ACT III. SCENE I. 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 have hope to Eve, 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 run'st toward him still. Thou art not noble;     For all th' 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 exists 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.                          Enter ISABELLA    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 and 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. But is there any?   ISABELLA. Yes, brother, you may live:     There is a devilish mercy in the judge,     If you'll implore it, that will free your life,     But fetter you till death.   CLAUDIO. Perpetual durance?   ISABELLA. Ay, just; perpetual durance, a restraint,     Though all the world's vastidity you had,     To a determin'd scope.   CLAUDIO. But in what nature?   ISABELLA. In such a one as, you consenting to't,     Would bark your honour from that trunk you bear,     And leave you naked.   CLAUDIO. Let me know the point.   ISABELLA. O, 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 flow'ry 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' th' head, and follies doth enew     As falcon doth the fowl, is yet a devil;     His filth within being cast, he would appear     A pond as deep as hell.   CLAUDIO. The precise Angelo!   ISABELLA. O, 'tis the cunning livery of hell     The damned'st body to invest and cover     In precise guards! Dost thou think, Claudio,     If I would yield him my virginity     Thou mightst be freed?   CLAUDIO. O heavens! it cannot be.   ISABELLA. Yes, he would give't thee, from this rank offence,     So to offend him still. This night's the time     That I should do what I abhor to name,     Or else thou diest to-morrow.   CLAUDIO. Thou shalt not do't.   ISABELLA. O, were it but my life!     I'd throw it down for your deliverance     As frankly as a pin.   CLAUDIO. Thanks, dear Isabel.   ISABELLA. Be ready, Claudio, for your death to-morrow.   CLAUDIO. Yes. Has he affections in him     That thus can make him bite the law by th' nose     When he would force it? Sure it is no sin;     Or of the deadly seven it is the least.   ISABELLA. Which is the least?   CLAUDIO. If it were damnable, he being so wise,     Why would he for the momentary trick     Be perdurably fin'd?- O Isabel!   ISABELLA. What says my brother?   CLAUDIO. Death is a fearful thing.   ISABELLA. And shamed life a hateful.   CLAUDIO. Ay, but to die, and go we know not where;     To lie in cold obstruction, and to rot;     This sensible warm motion to become     A kneaded clod; and the delighted spirit     To bathe in fiery floods or to reside     In thrilling region of thick-ribbed ice;     To be imprison'd in the viewless winds,     And blown with restless violence round about     The pendent world; or to be worse than worst     Of those that lawless and incertain thought     Imagine howling- 'tis too horrible.     The weariest and most loathed worldly life     That age, ache, penury, and imprisonment,     Can lay on nature is a paradise     To what we fear of death.   ISABELLA. Alas, alas!   CLAUDIO. Sweet sister, let me live.     What sin you do to save a brother's life,     Nature dispenses with the deed so far     That it becomes a virtue.   ISABELLA. O you beast!     O faithless coward! O dishonest wretch!     Wilt thou be made a man out of my vice?     Is't not a kind of incest to take life     From thine own sister's shame? What should I think?     Heaven shield my mother play'd my father fair!     For such a warped slip of wilderness     Ne'er issu'd from his blood. Take my defiance;     Die; perish. Might but my bending down     Reprieve thee from thy fate, it should proceed.     I'll pray a thousand prayers for thy death,     No word to save thee.   CLAUDIO. Nay, hear me, Isabel.   ISABELLA. O fie, fie, fie!     Thy sin's not accidental, but a trade.     Mercy to thee would prove itself a bawd;     'Tis best that thou diest quickly.   CLAUDIO. O, hear me, Isabella.                              Re-enter DUKE    DUKE. Vouchsafe a word, young sister, but one word.   ISABELLA. What is your will?   DUKE. Might you dispense with your leisure, I would by and by have     some speech with you; the satisfaction I would require is     likewise your own benefit.   ISABELLA. I have no superfluous leisure; my stay must be stolen out     of other affairs; but I will attend you awhile.                                                    [Walks apart]   DUKE. Son, I have overheard what hath pass'd between you and your     sister. Angelo had never the purpose to corrupt her; only he hath     made an assay of her virtue to practise his judgment with the     disposition of natures. She, having the truth of honour in her,     hath made him that gracious denial which he is most glad to     receive. I am confessor to Angelo, and I know this to be true;     therefore prepare yourself to death. Do not satisfy your     resolution with hopes that are fallible; to-morrow you must die;     go to your knees and make ready.   CLAUDIO. Let me ask my sister pardon. I am so out of love with life     that I will sue to be rid of it.   DUKE. Hold you there. Farewell. [Exit CLAUDIO] Provost, a word with     you.                            Re-enter PROVOST    PROVOST. What's your will, father?   DUKE. That, now you are come, you will be gone. Leave me a while     with the maid; my mind promises with my habit no loss shall touch     her by my company.   PROVOST. In good time.                            Exit PROVOST   DUKE. The hand that hath made you fair hath made you good; the     goodness that is cheap in beauty makes beauty brief in goodness;     but grace, being the soul of your complexion, shall keep the body     of it ever fair. The assault that Angelo hath made to you,     fortune hath convey'd to my understanding; and, but that frailty     hath examples for his falling, I should wonder at Angelo. How     will you do to content this substitute, and to save your brother?   ISABELLA. I am now going to resolve him; I had rather my brother     die by the law than my son should be unlawfully born. But, O, how     much is the good Duke deceiv'd in Angelo! If ever he return, and     I can speak to him, I will open my lips in vain, or discover his     government.   