 Dramatis Personae of Measure for Measure by William Shakespeare. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Dramatis Personae. Vicentio the Duke, read by Craig Franklin. Angelo, Deputy, read by Thomas Peter. Escalus, an ancient lord, read by Sonia. Claudio, a young gentleman, read by Thomas Peter. Lucio, a fantastic, read by Brad. First gentleman, read by Thomas Peter. Second gentleman, read by Craig Franklin. Provost, read by Brad. Thomas, a friar, read by Brad. Peter, a friar, read by Thomas Peter. A justice, read by Craig Franklin. Elbow, a simple constable, read by Brad. Froth, a foolish gentleman, read by Craig Franklin. Pompey, servant to Mr. Sovedan, read by Thomas Peter. Aborcen, an executioner, read by Craig Franklin. Bernadine, a dissolute prisoner, read by Brad. Isabella, sister to Claudio, read by Sonia. Mariana, betrothed to Angelo, read by Sonia. Juliet, beloved of Claudio, read by Sonia. Francisca, a nun, read by Thomas Peter. Mr. Sovedan, a board, read by Sonia. A boy, read by Thomas Peter. A messenger, read by Sonia. Servant to Angelo, read by Craig Franklin. Stage directions, read by Sonia. End of Dramatis Personae. Act one of Measure for Measure by William Shakespeare. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Act one, scene one, an apartment in the Duke's Palace. Enter Duke, Escalus, lords, and attendants. Escalus, my lord. Of government, the properties to unfold would seem in me to affect speech and discourse. Since I am put to know that your own science exceeds in that the list of all advice my strength can give you, there no more remains but that to your sufficiency as your worth is able. And let them work, the nature of our people, our cities, institutions, and the terms for common justice, you're as pregnant in as art and practice have enriched any that we remember. There is our commission from which we would not have you warp, call hither, I say, bid come before us, Angelo. Exit an attendant. What figure of us think you he will bear? For you must know we have with special soul elected him our absence to supply, lent him our terror, dressed him with our love, and given his deputation all the organs of our own power. What think you of it? If any in Vienna be of worth to undergo such ample grace and honour, it is Lord Angelo. Look where he comes. Enter Angelo. O raise the beatings to your grace's will, I come to know your pleasure. Angelo, there is a kind of character in thy life, but to the observer doth thy history fully unfold, thyself and thy belongings, and not thine own so proper as to waste thyself upon thy virtues, they on thee. Heaven doth with us as we with torches do, not like them for themselves, for if our virtues did not go forth of us to all alike as if we had them not, spirits are not finely touched, but to fine issues, nor nature never lends the smallest scruple of her excellence. But like a thrifty goddess, she determines herself the glory of a creditor, both thanks and use. But I do bend my speech to one that can my part in him advertise. Hold, therefore, Angelo, in our remove be thou at full ourself. Mortality and mercy in Vienna live in thy tongue and heart. Old Escalus, though first in question, is thy secondary. Take thy commission. Now, could my lord let there be some more test made of my metal before so noble and so great a figure be stamped upon it? No more evasion. We have, with a leavened and prepared choice, proceeded to you. Therefore take your honours. Our haste from hence is of so quick condition that it prefers itself and leaves unquestioned matters of needful value. We shall write to you, as time and our concernings shall importune how it goes with us, and do look to know what doth before you hear. So fare you well. To the hopeful execution do I leave you of your commissions. Yet give leave, my lord, that we may bring you something on the way. My haste may not admit it, nor need you, on my honour have to do with any scruple. Your scope is as mine own. So to enforce or qualify the laws as to your soul seems good. Give me your hand. I'll privley away, I love the people, but do not like to stage me to their eyes. Though it do well, I do not relish well, they loud applause and avus verment. Nor do I think the man of safe discretion that does affect it, once more, fare you well. The heavens give safety to your purposes. Lead forth and bring you back in happiness. I thank you, fare you well. That is it. I shall desire you, sir, to give me leave to have free speech with you, and it concerns me to look into the bottom of my place. A power I have, but of what strength and nature I am not yet instructed. Hmm, it is so with me. Let us withdraw together, and we may soon our satisfaction have touching that point. Our way it upon your honour. Excellent. Scene two, a street, and a luchio and two gentlemen. If the duke with the other dukes come not to composition with the king of Hungary, why then all the dukes fall upon the king? Heaven grant us its face, but not the king of Hungary. Amen! Thou conclude us like the sanctimonious pirate that went to sea with the ten commandments, that scraped one out of the table. Thou shalt not steal. Aye, that he raised. What, it does a command to command the captain and all the rest from their functions. They put forth the steal. There is not a soldier of us all that in the thanksgiving before make do relish the petition well that prays for peace. I never heard any soldier dislike it. I believe thee, for I think thou never wasst where grace was said. No, a dozen times at least. What, in meter? In any proportion or in any language. I think over in any religion. Aye, why not? Grace is grace, despite of all controversy, as, for example, thou thyself art a wicked villain, despite of all grace. Wow! There went but a pair of shears between us. I grant, as there may between the lists and the velvet, thou art the list. And thou the velvet. Thou art good velvet. Thou art a three-piled piece, I warrant thee. I disleave be a list of an English curse there to be piled, as thou art piled for a French velvet. Do I speak feelingly now? I think thou dost, and, indeed, with most painful feeling of thy speech, I will, out of thine own confession, learn to begin thy health, but, whilst I live, forget to drink after thee. I think I have done myself wrong, have I not? Yes, that thou hast, whether thou art tainted or free. Behold, behold, where madam mitigation comes. I have purchased as many diseases under her roof as come to— To what, I pray? Judge. To three thousand dollars a year. I, and more. A French crown, more. Thou art always figuring diseases in me, but thou art full of error. I am sound. Nay, not as one would say healthy, but so sound as things that are hollow. Thy bones are hollow. Impiety has made a feast of thee. Enter, Mistress Overdome. Oh, now, which of your hips has the most profound sciatica? Well, well, this one yonder arrested and carried to prison was worth five thousand of you all. What is that, I pray thee? Mary, sir, that's Claudio. Señor Claudio. Claudio, the prison. It is not so. Nay, but I know this so. I saw him arrested, saw him carried away, and, which is more, within these three days his head to be chopped off. But, after all this fooling, I would not have it so. How thou sure of this? I am too sure of it, and it is for getting Madame Julieta with child. Believe me, this may be. He promised to meet me two hours since, and he was ever precise in promise-keeping. Besides, you know, it draws something near to the speech we had to such a purpose. But most of all agreeing with the proclamation. Away, let's go learn the truth of it. Exe and Luchio and Gentlemen. Thus, what was the war, what was the sweat, what was the gallows, and what was poverty? I am custom shrunk. Enter, Pompey. How now? What's the news with you? Yonder man has carried a prison. Well, what has he done? A woman. But what is his offence? Groping for trouts in a peculiar river. What? Is there a maid with child by him? No, but there is a woman with maid by him. You have not heard the proclamation, have you? What proclamation, man? All