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Aloud what man thou art.

Ang. Who will believe thee, Ifabel?

My unfoil'd name, th' auftereness of my life,
My vouch against you, and my place i' th' state,
Will fo your accufation overweigh,

That you shall stifle in your own report,
And smell of calumny. I have begun,
And now I give my fenfual race the rein.
Fit thy consent to my sharp appetite,
Lay by all nicety, and prolixious blushes
That banish what they fue for: fave thy brother
By yielding up thy body to my will.
Or else he must not only die the death,
But thy unkindness shall his death draw out
To ling'ring fufferance. Answer me to-morrow,
Or, by th' affection that now guides me most,
I'll
prove a tyrant to him. As for you,

Say what you can, my falfe o'erweighs your true.

Ifab. To whom fhould I complain? did I tell this,
Who would believe me? o perilous mouths,
That bear in them one and the felf-fame tongue,
Either of condemnation or approof; *

a

Bidding the law make court'fy to their will,
Hooking both right and wrong to th' 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 fuch a mind of honour,
That had he twenty heads to tender down
On twenty bloody blocks, he'd yield them up,
Before his fifter fhould her body ftoop

To fuch abhorr'd pollution.

Then, Ifabel, live chafte, 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.

VOL. I.

a

Approof here is to be taken in the fense of approbation.
Tt

[Exit.

[Exit.

ACT

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ACT III. SCENE I.

The Prison.

Enter Duke, Claudio, and Provost.

DUKE.

O, then you hope for 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: if I do lose thee, I do lofe

A thing that none but fools would keep, a breath
Servile to all the skiey influences,

That do this habitation where thou keep'ft
Hourly afflict: merely, 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 baseness: thou'rt by no means valiant;
For thou doft fear the foft and tender fork

Of a poor worm. Thy best of rest is fleep,
And that thou oft provok'ft; yet grosly 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, ftill thou ftriv'ft to get,
And what thou hast, forgett'st. Thou art not certain ;
For thy complexion fhifts to strange effects,

In the fimplicity of the ancient shows upon our flage it was common to bring in two figures, one reprefenting a fool, the other death or fate: the turn and contrivance of the piece was to make the fool lay many fratagems to avoid death, which yet brought him more immediately into the jaws of it.

After

After the moon. Though 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 haft thou none;

For thine own bowels which do call thee fire,
The mere effufion of thy proper loins,

Do curfe the gout, ferpigo, 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 blessed youth
Becomes an indigent, and doth beg the alms
Of palfy'd eld; and when thou'rt old and rich,
Thou haft neither heat, affection, limb, nor beauty,
To make thy riches pleasant. What's in this
That bears the name of life? yet in this life
Lye hid a thousand 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 Ifabella.

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

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

Claud. Moft holy fir, I thank you.

Ifab. My bufinefs is a word or two with Claudio.

Prov. And very welcome. Signior, here's your sister.

Duke. Provoft, a word with you.

Prov. As many as you please.

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

Yet hear them.

[Exeunt Duke and Provost.

SCENE II.

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

Ifab. Why, as all comforts are; most good in speed :

Tt 2

Lord

Lord Angelo, having affairs to heav'n,

Intends for his fwift ambassador; you

Where you shall be an everlasting leger.

Therefore your best appointment make with speed;
To-morrow you fet out.

Claud. Is there no remedy?

Ifab. None, but fuch remedy, as, to save a head, Muft 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 consenting to't, Would bark your honour from that trunk you bear, And leave you naked.

Claud. Let me know the point.

Ifab. O, I do fear thee, Claudio, and I quake,
Left thou a fev'rous life fhould'st entertain,
And fix or feven 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 shame?
Think you I want a refolution fetch'd
From flow'ry tenderness? if I must die,
I will encounter darknefs as a bride,
And hug it in mine arms.

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

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

In bafe appliance. This outward-fainted deputy,
Whose settled 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?

Ifab. O, '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'ft be freed.

Claud. O heav'ns! it cannot be.

Ifab. Yes, he would grant 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 fhalt not do't.

Ifab. O, were it but my life,

I'd throw it down for your deliverance

As frankly as a pin.

Claud. Thanks, deareft Isabel.

Ifab. Be ready, Claudio, for your

death to-morrow.

Claud. Yes. Has he then affections in him,

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

Or of the deadly feven it is the least.

Ifab. Which is the leaft?

Claud. If it were damnable, he, being fo wife,

Why, would he for the momentary trick

Be perdurably fin'd? o Ifabel!
Ifab. What fays my brother?
Claud. Death's a fearful thing.
Ifab. And fhamed life a hateful..

Claud..

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