DUKE. That shall not be much amiss; yet, as the matter now stands,     he will avoid your accusation: he made trial of you only.     Therefore fasten your ear on my advisings; to the love I have in     doing good a remedy presents itself. I do make myself believe     that you may most uprighteously do a poor wronged lady a merited     benefit; redeem your brother from the angry law; do no stain to     your own gracious person; and much please the absent Duke, if     peradventure he shall ever return to have hearing of this     business.   ISABELLA. Let me hear you speak farther; I have spirit to do     anything that appears not foul in the truth of my spirit.   DUKE. Virtue is bold, and goodness never fearful. Have you not     heard speak of Mariana, the sister of Frederick, the great     soldier who miscarried at sea?   ISABELLA. I have heard of the lady, and good words went with her     name.   DUKE. She should this Angelo have married; was affianced to her by     oath, and the nuptial appointed; between which time of the     contract and limit of the solemnity her brother Frederick was     wreck'd at sea, having in that perished vessel the dowry of his     sister. But mark how heavily this befell to the poor gentlewoman:     there she lost a noble and renowned brother, in his love toward     her ever most kind and natural; with him the portion and sinew of     her fortune, her marriage-dowry; with both, her combinate     husband, this well-seeming Angelo.   ISABELLA. Can this be so? Did Angelo so leave her?   DUKE. Left her in her tears, and dried not one of them with his     comfort; swallowed his vows whole, pretending in her discoveries     of dishonour; in few, bestow'd her on her own lamentation, which     she yet wears for his sake; and he, a marble to her tears, is     washed with them, but relents not.   ISABELLA. What a merit were it in death to take this poor maid from     the world! What corruption in this life that it will let this man     live! But how out of this can she avail?   DUKE. It is a rupture that you may easily heal; and the cure of it     not only saves your brother, but keeps you from dishonour in     doing it.   ISABELLA. Show me how, good father.   DUKE. This forenamed maid hath yet in her the continuance of her     first affection; his unjust unkindness, that in all reason should     have quenched her love, hath, like an impediment in the current,     made it more violent and unruly. Go you to Angelo; answer his     requiring with a plausible obedience; agree with his demands to     the point; only refer yourself to this advantage: first, that     your stay with him may not be long; that the time may have all     shadow and silence in it; and the place answer to convenience.     This being granted in course- and now follows all: we shall     advise this wronged maid to stead up your appointment, go in your     place. If the encounter acknowledge itself hereafter, it may     compel him to her recompense; and here, by this, is your brother     saved, your honour untainted, the poor Mariana advantaged, and     the corrupt deputy scaled. The maid will I frame and make fit for     his attempt. If you think well to carry this as you may, the     doubleness of the benefit defends the deceit from reproof. What     think you of it?   ISABELLA. The image of it gives me content already; and I trust it     will grow to a most prosperous perfection.   DUKE. It lies much in your holding up. Haste you speedily to     Angelo; if for this night he entreat you to his bed, give him     promise of satisfaction. I will presently to Saint Luke's; there,     at the moated grange, resides this dejected Mariana. At that     place call upon me; and dispatch with Angelo, that it may be     quickly.   ISABELLA. I thank you for this comfort. Fare you well, good father.                                                 Exeunt severally     Scene II. The street before the prison  Enter, on one side, DUKE disguised as before; on the other, ELBOW, and OFFICERS with POMPEY    ELBOW. Nay, if there be no remedy for it, but that you will needs     buy and sell men and women like beasts, we shall have all the     world drink brown and white bastard.   DUKE. O heavens! what stuff is here?   POMPEY. 'Twas never merry world since, of two usuries, the merriest     was put down, and the worser allow'd by order of law a furr'd     gown to keep him warm; and furr'd with fox on lamb-skins too, to     signify that craft, being richer than innocency, stands for the     facing.   ELBOW. Come your way, sir. Bless you, good father friar.   DUKE. And you, good brother father. What offence hath this man made     you, sir?   ELBOW. Marry, sir, he hath offended the law; and, sir, we take him     to be a thief too, sir, for we have found upon him, sir, a     strange picklock, which we have sent to the deputy.   DUKE. Fie, sirrah, a bawd, a wicked bawd!     The evil that thou causest to be done,     That is thy means to live. Do thou but think     What 'tis to cram a maw or clothe a back     From such a filthy vice; say to thyself     'From their abominable and beastly touches     I drink, I eat, array myself, and live.'     Canst thou believe thy living is a life,     So stinkingly depending? Go mend, go mend.   POMPEY. Indeed, it does stink in some sort, sir; but yet, sir,     I would prove-   DUKE. Nay, if the devil have given thee proofs for sin,     Thou wilt prove his. Take him to prison, officer;     Correction and instruction must both work     Ere this rude beast will profit.   ELBOW. He must before the deputy, sir; he has given him warning.     The deputy cannot abide a whoremaster; if he be a whoremonger,     and comes before him, he were as good go a mile on his errand.   DUKE. That we were all, as some would seem to be,     From our faults, as his faults from seeming, free.   ELBOW. His neck will come to your waist- a cord, sir.                            Enter LUCIO    POMPEY. I spy comfort; I cry bail. Here's a gentleman, and a friend     of mine.   LUCIO. How now, noble Pompey! What, at the wheels of Caesar? Art     thou led in triumph? What, is there none of Pygmalion's images,     newly made woman, to be had now for putting the hand in the     pocket and extracting it clutch'd? What reply, ha? What say'st     thou to this tune, matter, and method? Is't not drown'd i' th'     last rain, ha? What say'st thou, trot? Is the world as it was,     man? Which is the way? Is it sad, and few words? or how? The     trick of it?   