A Room in ANGELO'S House. |
|
Enter ANGELO. |
Ang. When I would pray and think, I think and pray |
To several subjects: heaven hath my empty words, |
Whilst my invention, hearing not my tongue, |
Anchors on Isabel: heaven in my mouth, |
As if I did but only chew his name, |
And in my heart the strong and swelling evil |
Of my conception. The state, whereon I studied, |
Is like a good thing, being often read, |
Grown fear'd and tedious; yea, my gravity, |
Wherein, let no man hear me, I take pride, |
Could I with boot change for an idle plume, |
Which the air beats for vain. O place! O form! |
How often dost thou with thy case, thy habit, |
Wrench a we from fools, and tie the wiser souls |
To thy false seeming! Blood, thou art blood: |
Let's write good angel on the devil's horn, |
'Tis not the devil's crest. |
|
Enter a Servant. |
How now! who's there? |
Serv. One Isabel, a sister, |
Desires access to you. |
Ang. Teach her the way. [Exit Servant. |
O heavens! |
Why does my blood thus muster to my heart, |
Making both it unable for itself, |
And dispossessing all my other parts |
Of necessary fitness? |
So play the foolish throngs with one that swounds; |
Come all to help him, and so stop the air |
By which he should revive: and even so |
The general, subject to a well-wish'd king, |
Quit their own part, and in obsequious fondness |
Crowd to his presence, where their untaught love |
Must needs appear offence. |
|
Enter ISABELLA. |
How now, fair maid! |
Isab. I am come to know your pleasure. |
Ang. That you might know it, would much better please me, |
Than to demand what 'tis. Your brother cannot live. |
Isab. Even so. Heaven keep your honour! |
Ang. Yet may he live a while; and, it may be, |
As long as you or I: yet he must die. |
Isab. Under your sentence? |
Ang. Yea. |
Isab. When, I beseech you? that in his reprieve, |
Longer or shorter, he may be so fitted |
That his soul sicken not. |
Ang. Ha! fie, these filthy vices! It were as good |
To pardon him that hath from nature stolen |
A man already made, as to remit |
Their saucy sweetness that do coin heaven's image |
In stamps that are forbid: 'tis all as easy |
Falsely to take away a life true made, |
As to put metal in restrained means |
To make a false one. |
Isab. 'Tis set down so in heaven, but not in earth. |
Ang. Say you so? then I shall pose you quickly. |
Which had you rather, that the most just law |
Now took your brother's life; or, to redeem him, |
Give up your body to such sweet uncleanness |
As she that he hath stain'd? |
Isab. Sir, believe this, |
I had rather give my body than my soul. |
Ang. I talk not of your soul. Our compell'd sins |
Stand more for number than for accompt. |
Isab. How say you? |
Ang. Nay, I'll not warrant that; for I can speak |
Against the thing I say. Answer to this: |
I, now the voice of the recorded law, |
Pronounce a sentence on your brother's life: |
Might there not be a charity in sin |
To save this brother's life? |
Isab. Please you to do't, |
I'll take it as a peril to my soul; |
It is no sin at all, but charity. |
Ang. Pleas'd you to do't, at peril of your soul, |
Were equal poise of sin and charity. |
Isab. That I do beg his life, if it be sin, |
Heaven let me bear it! you granting of my suit, |
If that be sin, I'll make it my morn prayer |
To have it added to the faults of mine, |
And nothing of your answer. |
Ang. Nay, but hear me. |
Your sense pursues not mine: either you are ignorant, |
Or seem so craftily; and that's not good. |
Isab. Let me be ignorant, and in nothing good, |
But graciously to know I am no better. |
Ang. Thus wisdom wishes to appear most bright |
When it doth tax itself; as these black masks |
Proclaim an enshield beauty ten times louder |
Than beauty could, display'd. But mark me; |
To be received plain, I'll speak more gross: |
Your brother is to die. |
Isab. So. |
Ang. And his offence is so, as it appears |
Accountant to the law upon that pain. |
Isab. True. |
Ang. Admit no other way to save his life,— |
As I subscribe not that, nor any other, |
But in the loss of question,—that you, his sister, |
Finding yourself desir'd of such a person, |
Whose credit with the judge, or own great place, |
Could fetch your brother from the manacles |
Of the all-building law; and that there were |
No earthly mean to save him, but that either |
You must lay down the treasures of your body |
To this suppos'd, or else to let him suffer; |
What would you do? |
Isab. As much for my poor brother, as myself: |
That is, were I under the terms of death, |
Th' impression of keen whips I'd wear as rubies, |
And strip myself to death, as to a bed |
That, longing, have been sick for, ere I'd yield |
My body up to shame. |
Ang. Then must your brother die. |
Isab. And 'twere the cheaper way: |
Better it were a brother died at once, |
Than that a sister, by redeeming him, |
Should die for ever. |
Ang. Were not you then as cruel as the sentence |
That you have slander'd so? |
Isab. Ignomy in ransom and free pardon |
Are of two houses: lawful mercy |
Is nothing kin to foul redemption. |
Ang. You seem'd of late to make the law a tyrant; |
And rather prov'd the sliding of your brother |
A merriment than a vice. |
Isab. O, pardon me, my lord! it oft falls out, |
To have what we would have, we speak not what we mean. |
I something do excuse the thing I hate, |
For his advantage that I dearly love. |
Ang. We are all frail. |
Isab. Else let my brother die, |
If not a feodary, but only he |
Owe and succeed thy weakness. |
Ang. Nay, women are frail too. |
Isab. Ay, as the glasses where they view themselves, |
Which are as easy 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 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 |
By all external warrants, show it now, |
By putting on the destin'd livery. |
Isab. I have no tongue but one: gentle my lord, |
Let me entreat you speak the former language. |
Ang. Plainly conceive, I love you. |
Isab. My brother did love Juliet; and you tell me |
That he shall die for't. |
Ang. He shall not, Isabel, if you give me love. |
Isab. 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. |
Isab. 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. |
Ang. 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 lingering sufferance. 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. [Exit. |
Isab. 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 curt'sy to their will; |
Hooking both right and wrong to th' appetite, |
To follow as it draws. I'll to my brother: |
Though he hath fallen 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'd 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. |
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