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DUKE. It is no other: shew your wisdom, Daughter,
ISAB. O, I will to him, and pluck out his eyes!
Injurious world! Most damned Angelo!
By every syllable a faithful verity.
The Duke comes home to-morrow-nay, dry your eyes!
Gives me this instance.1 Already he hath carried
And shall be absent. Wend you with this letter;
Who do prepare to meet him at the gates,
There to give up their power. If you can, pace your
In that good path that I would wish it go,
And you shall have your bosom2 on this wretch,
Grace of the Duke, revenges to your heart,
And general honour.
Friar, where is the Provost ?
2 soul's desire.
thine eyes so red: thou must be patient. I am fain
thee pretty tales of the Duke.
DUKE. You have told me too many of him already, Sir,
if they be true; if not true, none were enough.
LUCIO. I was once before him for getting a wench with
DUKE. Did you such a thing?
LUCIO. Yes, marry, did I; but I was fain to forswear it:
they would else have married me to the rotten medlar.2 DUKE. Sir, your company is fairer than honest. Rest you well.
LUCIO. By my troth, I'll go with thee to the lane's end:
SCENE IV. A Room in ANGELO'S House.
Enter ANGELO and ESCALUS.
ESCAL. Every letter he hath writ hath disvouch'd3 other.
actions shew much like to madness: pray Heaven his
ESCAL. I guess not.
ANG. And why should we proclaim it in an hour before
his entering that, if any crave redress of injustice, they
of complaints, and to deliver us from devices hereafter, ACT IV which shall then have no power to stand against us. Sc. IV ANG. Well; I beseech you, let it be proclaim❜d betimes i' the morn; I'll call you at your house. Give notice to such men of sort and suit1 as are to meet him. ESCAL. I shall, Sir: fare you well.
ANG. Good night.
This deed unshapes me quite, makes me unpregnant2
The law against it!—But that her tender shame
How might she tongue me! Yet reason dares her no:
But it confounds the breather.-He should have liv'd,
With ransom of such shame. Would yet he had liv❜d!
SCENE V. Fields without the Town.
Enter DUKE, in his own habit, and FRIAR PETER.
The Provost knows our purpose and our plot.
1 rank and service.
It shall be speeded well.
DUKE. I thank thee, Varrius: thou hast made good haste!
3 mass of credibility.
Come, we will walk there's other of our friends
SCENE VI. Street near the City Gate.
Enter ISABELLA and MARIANA.
ISAB. To speak so indirectly1 I am loth:
I would say the truth; but to accuse him so,
I should not think it strange; for 'tis a physic
O, peace! the Friar is come.
Enter FRIAR PETER.
FRI. P. Come, I have found you out a stand most fit,
The generous and gravest citizens
Have hentR the Gates, and very near upon
The Duke is ent'ring; therefore, hence, away! [exeunt.
SCENE I. A Public Place near the City Gate.
DUKE. My very worthy Cousin, fairly met!
Our old and faithful friend, we are glad to see you.
2 most noble.
Happy return be to your royal Grace! DUKE. Many and hearty thankings to you both. We have made inquiry of you; and we hear Such goodness of your justice that our soul Cannot but yield you forth to public thanks, Forerunning more requital.
You make my bonds still greater. DUKE. O, your desert speaks loud; and I should wrong it,
To lock it in the wards of covert bosom,
When it deserves, with characters of brass,
PETER and ISABELLA come forward.
FRI. P. Now is your time: speak loud, and kneel before him.
ISAB. Justice, O royal Duke! Vail2 your regard
O worthy Prince-dishonour not your eye
Till you have heard me in my true complaint,
And given me justice, justice, justice, justice!
DUKE. Relate your wrongs: in what? by whom? Be
Here is Lord Angelo shall give you justice!
Reveal yourself to him.
Or wring redress from you. Hear me, O, hear me, here!
ANG. My Lord, her wits, I fear me, are not firm:
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