DUKE. Still thus, and thus; still worse!   LUCIO. How doth my dear morsel, thy mistress? Procures she still,     ha?   POMPEY. Troth, sir, she hath eaten up all her beef, and she is     herself in the tub.   LUCIO. Why, 'tis good; it is the right of it; it must be so; ever     your fresh whore and your powder'd bawd- an unshunn'd     consequence; it must be so. Art going to prison, Pompey?   POMPEY. Yes, faith, sir.   LUCIO. Why, 'tis not amiss, Pompey. Farewell; go, say I sent thee     thither. For debt, Pompey- or how?   ELBOW. For being a bawd, for being a bawd.   LUCIO. Well, then, imprison him. If imprisonment be the due of a     bawd, why, 'tis his right. Bawd is he doubtless, and of     antiquity, too; bawd-born. Farewell, good Pompey. Commend me to     the prison, Pompey. You will turn good husband now, Pompey; you     will keep the house.   POMPEY. I hope, sir, your good worship will be my bail.   LUCIO. No, indeed, will I not, Pompey; it is not the wear. I will     pray, Pompey, to increase your bondage. If you take it not     patiently, why, your mettle is the more. Adieu trusty Pompey.     Bless you, friar.   DUKE. And you.   LUCIO. Does Bridget paint still, Pompey, ha?   ELBOW. Come your ways, sir; come.   POMPEY. You will not bail me then, sir?   LUCIO. Then, Pompey, nor now. What news abroad, friar? what news?   ELBOW. Come your ways, sir; come.   LUCIO. Go to kennel, Pompey, go.                                 Exeunt ELBOW, POMPEY and OFFICERS      What news, friar, of the Duke?   DUKE. I know none. Can you tell me of any?   LUCIO. Some say he is with the Emperor of Russia; other some, he is     in Rome; but where is he, think you?   DUKE. I know not where; but wheresoever, I wish him well.   LUCIO. It was a mad fantastical trick of him to steal from the     state and usurp the beggary he was never born to. Lord Angelo     dukes it well in his absence; he puts transgression to't.   DUKE. He does well in't.   LUCIO. A little more lenity to lechery would do no harm in him;     something too crabbed that way, friar.   DUKE. It is too general a vice, and severity must cure it.   LUCIO. Yes, in good sooth, the vice is of a great kindred; it is     well allied; but it is impossible to extirp it quite, friar, till     eating and drinking be put down. They say this Angelo was not     made by man and woman after this downright way of creation. Is it     true, think you?   DUKE. How should he be made, then?   LUCIO. Some report a sea-maid spawn'd him; some, that he was begot     between two stock-fishes. But it is certain that when he makes     water his urine is congeal'd ice; that I know to be true. And he     is a motion generative; that's infallible.   DUKE. You are pleasant, sir, and speak apace.   LUCIO. Why, what a ruthless thing is this in him, for the rebellion     of a codpiece to take away the life of a man! Would the Duke that     is absent have done this? Ere he would have hang'd a man for the     getting a hundred bastards, he would have paid for the nursing a     thousand. He had some feeling of the sport; he knew the service,     and that instructed him to mercy.   DUKE. I never heard the absent Duke much detected for women; he was     not inclin'd that way.   LUCIO. O, sir, you are deceiv'd.   DUKE. 'Tis not possible.   LUCIO. Who- not the Duke? Yes, your beggar of fifty; and his use     was to put a ducat in her clack-dish. The Duke had crotchets in     him. He would be drunk too; that let me inform you.   DUKE. You do him wrong, surely.   LUCIO. Sir, I was an inward of his. A shy fellow was the Duke; and     I believe I know the cause of his withdrawing.   DUKE. What, I prithee, might be the cause?   LUCIO. No, pardon; 'tis a secret must be lock'd within the teeth     and the lips; but this I can let you understand: the greater file     of the subject held the Duke to be wise.   DUKE. Wise? Why, no question but he was.   LUCIO. A very superficial, ignorant, unweighing fellow.   DUKE. Either this is envy in you, folly, or mistaking; the very     stream of his life, and the business he hath helmed, must, upon a     warranted need, give him a better proclamation. Let him be but     testimonied in his own bringings-forth, and he shall appear to     the envious a scholar, a statesman, and a soldier. Therefore you     speak unskilfully; or, if your knowledge be more, it is much     dark'ned in your malice.   LUCIO. Sir, I know him, and I love him.   DUKE. Love talks with better knowledge, and knowledge with dearer     love.   LUCIO. Come, sir, I know what I know.   DUKE. I can hardly believe that, since you know not what you speak.     But, if ever the Duke return, as our prayers are he may, let me     desire you to make your answer before him. If it be honest you     have spoke, you have courage to maintain it; I am bound to call     upon you; and I pray you your name?   LUCIO. Sir, my name is Lucio, well known to the Duke.   DUKE. He shall know you better, sir, if I may live to report you.   LUCIO. I fear you not.   DUKE. O, you hope the Duke will return no more; or you imagine me     too unhurtful an opposite. But, indeed, I can do you little harm:     you'll forswear this again.   LUCIO. I'll be hang'd first. Thou art deceiv'd in me, friar. But no     more of this. Canst thou tell if Claudio die to-morrow or no?   DUKE. Why should he die, sir?   LUCIO. Why? For filling a bottle with a tun-dish. I would the Duke     we talk of were return'd again. This ungenitur'd agent will     unpeople the province with continency; sparrows must not build in     his house-eaves because they are lecherous. The Duke yet would     have dark deeds darkly answered; he would never bring them to     light. Would he were return'd! Marry, this Claudio is condemned     for untrussing. Farewell, good friar; I prithee pray for me. The     Duke, I say to thee again, would eat mutton on Fridays. He's not     past it yet; and, I say to thee, he would mouth with a beggar     though she smelt brown bread and garlic. Say that I said so.     Farewell.                                               Exit   DUKE. No might nor greatness in mortality     Can censure scape; back-wounding calumny     The whitest virtue strikes. What king so strong     Can tie the gall up in the slanderous tongue?     