houses in the suburbs of Vienna must be plucked down. And what shall become of those in the city? They shall stand for a seat. They had gone down, too, but that a wise burger put in for them. But shall all our houses of resort in the suburbs be pulled down? To the ground, mistress. Oh, here's a change indeed in the commonwealth. What shall become of me? Calm, fear not you. Good councillors lack no clients. Though you change your place, you need not change your trade. I'll be your tapster still. Courage, there'll be pity taken on you. You that have worn your eyes almost out in the service, you will be considered. What's to do here, Thomas Tapster? Let's withdraw. Here come a senior Claudio, led by the provost to prison. And there's Madame Juliet. Exceunt. Enter provost Claudio, Juliet and officers. Fellow, why dost thou show me thus to the world? Bear me to prison where I am committed. I do it not in evil disposition, but from Lord Angelo by special charge. Thus can the demigod authority make us pay down for our offence by weight the words of heaven. Unhumid well it will. Unhumid will not so. Yet still it is just. Re-enter Lucio and to gentlemen. Why how now, Claudio, whence comes this restraint? From too much liberty, my Lucio. Liberty. A surfeit is the father of much fast, so every scope by the immoderate use turns to restraint. Our natures do pursue, like rats that raven down their proper bane, a thirst to evil. And when we drink, we die. If I could speak so wisely under an arrest, I would send for certain of my creditors, and yet to say the truth I had us leave have the thoppery of freedom as the morality of imprisonment. What's thy offence, Claudio? What but to speak of would offend again. What, is't murder? No. Letchery? Call it so. Away, sir, you must go. One word, good friend. Lucio, a word with you. A hundred, if they'll do you any good. Is letchery so looked after? Thou'stanced with me. Upon a true contract I got possession of Juliet's bed. You know the lady. She is fast my wife, save that we do the denunciation lack of outward order. This we came not to, only for propagation of a dower remaining in the car for her friends, for whom we thought it meet to hide our love till time it made them for us. But it chances the stealth of our most mutual entertainment with character too grosses. Rit on Juliet. With child perhaps? Unhappily, even so. And the new deputy now for the Duke, whether it be the fault and glimpse of newness, or whether that the body public be a horse where on the governor doth ride, who newly in the seat that it may know he can command, lets it straight feel the spur, whether the tyranny be in his place or in his eminence that fills it up. I stagger in. But this new governor awakes me all the unrolled penalties which have, like unscoured armour hung by the wall so long, that nineteen zodiacs have gone round and none of them been worn. And for a name now puts the drowsy and neglected act freshly on me, surely for a name. I warrant it is, and thy head stands so tickle on thy shoulders, that a milk-baid, if she be in love, may sigh it off, send after the Duke and appeal to him. I have done so, and he's not to be found. I pur the elucio. Do me this kind service. This day my sister should the cloister enter, and there receive her approbation. Acquaint her with the danger of my state, and implore her in my voice that she make friends to the strict deputy. Bid herself assay him. I have great hope in that. For in her youth there is a prone and speechless dialect, such as move men. Beside, she hath prosperous art when she will play with reason and discourse, and well she can persuade. I pray she may, as well for the encouragement of the like, which else would stand under grievous imposition, as for the enjoying of thy life, who I would be sorry should be thus foolishly lost at a game of tic-tac. I'll to her. I thank you, good friend Lucio. Within two hours. Come, officer, away. Acquaint. Scene three, a monastery, enter Duke and Friar Thomas. No, Holy Father, throw away that thought. Believe not that the dribbling dart of love can pierce a complete bosom. Why I desire thee to give me secret harbour, hath a purpose more grave and wrinkled than the aims and ends of burning youth. May your grace speak of it. My Holy Sir, none better knows than you how I have ever loved the life removed and held in idle price to haunt assemblies where youth than cost and wiggless bravery keeps. I have delivered to Lord Angelo a man of stricture and firm abstinence, my absolute power, and place here in Vienna. And he supposes me traveled to Poland, for so I have strewn it in the common ear, and so it is received. Now, Pire Sir, you will demand of me why I do this. Gladly, my Lord. We have strict statutes and most biting laws, the needful bits and curbs to headstrong weeds, which for this fourteen years we have let slip, even like an oar-grown lion in a cave that goes not out to pray. Now, as fond fathers having bound up the threatening twigs of birch only to stick it in their children's sight for terror, not to use, in time the rod becomes more mocked than feared. So our decrees, dead to infliction, to themselves are dead, and liberty plucks justice by the nose. The baby beats the nurse and quite a thwart goes all decorum. It rested in your grace to unloose this tied-up justice when you pleased, and it in you more dreadful would have seemed than in Lord Angelo. I do fear too dreadful. Sith, it was my fault to give the people scope. It would be my tyranny to strike and gallom for what I bid them do, for we bid this be done, when evil deeds have their permissive past and not the punishment. So, indeed, my father, I have on Angelo imposed the office who may in the ambush of my name strike home, and yet my nature never in the fight to do in slander. And to behold his sway I will as to a brother of your order visit both prince and people. Therefore, I prithee, supply me with the habit and instruct me how I may formally in person bear me like a true friar. More reasons for this action at our more leisure shall I render you only this one. Lord Angelo is precise, stands at guard with envy, scarce confesses that his blood flows, or that his appetite is more to bread than stone. Hence shall we see, if power change purpose, what our seamers be. Excellent. Scene Four Enter Isabella and Francisca. And have you nuns no father privileges? Are not these large enough? Yes, truly. I speak not as desiring more, but rather wishing a more strict restrained upon the sisterhood, the voterists of Sinclair. Lucio, within. Oh, peace be in this place. Who's that which calls? It is a man's voice. Gentle Isabella, turn you the key and know his business of him. You may, I may not. You are yet unsworn. When you are vowed, you must not speak with men but in the presence of the priores. Then if you speak, you must not show your face. Or if you show your face, you must not speak. He calls again. I pray you answer him. Exit. Peace and prosperity. Who is it that calls? Enter Lucio. Hail Virgin, if you be, as those cheek-roses proclaim you are no less. Can you so stead me as bring me to the sight of Isabella, a novice of this place, and the fair sister to her unhappy brother Claudio? Why her unhappy brother? Let me ask, rather, for I now must make you know that I am that Isabella and his sister. Gentle and fair, your brother kindly greets you, not to be weary with you. He's in prison. Woe me! For what? For that which, if myself might be his judge, he should receive his punishment in thanks. He have got his friend with child. Sir, make me not your story. It is true, I would not. Though it is my familiar sin with mage to seem the lap-wing and to just tongue-fire from heart, play with all, Virgin, so, I hold you as a thing in skyed and sainted by your announcement and immortal spirit, and to be talked with insincerity as with a saint. You do blaspheme the good in mocking me. Do not believe it. Fueness and truth is thus. Your brother and his lover have embraced, as those that feed grow full, as blossoming time, that from the seedness the bare