ANG. Thus wifdom wishes to appear most bright, When it doth tax itself: as these black masks ISAB, So. ANG. And his offence is fo, as it appears Accountant to the law upon that pain. ISAB. True. ANG. Admit no other way to fave his life, (As I fubfcribe not that, nor any other, But in the lofs of question,) that you, his fifter, Finding yourself defir'd of fuch a person, Whofe credit with the judge, or own great place, Could fetch your brother from the manacles Of the all-binding law; and that there were No earthly mean to fave him, but that either You must lay down the treasures of your body To this fuppofed, or else let him fuffer; What would you do? ISAB. As much for my poor brother as myself: That longing I have been fick for, ere I'd yield ANG. Then muft your brother die. Better it were, a brother died at once, ANG. Were not you then as cruel as the sentence VOL. I. Z z That you have flander'd fo? ISAB. Ignomy in ranfom, and free pardon, Are of two houfes: lawful mercy is Nothing akin to foul redemption. ANG. You feem'd of late to make the law a tyrant; And rather prov'd the fliding of your brother A merriment than a vice. ISAB. O, pardon me, my lord; it oft falls out, For his advantage that I dearly love. ISAB. Elfe let my brother die, ANG. Nay, women are frail too. ISAB. Ay, as the glasses where they view themselves; Which are as eafy broke as they make forms. Women!-Help heaven! men their creation mar In profiting by them. Nay, call us ten times frail; For we are soft as our complexions are, And credulous to falfe prints. ANG. I think it well: And from this teftimony of your own fex, (Since, I fuppofe, we are made to be no stronger If you be one, (as you are well exprefs'd By all external warrants,) fhow it now, By putting on the deftin'd livery. ISAB. I have no tongue but one: gentle my lord, Let me intreat you speak the former language. ANG. Plainly conceive, I love you. ISAB. My brother did love Juliet; and That he fhall die for it. tell me, you ANG. He fhall not, Ifabel, if you give me love. ISAB. I know, your virtue hath a licence in't, Which feems a little fouler than it is, To pluck on others. ANG. Believe me, on mine honour, My words exprefs my purpose. ISAB. Ha! little honour to be much believ'd, And most pernicious purpose !-Seeming, feeming!— I will proclaim thee, Angelo; look for't: Sign me a prefent pardon for my brother, Or, with an out-ftretch'd throat, I'll tell the world ANG. Who will believe thee, Ifabel? My unfoil'd name, the austereness of my life, That you fhall ftifle in your own report, Lay by all nicety, and prolixious blushes, Or else he must not only die the death, But thy unkindness shall his death draw out I'll prove a tyrant to him: As for you, Say what you can, my falfe o'erweighs your true. [Exit. ISAB. To whom fhould I complain? Did I tell this, Who would believe me? O perilous mouths, Bidding the law make curt'fy to their will; Then Ifabel, live chaste, and, brother, die: And fit his mind to death, for his foul's reft. ACT III. SCENE I. A Room in the Prifon. Enter DUKE, CLAUDIO, and PROVOST. [Exit, DUKE. So, then you hope of pardon from lord Angela? CLAUD. The miserable have no other medicine, But only hope : I have hope to live, and am prepar'd to die. DUKE. Be abfolute for death; either death, or life, Shall thereby be the sweeter. Reason thus with life,If I do lofe thee, I do lofe a thing That none but fools would keep a breath thou art, That doft this habitation, where thou keep'ft, For him thou labour'ft by thy flight to fhun, And yet run'ft toward him ftill: Thou art not noble; For all the accommodations that thou bear'ft, Are nur'sd by baseness: Thou art by no means valiant; Of a poor worm: Thy best of rest is sleep, 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 Of palfied eld; and when thou art old, and rich, CLAUD. I humbly thank you. To fue to live, I find, I feek to die; And, feeking death, find life: Let it come on. |