But who comes here?               Enter ESCALUS, PROVOST, and OFFICERS with                            MISTRESS OVERDONE    ESCALUS. Go, away with her to prison.   MRS. OVERDONE. Good my lord, be good to me; your honour is     accounted a merciful man; good my lord.   ESCALUS. Double and treble admonition, and still forfeit in the     same kind! This would make mercy swear and play the tyrant.   PROVOST. A bawd of eleven years' continuance, may it please your     honour.   MRS. OVERDONE. My lord, this is one Lucio's information against me.     Mistress Kate Keepdown was with child by him in the Duke's time;     he promis'd her marriage. His child is a year and a quarter old     come Philip and Jacob; I have kept it myself; and see how he goes     about to abuse me.   ESCALUS. That fellow is a fellow of much license. Let him be call'd     before us. Away with her to prison. Go to; no more words. [Exeunt     OFFICERS with MISTRESS OVERDONE]  Provost, my brother Angelo will     not be alter'd: Claudio must die to-morrow. Let him be furnish'd     with divines, and have all charitable preparation. If my brother     wrought by my pity, it should not be so with him.   PROVOST. So please you, this friar hath been with him, and advis'd     him for th' entertainment of death.   ESCALUS. Good even, good father.   DUKE. Bliss and goodness on you!   ESCALUS. Of whence are you?   DUKE. Not of this country, though my chance is now     To use it for my time. I am a brother     Of gracious order, late come from the See     In special business from his Holiness.   ESCALUS. What news abroad i' th' world?   DUKE. None, but that there is so great a fever on goodness that the     dissolution of it must cure it. Novelty is only in request; and,     as it is, as dangerous to be aged in any kind of course as it is     virtuous to be constant in any undertakeing. There is scarce     truth enough alive to make societies secure; but security enough     to make fellowships accurst. Much upon this riddle runs the     wisdom of the world. This news is old enough, yet it is every     day's news. I pray you, sir, of what disposition was the Duke?   ESCALUS. One that, above all other strifes, contended especially to     know himself.   DUKE. What pleasure was he given to?   ESCALUS. Rather rejoicing to see another merry than merry at     anything which profess'd to make him rejoice; a gentleman of all     temperance. But leave we him to his events, with a prayer they     may prove prosperous; and let me desire to know how you find     Claudio prepar'd. I am made to understand that you have lent him     visitation.   DUKE. He professes to have received no sinister measure from his     judge, but most willingly humbles himself to the determination of     justice. Yet had he framed to himself, by the instruction of his     frailty, many deceiving promises of life; which I, by my good     leisure, have discredited to him, and now he is resolv'd to die.   ESCALUS. You have paid the heavens your function, and the prisoner     the very debt of your calling. I have labour'd for the poor     gentleman to the extremest shore of my modesty; but my brother     justice have I found so severe that he hath forc'd me to tell him     he is indeed Justice.   DUKE. If his own life answer the straitness of his proceeding, it     shall become him well; wherein if he chance to fail, he hath     sentenc'd himself.   ESCALUS. I am going to visit the prisoner. Fare you well.   DUKE. Peace be with you!            Exeunt ESCALUS and PROVOST           He who the sword of heaven will bear          Should be as holy as severe;          Pattern in himself to know,          Grace to stand, and virtue go;          More nor less to others paying          Than by self-offences weighing.          Shame to him whose cruel striking          Kills for faults of his own liking!          Twice treble shame on Angelo,          To weed my vice and let his grow!          O, what may man within him hide,          Though angel on the outward side!          How may likeness, made in crimes,          Make a practice on the times,          To draw with idle spiders' strings          Most ponderous and substantial things!          Craft against vice I must apply.          With Angelo to-night shall lie          His old betrothed but despised;          So disguise shall, by th' disguised,          Pay with falsehood false exacting,          And perform an old contracting.                    Exit     Act IV. Scene I. The moated grange at Saint Duke's  Enter MARIANA; and BOY singing                               SONG             Take, O, take those lips away,              That so sweetly were forsworn;            And those eyes, the break of day,              Lights that do mislead the morn;            But my kisses bring again, bring again;            Seals of love, but seal'd in vain, seal'd in vain.                    Enter DUKE, disguised as before    MARIANA. Break off thy song, and haste thee quick away;     Here comes a man of comfort, whose advice     Hath often still'd my brawling discontent.          Exit BOY     I cry you mercy, sir, and well could wish     You had not found me here so musical.     Let me excuse me, and believe me so,     My mirth it much displeas'd, but pleas'd my woe.   DUKE. 'Tis good; though music oft hath such a charm     To make bad good and good provoke to harm.     I pray you tell me hath anybody inquir'd for me here to-day. Much     upon this time have I promis'd here to meet.   MARIANA. You have not been inquir'd after; I have sat here all day.                           Enter ISABELLA    DUKE. I do constantly believe you. The time is come even now. I     shall crave your forbearance a little. May be I will call upon     you anon, for some advantage to yourself.   MARIANA. I am always bound to you.                        Exit   DUKE. Very well met, and well come.     What is the news from this good deputy?   ISABELLA. He hath a garden circummur'd with brick,     Whose western side is with a vineyard back'd;     And to that vineyard is a planched gate     That makes his opening with this bigger key;     This other doth command a little door     Which from the vineyard to the garden leads.     