fallow brings to teeming foison. Even so her plenteous womb expresses his full tithe and husbandry. Someone was charled by him. My cousin, Juliet? Is she your cousin? Adoptedly. As schoolmates change their names by vein, though apt affection. She it is. Oh, let him marry her. This is the point. The duke is very strangely gone from hence, for many gentlemen, myself being one, in hand and hope of action. But we do learn by those that know the very nerves of state his givings out were of an infinite distance from his true-meant design. Upon his place, and with full line of his authority, governs Lord Angelo, a man whose blood is very snow-broth, one who never feels the wanton stings and emotions of the sense but doth rebate and blunt his natural edge with profits of the mind, study and fast. He, to give fear to use and liberty, which have for long run by the hideous law as mice by lions, has picked out an act under whose heavy sense your brother's life falls into forfeit. He rests him on it and follows close the rigor of the statute to make him an example. All hope is gone, unless you have the grace by your fair prayer to soften Angelo. And that's my pith of business to ext you and your poor brother. Does he so seek his life? Has sentured him already, and as I hear, the provost hath a warrant for his execution. Lass, what poor ability is in me to do him good? I say the power you have. My power? Lass, I doubt. Our doubts are traitors, and make us lose the good we oft might win by fearing to attempt. Go to Lord Angelo, and let him learn to know when maidens sue men give like gods, but when they weep and kneel, all their petitions are as freely theirs as they themselves widow them. I'll see what I can do. But speedily! I will about it straight, no longer staying, but to give the mother notice of my affair. I humbly thank you. Commend me to my brother. Soon at night I'll send him certain word of my success. I take my leave of you. Good, sir, at you. Excellent. End of Act One Act Two of Measure for Measure by William Shakespeare This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Act Two Scene One A hall in Angelo's house. Enter Angelo, Escalus and the Justice, Provost, Officers and other attendants behind. We must not make a scarecrow of the law, bring it up to fear the birds of prey and let it keep one shape till custom make it their perch and not their terror. Aye, but yet, let us be keen and rather cut a little, then fall and bruise to death. Alas, this gentleman whom I would save had a most noble father. Let but your honour know I believe to be most straight in virtue that in the working of your own affections had time cohere'd with place or place with wishing or that the resolute acting of your blood could have attained the effect of your own purpose whether you had not some time in your life aired in this point which now you censure him and pull to law upon you. It is one thing to be tempted, Escalus, another thing to fall. I not deny the jerry passing on the prisoner's life may in the sworn twelve have a thief or two guiltier than him they try, or it's open mate to justice that justice seizes what know the laws that thieves do pass on thieves. It is very pregnant the jewel that we find we stoop and take it because we see it but what we do not see we tread upon and never think of it. You may not so extenuate his offence for I have had such faults but rather tell me when I that censure him do so offend let mine own judgment pattern at my death and nothing come impartial. So you must die. Be it as your wisdom will. Where is the provost? Here, if it like your honour. See that Claudio be executed by nine tomorrow morning. Bring him his confessor, let him be prepared for that's the utmost of his pilgrimage. Exit provost. Escalus, aside. Well, have and forgive him and forgive us all some rise by sin and some by virtue fall some run from breaks of ice and answer none and some condemned for a fault alone. Enter Elbow and officers with froth and pompey. Come, bring them away. If these be good people in a common wheel that do nothing but use their abuses in common houses, I know no law. Bring them away. How now, sir? What's your name and what's the matter? If it please your honour, I am the poor Duke's constable and my name is Elbow. I do lean upon justice, sir, and do bring in here before your good honour two notorious benefactors. Benefactors? Well, what benefactors are they? Are they not malfactors? If it please your honour, I know not well what they are, but precise villains they are that I am sure of and void of all profanation in the world that good Christians ought to have. This comes of well. He is a wise officer. Go to. What quality are they of? Elbow is your name. Why doth thou not speak Elbow? Hey, cannot, sir. He's out at Elbow. What are you, sir? He, sir, a chapster, sir, parcel-board, one that serves a bad woman whose house, sir, was, as they say, plucked down in the suburbs and now she professes a hot-house which I think is a very ill house, too. How know you that? My wife, sir, whom I detest before heaven and your honour. How? Thy wife? I, sir, whom I thank heaven is an honest woman. Doth thou detest her, therefore? I say, sir, I will detest myself also, as well as she, that this house, if it be not a board's house, it is pity of her life, for it is a naughty house. How dost thou know that, constable? Marry, sir, by my wife, who, if she had been a woman cardinally given, might have been accused in fornication, adultery, and all uncleanliness there. By the woman's means? I, sir, by mistress overdone's means, but as she spit in his face, so she defied him. Sir, if it please your honour, this is not so. Prove it before these violets here, thou honourable man, prove it. Do you hear how he misplaces? Sir, she came in great with child, and longing, saving your honour's reverence, forstood prunes. Sir, we had but two in the house, which at that very distant time stood as it were in a fruit-dish, a dish of some three-pence. Your honours has seen such dishes. They are not china dishes, but very good dishes. Go to, go to. No matter for the dish, sir. No indeed, sir, not of a pin. You are there in on the right, but to the point. I say, this mistress elbow, being, as I say, with child, and being great, bellied, and longing, as I said, for prunes, and having but two in the dish, as I said, Master Froth here, this very man, having eaten the rest, as I said, and as I say, paying for them very honestly, for, as you know, Master Froth, I could not give you three-pence again. No indeed. Very well. You being, then, if you be remembered, cracking the stones of the four-set prunes. So what, indeed? Why, very well. I telling you, then, if you be remembered, that such a one and such a one will pass cure of the thing you want of, unless they kept a very good diet, as I told you. Oh, this is true. Why, very well, then. Come, you are a tedious fool, to the purpose, what was done to Elbow's wife that he hath cause to complain of. Come me to what was done to her. Sir, your honour cannot come to that yet. No, sir. Nor I mean it not. Sir, but you shall come to it by your honour's leave. And I beseech you, look into Master Froth here, sir. A man of four score-pound a year, whose father died at Hallomass. It was not at Hallomass, Master Froth. Oh, how indeed! Why, very well. I hope here be truth. He, sir, sitting, as I say, in a lower chair, sir. It was in the bunch of graves, where indeed you have a delight to sit, have you not? I have, sir, because it's an open room and good for winter. Why, very well, then. I hope here be truth. This will last at a night in Russia when nights are long as there. I'll take my leave, and leave you to the hearing of the cause, hoping you'll find good cause to whip them all. I think no less. Good morrow to your lordship. Exit, Angelo. Now, sir, come on. What was done to Elbow's wife once more? What, sir? There was nothing done to her once. I beseech you, sir, ask him what this man did to my wife. I beseech your honor. Ask me. Well, sir, what did this gentleman do to her? I beseech you, sir, look