I'll make it my morn prayer To have it added to the faults of mine, And nothing of your, answer.

Ang. Nay, but hear me :

Your sense pursues not mine: either you are ignorant, Or seem so, craftily; and that's not good.

Isab. Let me be ignorant, and in nothing good,

But graciously to know I am no better.

Ang. Thus wisdom wishes to appear most bright,

When it doth tax itself:

But mark me;

To be received plain, I'll speak more gross:
Your brother is to die.

Isab. So.

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

Ang. Admit no other way to save his life,-
(As I subscribe not that, nor any other,
But in the loss of question,)-that you, his sister,
Finding yourself desir'd of such a person,
Whose credit with the judge, or own great place,
Could fetch your brother from the manacles
Of the all-binding law; and that there were
No earthly mean to save him, but that either
You must lay down the treasures of your person
To this supposed, or else let him suffer;
What would you do?

Isab. As much for my poor brother, as myself:
That is, Were I under the terms of death,
The impression of keen whips I'd wear as rubies,
And strip myself to death, as to a bed

That longing I have been sick for, ere I'd yield
My person up to shame.

Ang. Then must your brother die.
Isab. And 't were the cheaper way:
Better it were, a brother died at once,
Than that a sister, by redeeming him,
Should die for ever.

Ang. Were not you then as cruel as the sentence

That you have slander'd so?

Isab. Ignomy in ransom, and free pardon,

Are of two houses: lawful mercy is

Nothing akin to foul redemption.

Ang. You seem'd of late to make the law a tyrant;

And rather prov'd the sliding of your brother
A merriment, than a vice.

Isab. O, pardon me, my lord; it oft falls out,
To have what we'd have, we speak not what we
I something do excuse the thing I hate,
For his advantage that I dearly love.
Ang. We are all frail.

Isab. Else let my brother die.

Ang. Nay, women are frail too.

Isab. Ay, as the glasses where they view themselves;

Which are as easy broke as they make forms.
Nay, call us ten times frail;

For we are soft as our complexions are,

And credulous to false prints.

Ang. I think it well :

And from this testimony of your own sex,
(Since, I suppose, we are made to be no stronger,
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 be more, you're none;
If you be one, (as you are well express'd
By all external warrants,) show it now,
By putting on the destin'd livery.

Isab. I have no tongue but one: gentle my lord,
Let me entreat you speak the former language.
Ang. Plainly conceive, I love you.

Isab. My brother did love Juliet; and you tell me, That he shall die for it.

Ang. He shall not, Isabel, if you give me love.
Isab. I know, your virtue hath a licence in 't,

Which seems a little fouler than it is,
To pluck on others.

Ang. Believe me, on mine honour,

My words express my purpose.

Isab. Ha! little honour to be much believ'd,
And most pernicious purpose! --Seeming, seeming!-
I will proclaim thee, Angelo; look for 't:
Sign me a present pardon for my brother,
Or, with an outstretch'd throat, I'll tell the world
Aloud, what man thou art.

Ang. Who will believe thee, Isabel?
My unsoil'd name, the austereness of my life,
My vouch against you, and my place i' the state
Will so your accusation overweigh,

That you shall stifle in your own report,..

And smell of calumny. I have begun;
And now I give my sensual race the rein:
Fit thy consent to my sharp appetite;
Or else he must not only die the death,
But thy unkindness shall his death draw out
To lingering sufferance.-Answer me to-morrow,
Or, by the affection that now guides me most,
I'll prove a tyrant to him.

[Exit ANGELO.

Isab. To whom should I complain? Did I tell this, Who would believe me? O perilous mouths, That bear in them one and the self-same tongue, Either of condemnation or approof! Bidding the law make court'sy to their will; Hooking both right and wrong to the appetite, To follow as it draws! I'll to my brother: Though he hath fall'n by prompture of the blood, Yet hath he in him such a mind of honour, That had he twenty heads to tender down On twenty bloody blocks, he 'd yield them up, Before his sister should her person stoop To such abhorr'd pollution. I'll tell him yet of Angelo's request, And fit his mind to death, for his soul's rest.

END OF ACT II.

[Exit.

ACT III.

SCENE I.

The Prison.

Enter the Duke, as a Friar, CLAUDIO, and Provost.

Duke. So, then you hope of pardon from lord An

gelo?

Claud. The miserable have no other medicine,

But only hope:

I have hope to live, and am prepar'd to die.

Duke. Be absolute for death; either death, or life, Shall thereby be the sweeter. Reason thus with life,If I do lose thee, I do lose a thing

That none but fools would keep: a breath thou art,
Servile to all the skiey influences,

That dost this habitation, where thou keep'st,
Hourly afflict: merely, thou art death's fool;
For him thou labour'st by thy flight to shun,
And yet run'st toward him still: Thou art not noble;
For all the accommodations that thou bear'st,

Are nurs'd by baseness: Thou art by no means va

liant;

For thou dost fear the soft and tender fork

Of a poor worm:

Happy thou art not;

For what thou hast not, still thou striv'st to get;

And what thou hast, forget'st:

Thou hast nor youth, nor age;

But, as it were, an after-dinner's sleep,
Dreaming on both; for all thy blessed youth
Becomes as aged, and doth beg the alms

Of palsy'd eld; and when thou art old, and rich,
Thou hast neither heat, affection, limb, nor beauty,
To make thy riches pleasant. What's yet in this,
That bears the name of life? Yet in this life

Lie hid more thousand deaths: yet death we fear,
That makes these odds all even.

Claud. I humbly thank you.

To sue to live, I find, I seek to die;
And, seeking death, find life: Let it come on.
[ISABELLA without.]

Isab. (Without.) What, ho! Peace here; grace and

good company!

Prov. Who's there? Come in: the wish deserves

a welcome.

[Exit Provost.

Duke. Dear sir, ere long I'll visit you again.
Claud. Most holy sir, I thank you.

Isab. (Without.) My business is a word or two with

Claudio.