There have I made my promise     Upon the heavy middle of the night     To call upon him.   DUKE. But shall you on your knowledge find this way?   ISABELLA. I have ta'en a due and wary note upon't;     With whispering and most guilty diligence,     In action all of precept, he did show me     The way twice o'er.   DUKE. Are there no other tokens     Between you 'greed concerning her observance?   ISABELLA. No, none, but only a repair i' th' dark;     And that I have possess'd him my most stay     Can be but brief; for I have made him know     I have a servant comes with me along,     That stays upon me; whose persuasion is     I come about my brother.   DUKE. 'Tis well borne up.     I have not yet made known to Mariana     A word of this. What ho, within! come forth.                         Re-enter MARIANA      I pray you be acquainted with this maid;     She comes to do you good.   ISABELLA. I do desire the like.   DUKE. Do you persuade yourself that I respect you?   MARIANA. Good friar, I know you do, and have found it.   DUKE. Take, then, this your companion by the hand,     Who hath a story ready for your ear.     I shall attend your leisure; but make haste;     The vaporous night approaches.   MARIANA. Will't please you walk aside?                                      Exeunt MARIANA and ISABELLA   DUKE. O place and greatness! Millions of false eyes     Are stuck upon thee. Volumes of report     Run with these false, and most contrarious quest     Upon thy doings. Thousand escapes of wit     Make thee the father of their idle dream,     And rack thee in their fancies.                   Re-enter MARIANA and ISABELLA      Welcome, how agreed?   ISABELLA. She'll take the enterprise upon her, father,     If you advise it.   DUKE. It is not my consent,     But my entreaty too.   ISABELLA. Little have you to say,     When you depart from him, but, soft and low,     'Remember now my brother.'   MARIANA. Fear me not.   DUKE. Nor, gentle daughter, fear you not at all.     He is your husband on a pre-contract.     To bring you thus together 'tis no sin,     Sith that the justice of your title to him     Doth flourish the deceit. Come, let us go;     Our corn's to reap, for yet our tithe's to sow.       Exeunt     SCENE II. The prison  Enter PROVOST and POMPEY    PROVOST. Come hither, sirrah. Can you cut off a man's head?   POMPEY. If the man be a bachelor, sir, I can; but if he be a     married man, he's his wife's head, and I can never cut of a     woman's head.   PROVOST. Come, sir, leave me your snatches and yield me a direct     answer. To-morrow morning are to die Claudio and Barnardine. Here     is in our prison a common executioner, who in his office lacks a     helper; if you will take it on you to assist him, it shall redeem     you from your gyves; if not, you shall have your full time of     imprisonment, and your deliverance with an unpitied whipping, for     you have been a notorious bawd.   POMPEY. Sir, I have been an unlawful bawd time out of mind; but yet     I will be content to be a lawful hangman. I would be glad to     receive some instructions from my fellow partner.   PROVOST. What ho, Abhorson! Where's Abhorson there?                            Enter ABHORSON    ABHORSON. Do you call, sir?   PROVOST. Sirrah, here's a fellow will help you to-morrow in your     execution. If you think it meet, compound with him by the year,     and let him abide here with you; if not, use him for the present,     and dismiss him. He cannot plead his estimation with you; he hath     been a bawd.   ABHORSON. A bawd, sir? Fie upon him! He will discredit our mystery.   PROVOST. Go to, sir; you weigh equally; a feather will turn the     scale.                                                  Exit   POMPEY. Pray, sir, by your good favour- for surely, sir, a good     favour you have but that you have a hanging look- do you call,     sir, your occupation a mystery?   ABHORSON. Ay, sir; a mystery.   POMPEY. Painting, sir, I have heard say, is a mystery; and your     whores, sir, being members of my occupation, using painting, do     prove my occupation a mystery; but what mystery there should be     in hanging, if I should be hang'd, I cannot imagine.   ABHORSON. Sir, it is a mystery.   POMPEY. Proof?   ABHORSON. Every true man's apparel fits your thief: if it be too     little for your thief, your true man thinks it big enough; if it     be too big for your thief, your thief thinks it little enough; so     every true man's apparel fits your thief.                            Re-enter PROVOST    PROVOST. Are you agreed?   POMPEY. Sir, I will serve him; for I do find your hangman is a more     penitent trade than your bawd; he doth oftener ask forgiveness.   PROVOST. You, sirrah, provide your block and your axe to-morrow     four o'clock.   ABHORSON. Come on, bawd; I will instruct thee in my trade; follow.   POMPEY. I do desire to learn, sir; and I hope, if you have occasion     to use me for your own turn, you shall find me yare; for truly,     sir, for your kindness I owe you a good turn.   PROVOST. Call hither Barnardine and Claudio.                                       Exeunt ABHORSON and POMPEY     Th' one has my pity; not a jot the other,     Being a murderer, though he were my brother.                             Enter CLAUDIO      Look, here's the warrant, Claudio, for thy death;     'Tis now dead midnight, and by eight to-morrow     Thou must be made immortal. Where's Barnardine?   CLAUDIO. As fast lock'd up in sleep as guiltless labour     When it lies starkly in the traveller's bones.     He will not wake.   PROVOST. Who can do good on him?     Well, go, prepare yourself. [Knocking within] But hark, what       noise?     Heaven give your spirits comfort!               Exit CLAUDIO     [Knocking continues] By and by.     I hope it is some pardon or reprieve     For the most gentle Claudio.                   Enter DUKE, disguised as before      Welcome, father.   DUKE. The best and wholesom'st spirits of the night     Envelop you, good Provost! Who call'd here of late?   PROVOST. None, since the curfew rung.   DUKE. Not Isabel?   PROVOST. No.   DUKE. They will then, ere't be long.   PROVOST. What comfort is for Claudio?   DUKE. There's some in hope.   PROVOST. It is a bitter deputy.   