in this gentleman's face. Good master Thoth, look upon his honor, taste for good purpose. Doth your honor mark his face. Why, sir, very well. Nay, I beseech you, mark it well. Well, I do so. Doth your honor see any harm in his face? Why, no. I'll be supposed upon a book. His face is the worst thing about him. Good then. If his face be the worst thing about him, how could master Thoth do the constable's wife any harm? I will know that of your honor. He's in the right. Constable, what say you to it? First, I did like you. The house is a respected house. Next, this is a respected fellow, and his mistress is a respected woman. By his hands, sir, his wife is a more respected person than any of us all. Violet, thou liest. Thou liest, wicked violet. The time is yet to come that she was ever respected with man, woman, or child. Sir, she was respected with him before he married with her. Which is the wiser here? Justice or iniquity? Is this true? O thou, Ketith. O thou, violet. O thou, wicked Hannibal. I respected with her before I was married to her. If ever I was respected with her, or she with me, let not your worship think me the poor Duke's officer. Prove this, thou wicked Hannibal, or I'll have mine action of battery on thee. If he took you a box on the ear, you might have your action of slander, too. Mary, I thank your good worship for it. What is your worship's pleasure I shall do with this wicked Ketith? Truly, officer, because he has some offenses in him that thou wouldst discover if thou couldst, let him continue in his courses till thou knowest what they are. Mary, I thank your worship for it. Thou seest, thou wicked violet, now what's come upon thee. Thou ought to continue now, thou violet, thou ought to continue. Where were you born, friend? Here in Vienna, sir. Are you of four score pounds a year? Yes, and pleases, sir. So, what trade are you of, sir? A tapster. A poor widow's tapster. Your mistress' name? Mistress Overdon. Not any more than one, husband. Nine, sir. Overdon by the last? Nine. Come hither to me, Master Froth. Master Froth, I would not have you acquainted with tapsters. They will draw you, Master Froth, and you will hang them. Get you gone, and let me hear no more of you. I thank you, worship, for my own part. I came into any room in a taphouse, but I am drawn in. Well, no more of it, Master Froth. Farewell. Exit Froth. Come you hither to me, Master Tapster. What's your name, Master Tapster? Pompey. What else? Bom, sir. Truth. And your bum is the greatest thing about you, so that in the beastliest sense you are Pompey the Great. Pompey, you are partly a bald Pompey. How so ever you colour it in being a tapster. Are you not? Come, tell me true. It shall be the better for you. Truly, sir, I am a poor fellow that would live. How would you live, Pompey? By being a bald? What do you think of the trade, Pompey? Is it a lawful trade? If the law would allow it, sir. But the law will not allow it, Pompey. Nor it shall not be allowed in Vienna. Does your worship mean to guild and splay all the youth of the city? No, Pompey. Truly, sir. In my poor opinion they will to it then. If your worship will take order for the drabs and the knaves, you may not fear the boards. There are pretty orders beginning, I can tell you. It is but heading and hanging. If you head and hang all that offend that way, but for ten years together, you'll be glad to give out a commission from our heads. If this law holds in Vienna ten years, I'll rent the fairest house in it after three pence a bay. If you live to see this come to pass, say Pompey told you so. Thank you, good Pompey. And in requital of your prophecy, hark you. I advise you, let me not find you before me again upon any complaint whatsoever. No, not for dwelling where you do. If I do, Pompey, I shall beat you to your tent and prove a shrewd Caesar to you. In plain dealing, Pompey, I shall have you whipped. So, for this time, Pompey, fare you well. I thank your worship for your good counsel. Aside. But I shall follow it as the flesh and fortune shall better determine. Whip me. No, no, let Carmen whip his jade. The valiant heart is not whipped out of his trade. Exit. Come hither to me, Master Elbow. Come hither, Master Constable. How long have you been in this place of Constable? Seven years and a half, sir. I thought by your readiness in the office you had continued in it some time. You say seven years together? And a half, sir. Alas, it has been great pains to you. Did you wrong to put you so oft upon it? Are there not men in your wards sufficient to serve it? Faith, sir, few of any wit in such matters as they are chosen, they are glad to choose me for them. I do it for some piece of money and go through with all. Look, you bring me in the names of some six or seven, the most sufficient of your parish. To your worship's house, sir. To my house. Fare you well. Exit, Elbow. What's o'clock, thank you? Eleven, sir. I pray you home to dinner with me. I humbly thank you. It grieves me for the death of Claudio. But there's no remedy. Lord Angelou is severe. It is but needful. Mercy is not itself. The doth look so. Pardon is still the nurse of second woe. But yet, poor Claudio, there is no remedy. Come, sir. Excellent. Scene two, another room in the same, and a provost and a servant. He's hearing of a cause. He will come straight. I'll tell him of you. Pray you do. Exit, servant. I'll know his pleasure. Maybe he will relent. Alas, he hath but as offended in a dream all sects, all ages, smack of this vice, and he to die for it. Enter, Angelou. Now what's the matter, provost? Is it your will, Claudio, shall die to-morrow? Did not I tell thee, ye? Hath thou not order? Why dost thou ask again? Lest I might be too rash. Under your good correction I have seen when, after execution, judgment hath repented o'er his doom. Go to, let that be mine. Do you your office, or give up your place, and you shall well be spared. I crave your honour's pardon. What shall be done, sir, with the groaning Juliet? She's very near her hour. Dispose of her did some more of fit a place, and that with speed. Re-enter, servant. Here is the sister of the men condemned. Desires exis to you. Hath he a sister? I, my good lord, a very virtuous maid, and to be shortly of a sisterhood, if not already. Well, let her be admitted. Exit, servant. See you the fornicators be removed. Let her needful but not lavish means. There shall be order for it. Enter Isabella and Luchio. God save your honour. Say a little while. To Isabella. You're welcome. What's your will? I am a woeful suitor to your honour. Please, but your honour hear me. Well, what's your suit? There is a vise that most I do abhor, and most desire should meet the blow of justice, for which I would not plead, but that I must. For which I must not plead, but that I am at war twixt will and will not. Well, the matter. I have a brother is condemned to die. I do beseech you. Let it be his fault, and not my brother. Provost, aside. Heaven give thee moving graces. Condemn the fault, and not the actor of it. Why, every fault's condemned here it be done. Mine were the very cipher of a function to find the faults whose fine stands and record, and let go by the actor. Oh, just but severe law. I had a brother, then. Heaven keep your honour. Lucio, aside to Isabella. Gift not or so. To him again. Intreat him. Kneel down before him. Hang upon his gown. You are too cold. If you should need a pin, you could not with more tamer-tongue desire it. To him, I say. Must he needs die. Maiden, no remedy. Yes. I do think that you might pardon him, and neither heaven nor man grieve at the mercy. I will not do it. But can you, if you would? Look. What I will not, that I cannot do. But might you do it, and do the world no wrong if so your heart were touched with that remorse as mine is to him. He's sentenced. It is too late. Lucio, aside to Isabella. You are too cold. Too late? Why, no. I, that do speak a word, may call it back again. Well, believe this. No ceremony that to great ones longs, not the king's crown, nor the deputed sword, the marshal's truncheon, nor the