Ang. Who will believe thee, Isabel? My unsoil'd name, th' austereness of my life, My vouch against you, and my place i' the State, Will so your accusation overweigh, That you shall stifle in your own report, And smell of calumny. I have begun, And now I give my sensual race the rein : Fit thy consent to my sharp appetite : Lay by all nicety and prolixious blushes That banish what they sue for; redeem thy brother By yielding up thy body to my will, Or else he must not only die the death, But thy unkindness shall his death draw out To lingering sufferance. Answer me to-morrow, Say what you can, my false o'erweighs your true. [Exit Isab. To whom should I complain? Did I tell this Who would believe me? O perilous mouths! Bidding the law make court'sy to their will, To such abhorr'd pollution. Then, Isabel, live chaste, and, brother, die: I'll tell him yet of Angelo's request, And fit his mind to death, for his soul's rest. [Exit. S ACT III. SCENE I. - A Room in the Prison. Enter DUKE, as a Friar, CLAUDIO, and Provost. DUKE. O then, you hope of pardon from Lord Angelo ? Claud. The miserable have no other medicine, But only hope. I've hope to live, and am prepar'd to die. Duke. Be absolute for death; either death or life That dost this habitation where thou keep'st Of a poor worm: thy best of rest is sleep, Thou bear'st thy heavy riches but a journey, 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, Of palsi'd eld; and when thou art old and rich, To make thy riches pleasant. That bears the name of life? Lie hid more thousand deaths; yet death we fear, That makes these odds all even. Claud. I humbly thank you. To sue to live, I find, I seek to die, And seeking death, find life: let it come on. Isab. [Without.] What, hoa! Peace here; grace Prov. and good company! Who's there? come in: the wish deserves a welcome. Enter ISABELLA. Duke. Dear sir, ere long I'll visit you again. Claud. Most holy sir, I thank you. Isab. My business is a word or two with Claudio. Prov. And very welcome. Look, signior; here's your sister. Duke. Provost, a word with you. As many as you please. Duke. Bring me to hear them speak, where I may be conceal'd. [Exeunt DUKE and Provost. Claud. Now, sister, what's the comfort? Isab. Why, as all comforts are; most good, most good indeed. Lord Angelo, having affairs to Heaven, Intends you for his swift ambassador, To-morrow you set on. Claud. Is there no remedy? Isab. None, but such remedy, as to save a head, To cleave a heart in twain. But is there any? Isab. 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. Claud. Perpetual durance ? Isab. Ay, just; perpetual durance: a restraint Though all the world's vastidity you had To a determin'd scope. But in what nature? Isab. In such a one as, you consenting to't, Would bark your honour from that trunk you bear, And leave you naked. Claud. Let me know the point. Isab. O! I do fear thee, Claudio; and I quake Lest thou a feverous life should'st entertain, And six or seven winters more respect, Than a perpetual honour. Dar'st thou die ? And the poor beetle, that we tread upon, In corporal sufferance finds a pang as great As when a giant dies. Claud. Why give you me this shame ? Think you I can a resolution fetch From flowery tenderness? If I must die, I will encounter darkness as a bride, And hug it in mine arms. Isab. There spake my brother: there my father's grave Did utter forth a voice. Yes, thou must die: In base appliances. This outward-sainted deputy, His filth within being cast, he would appear A pond as deep as Hell. Claud. The priestly Angelo? Isab. O, 'tis the cunning livery of Hell, The damned'st body to invest and cover In priestly guards! Dost thou think, Claudio! If I would yield him my virginity, Thou might'st be freed. Claud. O, Heavens! it cannot be. Isab. 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. Claud. Thou shalt not do't. Isab. O! were it but my life, I'd throw it down for your deliverance As frankly as a pin. Thanks, dear Isabel. Isab. Be ready, Claudio, for your death to-morrow. Claud. Yes. Has he affections in him, That thus can make him bite the law by th' nose, |