DUKE. Not so, not so; his life is parallel'd     Even with the stroke and line of his great justice;     He doth with holy abstinence subdue     That in himself which he spurs on his pow'r     To qualify in others. Were he meal'd with that     Which he corrects, then were he tyrannous;     But this being so, he's just. [Knocking within] Now are they       come.                                         Exit PROVOST     This is a gentle provost; seldom when     The steeled gaoler is the friend of men. [Knocking within]     How now, what noise! That spirit's possess'd with haste     That wounds th' unsisting postern with these strokes.                          Re-enter PROVOST    PROVOST. There he must stay until the officer     Arise to let him in; he is call'd up.   DUKE. Have you no countermand for Claudio yet     But he must die to-morrow?   PROVOST. None, sir, none.   DUKE. As near the dawning, Provost, as it is,     You shall hear more ere morning.   PROVOST. Happily     You something know; yet I believe there comes     No countermand; no such example have we.     Besides, upon the very siege of justice,     Lord Angelo hath to the public ear     Profess'd the contrary.                           Enter a MESSENGER     This is his lordship's man.   DUKE. And here comes Claudio's pardon.   MESSENGER. My lord hath sent you this note; and by me this further     charge, that you swerve not from the smallest article of it,     neither in time, matter, or other circumstance. Good morrow; for     as I take it, it is almost day.   PROVOST. I shall obey him.                      Exit MESSENGER   DUKE. [Aside] This is his pardon, purchas'd by such sin     For which the pardoner himself is in;     Hence hath offence his quick celerity,     When it is borne in high authority.     When vice makes mercy, mercy's so extended     That for the fault's love is th' offender friended.     Now, sir, what news?   PROVOST. I told you: Lord Angelo, belike thinking me remiss in mine     office, awakens me with this unwonted putting-on; methinks     strangely, for he hath not us'd it before.   DUKE. Pray you, let's hear.   PROVOST. [Reads] 'Whatsoever you may hear to the contrary, let     Claudio be executed by four of the clock, and, in the afternoon,     Barnardine. For my better satisfaction, let me have Claudio's     head sent me by five. Let this be duly performed, with a thought     that more depends on it than we must yet deliver. Thus fail not     to do your office, as you will answer it at your peril.'     What say you to this, sir?   DUKE. What is that Barnardine who is to be executed in th'     afternoon?   PROVOST. A Bohemian born; but here nurs'd up and bred.     One that is a prisoner nine years old.   DUKE. How came it that the absent Duke had not either deliver'd him     to his liberty or executed him? I have heard it was ever his     manner to do so.   PROVOST. His friends still wrought reprieves for him; and, indeed,     his fact, till now in the government of Lord Angelo, came not to     an undoubted proof.   DUKE. It is now apparent?   PROVOST. Most manifest, and not denied by himself.   DUKE. Hath he borne himself penitently in prison? How seems he to     be touch'd?   PROVOST. A man that apprehends death no more dreadfully but as a     drunken sleep; careless, reckless, and fearless, of what's past,     present, or to come; insensible of mortality and desperately     mortal.   DUKE. He wants advice.   PROVOST. He will hear none. He hath evermore had the liberty of the     prison; give him leave to escape hence, he would not; drunk many     times a day, if not many days entirely drunk. We have very oft     awak'd him, as if to carry him to execution, and show'd him a     seeming warrant for it; it hath not moved him at all.   DUKE. More of him anon. There is written in your brow, Provost,     honesty and constancy. If I read it not truly, my ancient skill     beguiles me; but in the boldness of my cunning I will lay myself     in hazard. Claudio, whom here you have warrant to execute, is no     greater forfeit to the law than Angelo who hath sentenc'd him. To     make you understand this in a manifested effect, I crave but four     days' respite; for the which you are to do me both a present and     a dangerous courtesy.   PROVOST. Pray, sir, in what?   DUKE. In the delaying death.   PROVOST. Alack! How may I do it, having the hour limited, and an     express command, under penalty, to deliver his head in the view     of Angelo? I may make my case as Claudio's, to cross this in the     smallest.   DUKE. By the vow of mine order, I warrant you, if my instructions     may be your guide. Let this Barnardine be this morning executed,     and his head borne to Angelo.   PROVOST. Angelo hath seen them both, and will discover the favour.   DUKE. O, death's a great disguiser; and you may add to it. Shave     the head and tie the beard; and say it was the desire of the     penitent to be so bar'd before his death. You know the course is     common. If anything fall to you upon this more than thanks and     good fortune, by the saint whom I profess, I will plead against     it with my life.   PROVOST. Pardon me, good father; it is against my oath.   DUKE. Were you sworn to the Duke, or to the deputy?   PROVOST. To him and to his substitutes.   DUKE. You will think you have made no offence if the Duke avouch     the justice of your dealing?   PROVOST. But what likelihood is in that?   DUKE. Not a resemblance, but a certainty. Yet since I see you     fearful, that neither my coat, integrity, nor persuasion, can     with ease attempt you, I will go further than I meant, to pluck     all fears out of you. Look you, sir, here is the hand and seal of     the Duke. You know the character, I doubt not; and the signet is     not strange to you.   PROVOST. I know them both.   DUKE. The contents of this is the return of the Duke; you shall     anon over-read it at your pleasure, where you shall find within     these two days he will be here. This is a thing that Angelo knows     not; for he this very day receives letters of strange tenour,     perchance of the Duke's death, perchance entering into some     monastery; but, by chance, nothing of what is writ. Look, th'     unfolding star calls up the shepherd. Put not yourself into     amazement how these things should be: all difficulties are but     easy when they are known. Call your executioner, and off with     Barnardine's head. I will give him a present shrift, and advise     him for a better place. Yet you are amaz'd, but this shall     absolutely resolve you. Come away; it is almost clear dawn.                                                           