judge's robe, become them with one half so good grace as mercy does. If he had been as you, and you as he, you would have slipped like him, but he, like you, would not have been so stern. Pray you'd be gone. I would to heaven I had your potency, and you were Isabella. Should it then be thus? No. I would tell what were to be a judge, and what a prisoner. Lucio, aside to Isabella. I touch him, there's the vein. Your brother is a forfeit of the law, and you but waste your words. Alas! Why all the souls that were were forfeit ones, and he that might the vantage best have took found out the remedy. How would you be, if he, which is the top of judgment, should but judge you as you are? Oh, think on that. And mercy then will breathe within your lips like man you made. Be you content, fair maid. It is the law, not I condemn your brother. Were he my kinsman, brother, or my son, it should be thus with him. He must die tomorrow. Tomorrow? Oh, that sudden? Spare him. Spare him. He's not prepared for death. Even for our kitchens we kill the foul of season. Shall we serve heaven with less respect than we do minister to our gross selves? Good. Good, my lord. We thank you. Who is it that hath died for this offence? Thus many have committed it. Lucio, aside to Isabella. I will said. The law hath not been dead, though it hath slept. Those many hath not dared to do that evil if the thirst that did the edict infringe hath answered for his deed. Now it is awake, takes note of what is done, and, like a prophet, looks in a glass that shows what future evils, either now or by remiss in his new conceived, and so in progress to be hatched and born, are now to have no successive degrees, but ere they live to end. Yet show some pity. I show it most of all when I show justice, for then I pity those I do not know which a dismissed offence would aftergoal, and do him right that, answering one foul wrong, leaves not to act another. Be satisfied. Your brother dies tomorrow. Be content. So you must be the first that gives this sentence, and he that suffers. Oh, it is excellent to have a giant strength, but it is tyrannous to use it like a giant. Lucio aside to Isabella. That's well said. Could great men thunder as Jove himself does, Jove would never be quiet, for every pelting petty officer would use his heaven for thunder. Nothing but thunder. Merciful heaven, thou rather with thy sharp and sulfurous bold splits the unwedgable and gnarled oak than the soft myrtle. But man, proud man, dressed in a little brief authority, most ignorant of what he's most assured, his glassy essence, like an angry ape, plays such fantastic tricks before high heaven as make the angels weep. Who with our spleens would all themselves laugh mortal? Lucio aside to Isabella. Oh, to him, to him, Wench, he will relent. He's coming, I perceive it. Provost aside. Pray heaven, she win him. We cannot weigh our brother with our self. Great men may jest with saints, to sweat in them, but in the less foul profanation. Thou to the right girl, more of that. That in the captains but a choleric word, which in the soldier is flat blasphemy. Lucio aside to Isabella. Art of eyes to that, more on't. Why do you put these sayings upon me? Because authority, though it ere like others, hath yet a kind of medicine in itself that skins the vise of the top. Go to your bosom, knock there, and ask your heart what it doth know that's like my brother's fault. If it confess a natural guiltyness such as is his, let it not sound the thought upon your tongue against my brother's life. Angelo aside. She speaks, and she's such sense that my sense breeds with it. Fare you well. Good little my lord, turn back. I will bithink me. Come again to Mora. Hark how I'll bribe you. Good my lord, turn back. How? Bribe me? I, with such gifts that heaven shall share with you, Lucio aside to Isabella. You had marred all else. Not with fond shackles of the tested gold or stones whose rates are either rich or poor as fancy values them, but with true prayers that shall be up at heaven and enter their ear's sunrise, prayers from preserved souls, from fasting mates whose minds are dedicated to nothing temporal. Well, come to me to Mora. Lucio aside to Isabella. Go to Tiswell away. Heaven keep your honour safe. Angelo aside. Amen. For I am that way going to temptation where prayers cross. At what hour tomorrow shall I attend your lordship? At any time for noon. Save your honour. Exe and Isabella, Lucio and Provost. From thee, even from thy virtue. What's this? What's this? Is this her fault? Or mine? The tempter of the tempted. Who sins most? Not she. Nor does she tempt. But it is I that lying by the violet in the sun do as the carrion does, not as the flower, corrupt with the virtuous season. Can it be that modesty may more betray our sense than woman's lightness? Having waste-ground enough shall be desire to raise a sanctuary and pitch our evils there. Fie, fie, fie! What dost thou? What art thou, Angelo? Dost thou desire her foully for those things make her good? Let her brother live. Thieves for their robbery have authority when judges steal themselves. What do I love her that I desire to hear her speak again and feast upon her eyes? What is thy dream on? A cunning enemy that to catch a saint with saints dost bait thy hook. Most dangerous is their temptation that doth gores on to sin in loving virtue. Never could this strumpet with all her double-vigor art and nature one stir my temper, but this virtuous maid subdues me quite. Ever till now, when men were fond, I smiled and wondered how. Exit. Scene three. A room in a prison. Enter severally Duke, disguised as a friar and provost. Hail to you, provost, so I think you are. I am the provost. What's your will, good friar? Bound by my charity and my blessed order, I come to visit the afflicted spirits here in the prison. Do me the common right to let me see them and to make me know the nature of their crimes that I may minister to them accordingly. I would do more than that if more were needful. Enter Juliet. Look, here comes one, a gentlewoman of mine who, falling in the flaws of her own youth, hath blistered her report. She is with child, and he that got it sentenced, a young man more fit to do another such offence than die for this. When must he die? As I do think, to-morrow. To Juliet. I have provided for you. Stay awhile, and you shall be conducted. Repent you, fair one, of the sin you carry. I do, and bear the shame most patiently. I'll teach you how you shall arraign your conscience and try your penitence if it be sound or hollowly put on. I'll gladly learn. Love you the man that wronged you? Yes, as I love the woman that wronged him. So then it seemed your most offenceful act was mutually committed? Mutually. Then was your sin of heavier kind than his? I do confess it, and repent it, Father. Tis meet so, daughter, but lest you do repent, as that the sin hath brought you to the shame which sorrow is always towards ourselves, not heaven, showing we would not spare heaven as we love it, but as we stand in fear. I do repent me, as it is an evil, and take the shame with joy. There rest. Your partner, as I hear, must die tomorrow, and I am going with instruction to him. Grace go with you, then die city. Exit. Must die tomorrow? Our injurious love that respites me alive, whose very comfort is still a dying horror. Tis pity of him. Exit. Scene four. A room in Angelo's house. Enter, Angelo. When I would pray and think, I think and pray it is several subjects. Heaven hath my empty words, hath my invention, hearing not my tongue, anchors on Isabelle. Heaven in my mouth is 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, it's like a good thing, being often read, grown feared and tedious. Yea, my gravity wherein, that no man hear me, I take pride, could I with boot change for an idle plume, which the air beats the vain? Place. Form. How often dost thou with thy case, thy habit wrench all from fools, and tie the wisest 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? One Isabelle, thy sister desires access to you. Teach her the way. O heavens, why dost 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 swarms. Come all to help him, so stop the air by which he should revive, and even so the general, subject to a well-wished king, quits their own part at an obsequious formless crowd to his presence, where their untold love must needs appear offence. Enter Isabelle. How now, fair maid? I am come to know your pleasure. That you might know it would much better please me than to demand what is. Your brother cannot live. Even so, heaven keep your honour. Yet may he live a while, and it may be as long as you were I. Yet he must die. Under your sentence. Yea. When I beseech you, that in his reprieve longer or shorter he may be so fitted that his soul sicken not. Ha! Fie thee 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 and stamps that are forbid. It is all as easy falsely to take away a life true made as to put a metal in restraining means to make a false one. Tis said down so in heaven, but not in earth. Say you, sir. 