ISAB. An hypocrite, a virgin-violator; Is it not strange, and strange? ISAB. It is not truer he is Angelo 40 Nay, ten times strange. Than this is all as true as it is strange: DUKE. Away with her!-Poor soul, She speaks this in the infirmity of sense. ISAB. O Prince, I conjure thee, as thou believ'st That thou neglect me not with that opinion 50 That which but seems unlike! 'Tis not impossible ACT V 70 Sc. I ISAB. I am the sister of one Claudio, Was sent to by my brother: one Lucio As then the messenger— LUCIO. That's I, an't like your To try her gracious fortune with Lord Angelo ISAB. DUKE. You were not bid to speak. Nor wish'd to hold my peace. Grace: That's he, indeed. No, my good Lord, I wish you now then; 80 Pray you, take note of it; and when you have LUCIO. I warrant your Honour. DUKE. The warrant 's for yourself: take heed to it. DUKE. It may be right; but you are in the wrong To speak before your time. Proceed. ISAB. To this pernicious, caitiff Deputy. DUKE. That's somewhat madly spoken. ISAB. The phrase is to the matter. I went Pardon it: 90 DUKE. Mended again. The matter: proceed. How I persuaded, how I pray'd, and kneel'd, To his concupiscible, intemperate lust, Release my brother; and, after much debatement, 100 ACT V His purpose surfeiting, he sends a warrant For my poor brother's head. This is most likely! DUKE. ISAB. O, that it were as like as it is true! DUKE. By Heaven, fond wretch, thou know'st not what thou speak'st, Or else thou art suborn'd against his honour In hateful practice. First, his integrity Stands without blemish. Next, it imports1 no reason That with such vehemency he should pursue Faults proper to himself: if he had so offended, He would have weigh'd thy brother by himself, IIO And not have cut him off. Some one hath set you on: Thou cam'st here to complain. ISAB. And is this all? Then, O you blessed Ministers above, Keep me in patience; and, with ripen'd time, Unfold the evil which is here wrapt up In countenance !2 Heaven shield your Grace from woe, As I, thus wrong'd, hence unbelieved go! DUKE. I know, you'd fain be gone. An Officer! To prison with her! Shall we thus permit A blasting and a scandalous breath to fall 120 On him so near us? This needs must be a practice. 130 LUCIO. My Lord, I know him; 'tis a meddling Friar ; Against our Substitute !-Let this Friar be found. A very scurvy fellow. FRI. P. Bless'd be your Grace! 1 bears. 2 authority. 3 conspiracy. I have stood by, my Lord, and I have heard As she from one ungot. DUKE. We did believe no less. Know you that Friar Lodowick that she speaks of? LUCIO. My Lord, most villainously; believe it. Of a strange fever. Upon his mere request Is true and false; and what he, with his oath And all probation, will make up full clear, 2 Whensoever he's convented. First, for this woman (To justify this worthy nobleman, DUKE. Do 140 150 160 Good Friar, let's hear it. ybod yn won MARIANA Comes forward. Of your own cause. Is this the witness, Friar? First, let her shew her face; and, after, speak. MARI. Pardon, my Lord: I will not shew my face Until my husband bid me. DUKE. What, are you married? MARI. No, my Lord. 170 DUKE. Are you a maid? 1 in things temporal. 2 formally cited. 3 openly. ACT V Sc. I Are nothing then! Neither maid, widow, nor wife? LUCIO. My Lord, she may be a punk; for many of them are neither maid, widow, nor wife. WOIL/ DUKE. Silence that fellow! I would he had some cause To prattle for himself. LUCIO. Well, my Lord. MARI. My Lord, I do confess I ne'er was married,180 I have known my husband; yet my husband knows not LUCIO. He was drunk then, my Lord: it can be no better. DUKE. This is no witness for Lord Angelo. MARI. NOW I come to 't, my Lord: She, that accuses him of fornication, In selfsame manner doth accuse my husband; ANG. MARI. Not that I know. DUKE. 190 Charges she more than me? No? you say your husband? MARI. Why, just, my Lord, and that is Angelo, This is that face, thou cruel Angelo, [unveiling. 200 Which once thou swor'st was worth the looking on; Was fast belock'd in thine; this is the body, That took away the match from Isabel, And did supply thee at thy garden-house 1 imposture. |