Exeunt     SCENE III. The prison  Enter POMPEY    POMPEY. I am as well acquainted here as I was in our house of     profession; one would think it were Mistress Overdone's own     house, for here be many of her old customers. First, here's young     Master Rash; he's in for a commodity of brown paper and old     ginger, nine score and seventeen pounds, of which he made five     marks ready money. Marry, then ginger was not much in request,     for the old women were all dead. Then is there here one Master     Caper, at the suit of Master Threepile the mercer, for some four     suits of peach-colour'd satin, which now peaches him a beggar.     Then have we here young Dizy, and young Master Deepvow, and     Master Copperspur, and Master Starvelackey, the rapier and dagger     man, and young Dropheir that kill'd lusty Pudding, and Master     Forthlight the tilter, and brave Master Shootie the great     traveller, and wild Halfcan that stabb'd Pots, and, I think,     forty more- all great doers in our trade, and are now 'for the     Lord's sake.'                              Enter ABHORSON    ABHORSON. Sirrah, bring Barnardine hither.   POMPEY. Master Barnardine! You must rise and be hang'd, Master     Barnardine!   ABHORSON. What ho, Barnardine!   BARNARDINE. [Within] A pox o' your throats! Who makes that noise     there? What are you?   POMPEY. Your friends, sir; the hangman. You must be so good, sir,     to rise and be put to death.   BARNARDINE. [ Within ] Away, you rogue, away; I am sleepy.   ABHORSON. Tell him he must awake, and that quickly too.   POMPEY. Pray, Master Barnardine, awake till you are executed, and     sleep afterwards.   ABHORSON. Go in to him, and fetch him out.   POMPEY. He is coming, sir, he is coming; I hear his straw rustle.                               Enter BARNARDINE    ABHORSON. Is the axe upon the block, sirrah?   POMPEY. Very ready, sir.   BARNARDINE. How now, Abhorson, what's the news with you?   ABHORSON. Truly, sir, I would desire you to clap into your prayers;     for, look you, the warrant's come.   BARNARDINE. You rogue, I have been drinking all night; I am not     fitted for't.   POMPEY. O, the better, sir! For he that drinks all night and is     hanged betimes in the morning may sleep the sounder all the next     day.                    Enter DUKE, disguised as before    ABHORSON. Look you, sir, here comes your ghostly father.     Do we jest now, think you?   DUKE. Sir, induced by my charity, and hearing how hastily you are     to depart, I am come to advise you, comfort you, and pray with     you.   BARNARDINE. Friar, not I; I have been drinking hard all night, and     I will have more time to prepare me, or they shall beat out my     brains with billets. I will not consent to die this day, that's     certain.   DUKE. O, Sir, you must; and therefore I beseech you     Look forward on the journey you shall go.   BARNARDINE. I swear I will not die to-day for any man's persuasion.   DUKE. But hear you-   BARNARDINE. Not a word; if you have anything to say to me, come to     my ward; for thence will not I to-day.                  Exit   DUKE. Unfit to live or die. O gravel heart!     After him, fellows; bring him to the block.                                       Exeunt ABHORSON and POMPEY                              Enter PROVOST    PROVOST. Now, sir, how do you find the prisoner?   DUKE. A creature unprepar'd, unmeet for death;     And to transport him in the mind he is     Were damnable.   PROVOST. Here in the prison, father,     There died this morning of a cruel fever     One Ragozine, a most notorious pirate,     A man of Claudio's years; his beard and head     Just of his colour. What if we do omit     This reprobate till he were well inclin'd,     And satisfy the deputy with the visage     Of Ragozine, more like to Claudio?   DUKE. O, 'tis an accident that heaven provides!     Dispatch it presently; the hour draws on     Prefix'd by Angelo. See this be done,     And sent according to command; whiles I     Persuade this rude wretch willingly to die.   PROVOST. This shall be done, good father, presently.     But Barnardine must die this afternoon;     And how shall we continue Claudio,     To save me from the danger that might come     If he were known alive?   DUKE. Let this be done:     Put them in secret holds, both Barnardine and Claudio.     Ere twice the sun hath made his journal greeting     To the under generation, you shall find     Your safety manifested.   PROVOST. I am your free dependant.   DUKE. Quick, dispatch, and send the head to Angelo.                                                     Exit PROVOST     Now will I write letters to Angelo-     The Provost, he shall bear them- whose contents     Shall witness to him I am near at home,     And that, by great injunctions, I am bound     To enter publicly. Him I'll desire     To meet me at the consecrated fount,     A league below the city; and from thence,     By cold gradation and well-balanc'd form.     We shall proceed with Angelo.                           Re-enter PROVOST    PROVOST. Here is the head; I'll carry it myself.   DUKE. Convenient is it. Make a swift return;     For I would commune with you of such things     That want no ear but yours.   PROVOST. I'll make all speed.                             Exit   ISABELLA. [ Within ] Peace, ho, be here!   DUKE. The tongue of Isabel. She's come to know     If yet her brother's pardon be come hither;     But I will keep her ignorant of her good,     To make her heavenly comforts of despair     When it is least expected.                             Enter ISABELLA    ISABELLA. Ho, by your leave!   DUKE. Good morning to you, fair and gracious daughter.   ISABELLA. The better, given me by so holy a man.     Hath yet the deputy sent my brother's pardon?   DUKE. He hath releas'd him, Isabel, from the world.     His head is off and sent to Angelo.   ISABELLA. Nay, but it is not so.   DUKE. It is no other.     Show your wisdom, daughter, in your close patience,   ISABELLA. O, I will to him and pluck out his eyes!   DUKE. You shall not be admitted to his sight.   