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 stained. Sir, believe this, I had rather give my body than my soul. I talk not of your soul. Our compelled sins stand more for number than for account. How say you? Nay, I'll not warrant that. For I can speak against the thing I say. Answer 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? Please you to do it. I'll take it as a peril to my soul. It is no sin at all but charity. Please you to do it at peril of your soul equal poise of sin and charity. 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 mourn prayer to have it added to the faults of mine, and nothing of your answer. Nay, but hear me. Your sense pursues not mine. Either you are ignorant or seem so craftily, and that's not good. Let me be ignorant and in nothing good, but graciously to know I am no better. Thus wisdom wishes to appear most bright when it doth tax itself, as these black masks proclaim an unshilled beauty ten times louder than beauty could displayed. But mark me, to be received plain I'll speak more gross. Your brother is to die. And his offence is so, as it appears, accountant to the law upon that pain. True. I admit no other way to save his life. As I subscribe not that nor any other, but in the loss of question, that you with sister, finding your self-desired 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 means to save him, but that either you must lay down the treasures of your body to this supposed, or else to let him suffer. What would you do? As much for my poor brother as myself. That is, were I under the terms of death, the impression of keen whips I'd wear as rubies, and stripped myself to death as to a bed that longing have been sick for, ere I'd yield my body up to shame. Then must your brother die. And were the cheap away. Better it were a brother died at once, than that a sister, by redeeming him, should die for ever. Were not you then as cruel as the sentence that you have slandered, sir? Ignomy in ransom and free pardon are of two houses. Lawful mercy is nothing kin to foul redemption. You seemed of late to make the law tyrant, and rather proved the sliding of your brother a merriment than a vice. Oh, 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. We are all frail. Else let my brother die, if not a feodary, but only he owe and succeed thy weakness. Nay, women are frail too. I, 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 as soft as our complexions are, and credulous to false prints. I think it well. And from this testimony of your own sex, since I suppose we are made to be no stronger than thoughts 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 expressed by all external warrants, now, by putting on the distant livery. I have no tongue but one. Gentle my lord, let me entreat you speak the former language. Flinly conceive. I love you. My brother did love Juliet, and you tell me that he shall die for it. He shall not, Isabel, if you give me love. I know your virtue has a license in it, which seems a little fowler than it is to pluck on others. Believe me, on my honor my words express my purpose. Ha! little honor to be much believed, and most pernicious purpose. Seeming. Seeming I will proclaim thee, Angelo, look for it. Sign me a present pardon for my brother, or with an outstretched throat, I'll tell the world aloud what a man thou art. Who'll believe thee, Isabel, my unsoiled name, the austereness of my life, my vouch against you, and my place in the state, who sow your accusation over way that you shall stifle in your own report in smell of calamny. I have begun. And now I give my sense to erase the rain. Fit thy consent to my sharp appetite, lay by all nicety and prelicious 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 of the death, but thy unkindness shall his death draw out to lingering sufferance. Answer me tomorrow, 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 obeys your true. Exit. To whom should I complain? Did I tell this who would believe me? O perilous mouth that bearing them one and the self same tongue, either of condemnation or proof, bidding the law make curtsy to their will, hooking both right and wrong to the appetite to follow as it draws. I'll do my brother. Though he has fallen by prompture of the blood, yet heth 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 a bored 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. End of Act II. Act III of Measure for Measure by William Shakespeare. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Act III. Scene I. A Room in the Prison. Enter Duke disguised as before, Claudio and Provost. So then, you hope of pardon from Lord Angelo? The miserable have no other medicine but only hope. I have hoped to live and am prepared to die. 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 sky-eye influences. That dust, this habitation, where thou keepst hourly afflict, merely thou art death's fool, for him thou labourst by the flight to Shan and yet runs towards him still. Thou art not noble, for all the accommodations that thou bearest are nursed by baseness. That 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 provokest yet grossly fearst thy death which is no more. Thou art not thyself, for thou existest on many a thousand grains that issue out of dust. Happy thou art not for what thou hast not still thou strivest to get and what thou hast forgettest. Thou art not certain for thy complexion shifts to strange effects after the moon. If thou art rich, thou art poor, for like an ass whose back with ingots bows thou bearest thy heavy riches but a journey and death unloads thee. Friend hast thou none for thine own bows which do call the sire the mere effusion of thy proper loins to curse the gout's sapego and the room for ending thee no sooner. Thou hast no 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 arms of palsy deld 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 more thousand deaths yet death we fear that makes these odds all even. 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 hell? Peace here. Grace and good company. Who's there? Come in. The wish deserves a welcome. Dear sir, here long I will visit you again. Most holy sir, I thank you. Enter Isabella. My business is a word or two with Claudio. And very welcome. Look, senor, here's your sister. Provost, a word with you. As many as you please. Bring me to hear them speak where I may be concealed. Excellent Duke and Provost. Now sister, what's the comfort? 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 leger. Therefore your best appointment make with speed. Tomorrow you set on. Is there no remedy? None but such remedy as to save a head to cleave a heart in twain. But is there any? Yes, brother, you may live. There is a devilish mercy in the judge. If you'll implore it that will free your life but fatter you till death. Perpetual durance? I, just, perpetual durance, a restraint though all the world's vestidity you had to a determined scope. But in what nature? In such a one as you consenting to it would bark your honour from that trunk you bear and leave you naked. Let me know the point. Oh, I do fear thee, Claudio, and I quake lest thou a feverish life should entertain and six or seven winters more respect than a perpetual honour. There is thou die. The sense of death is most in apprehension and the poor beetle that we tread upon in corporal sufferance finds a pain as great as when a giant dies. Why give you me the 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. 