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.

ISABELLA.

I have no tongue but one: gentle my lord,
Let me entreat you speak the former language.
ANGELO.

Plainly conceive, I love you.
ISABELLA.

My brother did love Juliet,

And you tell me that he shall die for it. ANGELO.

He shall not, Isabel, if you give me love.
ISABELLA.

I know your virtue hath a license in 't,
Which seems a little fouler than it is,
To pluck on others.

ANGELO.

Believe me, on mine honour,

My words express my purpose.

ISABELLA.

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.

ANGELO.

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;

Lay by all nicety and prolixious blushes,

That banish what they sue for; redeem 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 suff'rance. Answer me to-morrow,
Or, by the affection that now guides me most,
I'll prove a tyrant to him. As for you,

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

ISABELLA.

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 'ld yield them up,
Before his sister should her body stoop

To such abhorr'd pollution.

Then, Isabel, live chaste, 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 soul's rest.

(Exit.)

(Exit.)

ACT III.

SCENE I. A room in the prison. Enter Duke disguised as before, Claudio, and Provost.

DUKE.

So, then, you hope of pardon from Lord Angelo? CLAUDIO.

The miserable have

No other medicine but only hope:

I've 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 skyey 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

runn'st toward him still. Thou art not noble; For all the accommodations that thou bear'st

Are nurs'd by baseness. Thou 'rt by no means valiant; For thou dost fear the soft and tender fork

Of a poor worm. Thy best of rest is sleep,

And that thou oft provok'st; yet grossly fear'st

Thy death, which is no more. Thou art not thyself
For thou exist'st on many a thousand grains
That issue out of dust. Happy thou art not;
For what thou hast not, still thou striv'st to get,
And what thou hast, forget'st. Thou art not certain;
For thy complexion shifts to strange effects,
After the moon. If thou art rich, thou 'rt poor;
For, like an ass whose back with ingots bows,
Thou bear'st thy heavy riches but a journey,
And death unloads thee. Friend hast thou none;
For thine own bowels, which do call thee sire,
The mere effusion of thy proper loins,

Do curse the gout, serpigo, and the rheum,
For ending thee no sooner.

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 palsied 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 moe thousand deaths: yet death we fear,
That makes these odds all even.

CLAUDIO.

I humbly thank you.

To sue to live, I find I seek to die;

And, seeking death, find life; let it come on.

ISABELLA.

(Within.)

What, ho! Peace here; grace and good company! PROVOST.

Who's there? come in: the wish deserves a welcome. DUKE.

Dear sir, ere long I'll visit you again.

CLAUDIO.

Most holy sir, I thank you.

ISABELLA.

(Enter Isabella.)

My business is a word or two with Claudio. PROVOST.

And very welcome.-Look, signior, here's your sister. DUKE.

Provost, a word with you.

PROVOST.

As many as you please.

DUKE.

Bring me to hear them speak,

Where I may be conceal'd. (Exeunt Duke & Provost.)

CLAUDIO.

Now, sister, what's the comfort?

ISABELLA.

Why, as all comforts are;

Most good, most good indeed.

Lord Angelo, having affairs to heaven,

Intends you for his swift ambassador,

Where you shall be an everlasting leiger:

Therefore your best appointment make with speed;

To-morrow you set on.

CLAUDIO.

Is there no remedy?

ISABELLA.

None, but such remedy as, to save a head,

To cleave a heart in twain.

CLAUDIO.

ISABELLA.

Yes, brother, you may live:

But is there any?

There is a devilish mercy in the judge,

If you'll implore it, that will free your life,
But fetter you till death.

CLAUDIO.

ISABELLA.

Perpetual durance ?

Ay, just; perpetual durance, a restraint,
Though all the world's vastidity you had,
To a determin'd scope.

CLAUDIO.

ISABELLA.

But in what nature?

In such a one as, you consenting to 't,

Would bark your honour from that trunk you bear, And leave you naked.

CLAUDIO.

ISABELLA.

Let me know the point.

Oh, I do fear thee, Claudio; and I quake,
Lest thou a feverous life shouldst entertain,
And six or seven winters more respect
Than a perpetual honour. Dar'st 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.

CLAUDIO.

Why give you me this shame?

Think you I can a resolution fetch

From flowery tenderness? If I must die,

I will encounter darkness as a bride,

And hug it in mine arms.

ISABELLA.

There spake my brother; there my father's grave

Did utter forth a voice. Yes, thou must die:

Thou art too noble to conserve a life

In base appliances.

This outward-sainted deputy,

Whose settled visage and deliberate word

Nips youth i' the head, and follies doth emmew