That longing I have been sick for, ere I'd yield Ang. Then must your brother die. Ang. Were not you then as cruel as the sentence That you have slandered so? Isa. Ignominy 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 ty rant; And rather proved the sliding of your brother . Isa. O pardon me, my lord; it oft falls out To have what we'd have, we speak not what we mean: I something do excuse the thing I hate, Isa. Else let my brother die. Ang. Nay, women are frail too. Isa. Ay, as the glasses where they view them selves; Which are as easy broke as they make forms. 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 VOL. II. E By all external warrants,) show it now, Isa. I have no tongue but one: gentle my lord, Let me entreat you speak the former language. Ang. Plainly conceive, I love you. Isa. My brother did love Juliet; and That he shall die for it. you tell me, Ang. He shall not, Isabel, if you give me love. Isa. 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. Isa. Ha! little honour to be much believed, 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, That you shall stifle in your own report, Answer me to-morrow, Bidding the law make court'sy to their will; To follow as it draws! I'll to my brother: That had he twenty heads to tender down I'll tell him yet of Angelo's request, And fit his mind to death, for his soul's rest. [Exit. ACT THE THIRD. SCENE I. A Room in the Prison. Enter the DUKE, as a Friar, CLAUDIO and Provost. Duke. So, then you hope of pardon from Lord Angelo? Claud. The miserable have no other medicinę, But only hope: I have hope to live, and am prepared to die. Duke. Be absolute for death; either death, or life, Shall thereby be the sweeter. Reason thus with 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, And yet runn'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 valiant; 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; Thou hast nor youth, nor age; But, as it were, an after-dinner's sleep, Of palsied eld; and when thou art old and rich, 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. Isa. [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. Isa. [Without.] My business is a word or two with Claudio. Prov. [Without.] And very welcome. Enter Provost, and ISABELLA. Look, signior, here's your sister. Bring me to hear them speak, where I may be Conceal'd. [Exeunt the DUKE and Provost. Claud. Now, sister, what is the comfort ? Isa. Lord Angelo, having affairs to heaven, Intends you for his swift ambassador, Where you shall be an everlasting lieger': Therefore your best appointment make with speed; To-morrow you set on. Claud. Is there no remedy? Isa. None, but such remedy, as, to save a head, To cleave a heart in twain. Claud. But is there any? There is a devilish mercy in the judge, Claud. But in what nature? Isa. In such 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. Isa. O, I do fear thee, Claudio; and I quake, Lest thou a feverous life should'st entertain, And six or seven winters more respect Than a perpetual honour. Darest thou die ? The sense of death is most in apprehension; And the poor beetle that we tread upon, In corporal sufferance finds a pang as great As when a giant dies. Claud. If I must die, Why give you me this shame ? Did utter forth a voice! Yes, thou must die: In base appliances. This outward-sainted deputy, 9 Resident. |