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 who settled visage and deliberate word nibs youth in the head and follies does amoe as falcon doth defoul is yet a devil. His filth within being cast he would appear a pond as deep as hell. The Prenzy Angelo! Oh, this the cunning livery of hell the damned's body to invest and cover in Prenzy guards. Thus thou think, Claudio, if I would yield him my virginity thou mightst be freed. Oh heavens, it cannot be. Yes, he would give it thee from this rank of fence so to offend him still. This night's the time that I should do what I abhor to name or else thou dieest to-morrow. Thou shalt not do it. Oh, worried but my life, I'd throw it down for your deliverance as frankly as a pin. Thanks, dear Isabel. Be ready, Claudio, for your death to-morrow. Yes. I see affections in him that thus can make him bite the law by the nose when he would force it. Sure, it is no sin, or of the deadly seven it is the least. Which is the least? If it were damnable he being so wise, why would he for the momentary trick be purdurably find? Oh, Isabel. What says my brother? Death is a fearful thing. And shamed life a-hateful. I but to die and go we know not where to lie in cold obstruction and rot this sensible warm motion to become a needed Claude and the delighted spirit to bathe in fiery floods or to reside in thrilling region of thick-ribbed ice to be imprisoned in the viewless winds and blown with restless violence round about the pendant world or to be worse than worst of those at lawless and in certain 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. A-less. A-less. 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. Oh, you beast. Oh, faithless coward. Oh, dishonest wretch. Will thou be made a man out of my vice? Is not a kind of incest to take life from thine own sister's shame? What should I think? Heaven shield my mother plate my father fair for such a warped slip of wilderness never issued 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. Hey, hear me, Isabel. Oh, fie. Fie, thy sin's not accidental, but a trade. Mercy to thee would prove itself abhorred. Dispest that thou dyest quickly. Oh, hear me, Isabel. Re-enter Duke. Vouch, say for word, young sister, but one word. What is your will? 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. I have no superfluous leisure. My stay must be stolen out of other affairs. But I will attend you a while. Walks apart. Son, I have overheard what hath passed between you and your sister. Angelo had never the purpose to corrupt her. Only he hath made in the say of her virtue to practice 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. Tomorrow you must die. Go to your knees and make ready. Let me ask my sister pardon. I am so out of love with life that I will sue to be rid of it. Hold you there. Farewell. Exit Claudio. Provost, a word with you. Re-enter Provost. What's your will, Father? 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. In good time. Provost, Isabella comes forward. 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 conveyed to my understanding, and by that frailty hath examples for his falling. I should wonder, Angelo, how would you do to content this substitute and to save your brother? I am now going to resolve him. I had rather my brother die by the law than my son should be unlawfully born. But, oh, how much is the good Duke deceived in Angelo. If ever he return and I can speak to him, I will open my lips in vain or discover his government. That shall not be much amiss. Yet, as the matter now stands, he will avoid your accusations. He may trial of you only. Therefore, fasten your ear, my advisings. To the love I have in doing good a remedy presents itself. I do make myself believe that you may most uprightiously do a poor wronged lady a merited benefit. Redeem your brother from the angry law. No stain to your own gracious person and much please the absent Duke. If per adventure he shall ever return to have hearing of this business. Let me hear you speak, Father. I have spirit to do anything that appears not foul in the truth of my spirit. Virtue is bold and goodness never fearful. Have you not heard speak of Marianna, the sister of Frederick the great soldier who miscarried at sea? I have heard of the lady, and good words went with her name. She should, this Angelo, have married, was her finance to her by oath and the nuptial appointed between which time but the contract and limit of the solemnity her brother Frederick was wrecked at sea, having in that perished vessel the dowry of his sister. But, Mark, how heavily this befell to the poor gentleman. There she lost a noble and renowned brother. In his love towards her ever most kind and natural, with him the portion and sinew of her fortune, her marriage dowry with both her combinated husband, this well-seeming Angelo. Can this be so? Did Angelo so leave her? Left her in tears and dried not one of them with his comfort. Swallowed his vows whole, pretending in her discoveries of dishonour. And few bestowed 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. 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? 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. Show me how good-father. This forenamed maid hath yet in her the continuance of her first affection. His unjust and kindness 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 applauseable obedience, agree with his demands to the point. Only refer yourself to this advantage. First, that you stay with him may not belong, that the time may have all shadow and silence in it, and the place answer to convenience. This being granted in course, and now followed all, we shall advise this wronged maid to stead up your appointment. Go in your place. If the encounter acknowledged 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? The image of it gives me content already, and I trust it will grow to a most prosperous perfection. 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 St. 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. I thank you for this comfort. Fare you well, good father. Exeunt severally. Scene two, the street before the prison. Enter on one side Duke disguised as before, on the other Elbow and Offices with Pompey. Nay, if there be no remedy for it, but that will need buy and sell men and women like beasts, we shall have all the world drink brown and white bastard. Oh heavens, what stuff is here? It was never merry world since of two usuries, the merriest was put down, and the words were allowed by order of law a third gown to keep him warm, and farred with fox and lambskins too to signify the craft, being richer than innocence he stands through the facing. Come your way sir, bless you, good father Friar. And you, good brother Father, what offence had this man made you sir? 