ISABELLA. Unhappy Claudio! Wretched Isabel!     Injurious world! Most damned Angelo!   DUKE. This nor hurts him nor profits you a jot;     Forbear it, therefore; give your cause to heaven.     Mark what I say, which you shall find     By every syllable a faithful verity.     The Duke comes home to-morrow. Nay, dry your eyes.     One of our covent, and his confessor,     Gives me this instance. Already he hath carried     Notice to Escalus and Angelo,     Who do prepare to meet him at the gates,     There to give up their pow'r. If you can, pace your wisdom     In that good path that I would wish it go,     And you shall have your bosom on this wretch,     Grace of the Duke, revenges to your heart,     And general honour.   ISABELLA. I am directed by you.   DUKE. This letter, then, to Friar Peter give;     'Tis that he sent me of the Duke's return.     Say, by this token, I desire his company     At Mariana's house to-night. Her cause and yours     I'll perfect him withal; and he shall bring you     Before the Duke; and to the head of Angelo     Accuse him home and home. For my poor self,     I am combined by a sacred vow,     And shall be absent. Wend you with this letter.     Command these fretting waters from your eyes     With a light heart; trust not my holy order,     If I pervert your course. Who's here?                             Enter LUCIO    LUCIO. Good even. Friar, where's the Provost?   DUKE. Not within, sir.   LUCIO. O pretty Isabella, I am pale at mine heart to see thine eyes     so red. Thou must be patient. I am fain to dine and sup with     water and bran; I dare not for my head fill my belly; one     fruitful meal would set me to't. But they say the Duke will be     here to-morrow. By my troth, Isabel, I lov'd thy brother. If the     old fantastical Duke of dark corners had been at home, he had     lived.                                         Exit ISABELLA   DUKE. Sir, the Duke is marvellous little beholding to your reports;     but the best is, he lives not in them.   LUCIO. Friar, thou knowest not the Duke so well as I do; he's a     better woodman than thou tak'st him for.   DUKE. Well, you'll answer this one day. Fare ye well.   LUCIO. Nay, tarry; I'll go along with thee; I can tell thee pretty     tales of the Duke.   DUKE. You have told me too many of him already, sir, if they be     true; if not true, none were enough.   LUCIO. I was once before him for getting a wench with child.   DUKE. Did you such a thing?   LUCIO. Yes, marry, did I; but I was fain to forswear it: they would     else have married me to the rotten medlar.   DUKE. Sir, your company is fairer than honest. Rest you well.   LUCIO. By my troth, I'll go with thee to the lane's end. If bawdy     talk offend you, we'll have very little of it. Nay, friar, I am a     kind of burr; I shall stick.                          Exeunt     SCENE IV. ANGELO'S house  Enter ANGELO and ESCALUS    ESCALUS. Every letter he hath writ hath disvouch'd other.   ANGELO. In most uneven and distracted manner. His actions show much     like to madness; pray heaven his wisdom be not tainted! And why     meet him at the gates, and redeliver our authorities there?   ESCALUS. I guess not.   ANGELO. And why should we proclaim it in an hour before his     ent'ring that, if any crave redress of injustice, they should     exhibit their petitions in the street?   ESCALUS. He shows his reason for that: to have a dispatch of      complaints; and to deliver us from devices hereafter, which     shall then have no power to stand against us.   ANGELO. Well, I beseech you, let it be proclaim'd;     Betimes i' th' morn I'll call you at your house;     Give notice to such men of sort and suit     As are to meet him.   ESCALUS. I shall, sir; fare you well.   ANGELO. Good night.                               Exit ESCALUS     This deed unshapes me quite, makes me unpregnant     And dull to all proceedings. A deflow'red maid!     And by an eminent body that enforc'd     The law against it! But that her tender shame     Will not proclaim against her maiden loss,     How might she tongue me! Yet reason dares her no;     For my authority bears a so credent bulk     That no particular scandal once can touch     But it confounds the breather. He should have liv'd,     Save that his riotous youth, with dangerous sense,     Might in the times to come have ta'en revenge,     By so receiving a dishonour'd life     With ransom of such shame. Would yet he had liv'd!     Alack, when once our grace we have forgot,     Nothing goes right; we would, and we would not.         Exit     SCENE V. Fields without the town  Enter DUKE in his own habit, and Friar PETER    DUKE. These letters at fit time deliver me.   [Giving letters]     The Provost knows our purpose and our plot.     The matter being afoot, keep your instruction     And hold you ever to our special drift;     Though sometimes you do blench from this to that     As cause doth minister. Go, call at Flavius' house,     And tell him where I stay; give the like notice     To Valentinus, Rowland, and to Crassus,     And bid them bring the trumpets to the gate;     But send me Flavius first.     PETER. It shall be speeded well.                  Exit FRIAR                               Enter VARRIUS    DUKE. I thank thee, Varrius; thou hast made good haste.     Come, we will walk. There's other of our friends     Will greet us here anon. My gentle Varrius!           Exeunt     SCENE VI. A street near the city gate  Enter ISABELLA and MARIANA    ISABELLA. To speak so indirectly I am loath;     I would say the truth; but to accuse him so,     That is your part. Yet I am advis'd to do it;     He says, to veil full purpose.   MARIANA. Be rul'd by him.   ISABELLA. Besides, he tells me that, if peradventure     He speak against me on the adverse side,     I should not think it strange; for 'tis a physic     That's bitter to sweet end.   MARIANA. I would Friar Peter-                           Enter FRIAR PETER    ISABELLA. O, peace! the friar is come.   PETER. Come, I have found you out a stand most fit,     Where you may have such vantage on the Duke     He shall not pass you. Twice have the trumpets sounded;     The generous and gravest citizens     Have hent the gates, and very near upon     The Duke is ent'ring; therefore, hence, away.         Exeunt