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Juliet. I do; and bear the fhame moft patiently. Duke. I'll teach you, how you fhall arraign your confcience,

And try your penitence, if it be found,

Or hollowly put on.

Juliet. I'll gladly learn.

Duke. Love you the man that wrong'd you? Juliet. Yes, as I love the woman that wrong'd him. Duke. So then, it seems, your moft offenceful act Was mutually committed.

Juliet. Mutually.

Duke. Then was your fin of heavier kind than his. Juliet. I do confess it, and repent it, father.

Duke. 'Tis meet fo, daughter; but repent you not, As that the fin hath brought you to this fhame? Which forrow's always tow'rds ourselves, not heav'n; Shewing, we'd not seek heaven, as we love it, But as we ftand in fear.

Juliet. I do repent me, as it is an evil;

And take the fhame with joy.

Duke. There rest.

Your partner, as I hear, muft die to-morrow,
And I am going with inftruction to him;

So, grace go with you! benedicite.

[Exit.

Juliet. Muft die to-morrow! oh, injurious love, That refpites me a life, whofe very comfort

Is ftill a dying horror!

Prov. 'Tis pity of him.

Ang.

SCENE X.

Changes to the Palace.

Enter Angelo.

WHEN I would pray and think, I think

and pray

To fev'ral fubjects: heav'n hath my empty words, Whilft my intention, hearing not my tongue, Anchors on Ifabel. Heav'n's in my mouth,

As if I did but only chew its name;

And in my heart the ftrong and fwelling evil
Of my conception: the ftate, whereon I ftudied,
Is like a good thing, being often read,
Grown fear'd and tedious; yea, my gravity
Wherein (let no man hear me) I take pride,
Could I with boot change for an idle plume
Which the air beats for vain. Oh place! oh form!
How often doft thou with thy cafe, thy habit,
Wrench awe from fools, and tie the wiser fouls
To thy falfe feeming? blood, thou art but blood:
Let's write good angel on the devil's horn;
'Tis not the devil's creft.

Enter Servant.

How now, who's there?

Serv. One Ifabel, a fifter, defires accefs to you. Ang. Teach her the way. Oh heav'ns! Why does my blood thus mufter to my heart, Making both That unable for itself,

And difpoffeffing all my other parts

Of neceffary fitness?

So play the foolish throngs with one that fwoons;
Come all to help him, and so stop the air

By which he should revive: and even fo
The gen'ral fubjects to a well-wifht King

Quit their own part, and in obfequious fondness
Crowd to his prefence, where their untaught love
Muft needs appear offence. How now, fair maid?

Jab.

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Am come to know your pleasure.

Ang. That you might know it, would much better please me,

Than to demand, what 'tis. Your brother cannot live.

lab. Ev'n fo?-Heaven keep your Honour!

[Going.

Ang. Yet may he live a while; and, it may be, As long as you or I; yet he must die. Ifab. Under your fentence?

Ang. Yea.

Ifab. When, I beseech you? that in his reprieve, Longer or fhorter, he may be fo fitted,

That his foul ficken not.

Ang. Ha? fie, these filthy vices! 'twere as good
To pardon him, that hath from nature ftol'n
A man already made, as to remit

Their fawcy sweetness, that do coin heav'n's image
In ftamps that are forbid: 'tis all as easy,
Falfely to take away a life true made;

As to put metal in restrained means,

To make a false one.

Ifab. 'Tis fet down fo in heav'n, but not in earth. Ang. And fay you fo? then I fhall poze 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 fuch fweet uncleanness,
As fhe, that he hath ftain'd?

Ifab. Sir, believe this,

I had rather give my body than my foul.

Ang. I talk not of your foul; our compell'd fins Stand more for number than accompt.

Ifab. How fay you?

Ang. Nay, I'll not warrant that; for I can speak Against the thing I fay. Answer to this:

I, now the voice of the recorded law,
Pronounce a sentence on your brother's life:
Might there not be a charity in fin,
To fave this brother's life?

Ifab. Please you to do't,
I'll take it as a peril to my foul,
It is no fin at all, but charity.

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Ang. Pleas'd you to do't at peril of your foul, Were equal poize of fin and charity.

Ifab. That I do beg his life, if it be fin,
Heav'n, let me bear it! you, granting my suit,
If that be fin, I'll make it my morn-pray'r
To have it added to the faults of mine,
And nothing of your answer.

Ang. Nay, but here me:

Your sense pursues not mine: either, you're ignorant; Or feem fo, craftily; and that's not good.

Ifab. Let me be ignorant, and in nothing good, But graciously to know I am no better.

Ang. Thus wifdom wishes to appear most bright, When it doth tax itself: as these black masks, Proclaim an en-fhield beauty ten times louder, Than beauty could difplay'd. But mark me, To be received plain, I'll speak more gross; Your brother is to die.

Ifab. So.

Ang. And his offence is fo, as it appears Accountant to the law upon that pain. Ifab. True.

Ang. Admit no other way to fave his life. (As I fubfcribe not that, nor any other, But in the lofs of queftion,) that you his fifter, Finding yourself defir'd of such a person, Whofe credit with the judge, or own great place, Could fetch your brother from the manacles Of the all-holding law; and that there were No earthly mean to fave him, but that either You must lay down the treasures of your body To this fuppos'd, or else to let him suffer; What would you do?

Ifab. As much for my poor brother, as myself: That is, were I under the terms of death, Th' impreffion of keen whips I'd wear as rubies, And ftrip myself to death, as to a bed

That

That longing I've been fick for, ere I'd yield
My body up to fhame.

Ang. Then muft your brother die.
Ifab. And 'twere the cheaper way;
Better it were, a brother dy'd at once;
Than that a fifter, by redeeming him,
Should die for ever.

Ang. Were not you then as cruel as the fentence, That you have flander'd fo?

Ifab. As ignominious ranfom, and free pardon, Are of two houses; lawful mercy, sure,

Is nothing kin to foul redemption.

Ang. You feem'd of late to make the law a tyrant, And rather prov'd the fliding of your brother A merriment, than a vice,

Ifab. Oh pardon me, my lord; it oft falls out, To have what we would have, we speak not what we I fomething do excuse the thing I hate,

For his advantage that I dearly love.
Ang. We are all frail.

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Ifab. Ay, as the glaffes where they view themselves; Which are as eafy broke, as they make forms. Women! help heav'n; men their creation mar, In profiting by them: nay, call us ten times frail; 1 Elfe let my brother die.

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If not a feodary, but only he, &c.] This is so obscure, but the Allufion fo fine, that it deferves to be explain'd. A Feodary was one, that in the Times of Vaffalage held Lands of the chief Lord, under the Tenure of paying Rent and Service: Which Tenures were call'd Feuda amongst the Goths. Now, fays Angelo, we are all frail; yes, replies Ifabella; if all Mankind were not Feodaries, who owe what they are to this Tenure of Imbecillity, and who fucceed each other by the fame Tenure, as well as my Brother, I would give him up." The comparing Mankind, lying under the Weight of original Sin, to a Feodary, who owes Suit and Service to his Lord, is, I think, not ill imagined.

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