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. Fie sir, a board, a wicked board, the evil that thou causest to be done, this is thy means to live. Do thou but think what it is to cram a moor or clothe a back from such a filthy vice. Say to thyself, from there abominable and beastly touches, I drink, I eat, array myself and live. Canst thou believe thy living is a life? So stinkingly dependent. Go mend, go mend. And they doth stink in some sort sir, but yet sir I would prove. Nay, if the devil hath 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. He must be for the deputy sir, he has given him warning, the deputy cannot abide a whore-master, if he be a whore-monger and comes before him, he were as good go a mile on his errand. That we were all, as some would seem to be, from our faults as faults from seeming free. His neck will come to your waist, a cord sir. As per comfort. I cry, Bale, here is a gentleman and a friend of mine. Enter Luccio. How now, noble Pompey, what at the wheels of Caesar, art thou led in triumph? What is there none of Pygmalion's ivages newly made woman to be head now, for putting the hand in the pocket and extracting it clutched? What reply, ha? What saith thou to this tune matter and method, is not drowned the last rain, ha? What saith 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. Still thus and thus still worse. How doth my dear morsel thy mistress procure she still, ha? True, sir, she hath eaten up all her beef and she is herself in the tub. Why, it is good, it is the right of it. It must be so. Ever your fresh whore and your powdered bard, an unshunned consequence, it must be so. Art going to prison, Pompey? Yes, faith, sir. Why, it is not a miss, Pompey. Farewell, go, say I sent thee thither. For debt, Pompey, or how? For being a bard, for being a bard. Well, then, imprison him. If imprison it be the due of a bard, why, tis is right. Bard is he doubtless and of antiquity, too. Bard-born. Farewell, good Pompey. Commend me to the prison, Pompey. You will turn good husband now, Pompey. You will keep the house. I hope so. Your good worship will be my bail. No, indeed I will not, Pompey. It is not the where. I will pray, Pompey, to increase your bondage. If you take it not patiently why your metal is the more, add you, trusty Pompey. Bless you, friar. And you? Does Bridget paint still, Pompey, ha? Come your way, sir, come. You will not bail me then, sir? Then, Pompey, nor now. What news abroad, friar, what news? Come your way, sir, come. Go to Kettle, Pompey, go. Exeunt, Albo, Pompey, and officers. What news, friar, of the Duke? I know none. Can you tell me of any? Some say he is with the emperor of Russia. Other some he is in Rome. But where is he, think you? I know not where, but wheresoever I wish him well. 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 it. He does well in it. A little more lenity to letchery would do no harm in him. Something too crabbed that way, friar. It is too general a vice, and severity must cure it. 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? How should he be made, then? Some report a sea-maid spawned him. Some that he was begot between two stock-fishers. But it is certain that when he makes water his urine is congealed ice. That I know to be true. And he is a motion generative. That's infallible. You are pleasant, sir, and speak apace. Why, what a ruthless thing is this in him for the rebellion of a cod-piece to take away the life of a man. Would the Duke that his absent have done this? ere he would have hanged a man for the getting a hundred bastards he would have paid for the nursing of a thousand. He had some feeling of the sport he knew the service and that instructed him to mercy. I never heard the absent Duke much detected for women. He was not inclined that way. Oh, sir, you are deceived. It is not possible. Not the Duke? Yes, your beggar of fifty. And his use was to put a ducket in a clack-dish. The Duke had crotchets in him. He would be drunk, too. That'd let me inform you. You do him wrong, surely. Sir, I was an inward of his. A shy fellow was the Duke and I believe I know the cause of his withdrawing. This, I pretty, might be the cause. No, pardon. It is a secret must be locked 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. Wise? Why, no question, but he was. A very superficial, ignorant, unwaying fellow. 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 testimonyed in his own bringings forth. And he shall appear to the envious, a scholar, a statesman, and a soldier. Therefore you speak unskillfully. Or, if your knowledge be more, it is much darkened in your malice. I know him and I love him. Love talks with better knowledge and knowledge with dearer love. Come, sir, I know what I know. I can hardly believe that since you know not what you speak. But if ever the Duke will return as our prayers are he may, let me desire you to make your answer before him. If it be honest you have spoken, you have courage to maintain it. I am bound to call upon you and I pray you. Your name? Sir, my name is Lucio, well known to the Duke. He shall know you better, sir, if I may live to report you. I fear you not. Oh! you hope the Duke will return no more, or you imagine me too unhurtful and opposite. But indeed I can do you little harm. You'll force wear this again. I'll be hanged first, though what deceived him, be friar, but no more of this. Can't thou tell if Claudio die tomorrow or no? Why should he die, sir? Why? Fulfilling a bottle with a tundish. I would the Duke we talk of will return to gain. This ungenitored 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 ever bring them to light, would he were returned. Mary this Claudio is condemned for untrusting. Farewell, good friar. I pretty 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. No might, no greatness in mortality. Consentious scrape back wounding Calumny. The whitest virtue strikes what king so strong can tie the gal up in the slanderous tongue. But who comes here? Enter Ascalus, provost, and officers with mistress overdone. Go away with her to prison. Good my lord, be good to me. Your honour is accounted a merciful man, good my lord. Double and treble at munition, and still forfeit in the same kind. This would make mercy swear and play the tyrant. A bard of eleven years' continuance may it please your honour. My lord, this is one lecherous information against me. Mistress Kate Keepdown was with child by him in the Duke's time. He promised 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. That fellow is a fellow of much licence. Let him be called before us, away with her to prison. Go to no more words. Exit and officers with mistress overdone. Provost, my brother Angelo will not be altered. Claudio must die tomorrow. Let him be furnished with divines, and have all charitable preparation. If my brother wrought by my pity, it should not be so with him. So please you, this friar hath been with him, and advised him for the entertainment of death. Good even, good father. Bliss and goodness on you. Of whence are you? 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 sea in special business from his holiness. What news abroad in the world? 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 it is as dangerous to be aged in any kind of course. As it is virtuous to be constant in any undertaking. There is scarce truth enough alive to make society secure, but security enough to make fellowships accursed. 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? One that, above all other strives, contended especially to know himself. What pleasure was he given to? Rather rejoicing to see another marry, than marry at anything which profess to make him rejoice. A gentleman of all temperance. But leave we him to his events, with a prayer they may prove prosperous. Let me desire to know how you find Claudio prepared. I am made to understand that you have lent him visitation. 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 is he resolved to die. You have paid the heavens your function, and the prison the very depth of your calling. I have laboured for the poor gentleman to the extremest chore of my modesty. But my brother, Justice, have I found so severe that he has forced me to tell him he is indeed justice. If his own life answer the straightness of his proceedings, it shall become him well. Wherein, if he chance to fail, he hath sentenced himself. I am going to visit the prisoner. Fair you well. Peace be with you. Exeunt Ascolis and Provost. He who the sword of heaven will bear, should be as holy as severe. Patten 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 many likeness made in crimes, making practice on the times. To draw with idle spider strings, most ponderous and substantial things. Craft against vice I must apply, with Angelo to night shall lie, his old betrothed but despised, so disguised shall, by thee disguised, pay with falsehood, false exacting, and perform an old contracting. Exit. End of Act 3.