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What would you do?

ISAB. 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 strip myself to death, as to a bed

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

ANG. Then must your brother die.

ISAB. 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 sentence,

That you have flander'd fo?

ISAB. Ignominy in ranfor, and free pardon,
Are of two houses; lawful mercy, fure,

Is nothing kin to foul redemption.

ANG. You feem'd of late to make the law a tyrant,
And rather proy'd the sliding of your brother

A merriment, than a vice.

ISAB. Oh pardon me, my lord; it oft falls out

To have what we would have, we speak not what we mean;

I fomething do excufe the thing I hate,

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

ISAB. Elfe let my brother die.
If not a feodary, but only he,
Owe, and fucceed by weakness.

ANG. Nay, women are frail too.

ISAB. Ay, as the glaffes where they view themselves;

Which are as easy broke, as they make forms.

Women!-help heav'n! men their creation mar,

In profiting by them. Nay, call us ten times frail;

For we are soft as our complexions are,

And credulous to false prints.

ANG. I think it well;

And from this testimony of your own fex,

Since, I fuppofe, we're made to be no stronger, Than faults may fhake our frames, let me be bold, I do arreft your words: Be That you are,

That is, a woman, if you're more you're none; be one, as you are well exprefs'd

If

you

By all external warrants, shew it now,

By putting on the destin❜d livery.

ISAB. I have no tongue but one.

Gentle my lord,

Let me intreat you, speak the former language.

ANG. Plainly conceive, I love you.

ISAB. My brother did love Juliet;

And you tell me, that he shall die for it.

ANG. He fhall not, Isabel, if you give me love.
ISAB. I know, your virtue hath a licence in't,
Which feems a little fouler than it is,

To pluck on others.

ANG. Believe me,

on mine honour,

My words express my purpose.

ISA B. Ha! little honour to be much believ'd,

And most pernicious purpose !—seeming, feeming
I will proclaim thee, Angelo; look for't
Sign me a prefent pardon for my brother,

Or, with an out-stretch'd throat, I'll tell the world
Aloud, what man thou art.

ANG. Who will believe thee, Ifabel?

My unfoil'd name, th' aufterenefs of my life,
My vouch against you, and my place i' th' ftate,

Will fo your accufation over weigh,

That you shall stifle in your own report,
And smell of calumny. I have begun;
And now I give my fenfual race the rein.
Fit thy consent to my sharp appetite,
Lay by all nicety, and prolixious blushes,
That banish what they fue 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 ling ring fufferance. Answer me to-morrow ;
Or by th' affection that now guides me most,
I'll prove a tyrant to him. As for you,
Say what you can; my false o'erweighs your true.
ISAB. To whom should I complain? did I tell this,
Who would believe me? O moft perilous mouths,
That bear in them one and the felf fame tongue,
Either of condemnation or approof;
Bidding the law make curtly to their will;
Hooking both right and wrong to th' appetite,
To follow, as it draws. I'll to my brother.
Tho' he hath fall'n by prompture of the blood,
Yet hath he in him fuch a mind of honour,
That had he twenty heads to tender down
On twenty bloody blocks, he'd yield them up;
Before his fifter fhould her body stoop
To fuch abhorr'd pollution.

Then, Habel, live chafte; and, brother die;
More than our brother is our chastity.
I'll tell him yet of Angelo's request;

[Exit.

And fit his mind to death, for his foul's reft.

[Exit.

ACT III. SCENE I.

The prison.

Enter Duke, Claudio, and Provost.

DUKE..

So, then you've 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 abfolute for death: or death, or life,

Shall thereby be the fweeter. Reason thus with life;
If I do lose thee, I do lofe a thing,

That none but fools would keep; a breath thou art,
Servile to all the fkiey influences

That do this habitation, where thou keep'st,
Hourly afflict; merely thou art death's fool;

For him thou labour'ft by thy flight to shun,

And yet runn'ft tow'rd him ftill. 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 doft fear the foft and tender fork
Of a poor worm. Thy best of rest is sleep,
And that thou oft provok'ft; yet grofly fear'st
Thy death, which is no more. Thou'rt not thyfelf;
For thou exift'st on many a thousand grains,
That iffue out of duft. Happy thou art not;
For what thou haft not, ftill thou striv't to get;
And what thou haft forget'ft. Thou art not certain:
For thy complexion shifts to strange effects,
After the moon. If thou art rich, thou'rt poor;
For, like an afs, whofe back with ingots bows,
Thou bear'ft thy heavy riches but a journey,

And death unloadeth thee. Friend haft thou none;
For thy own bowels, which do call thee fire,
The meer effufion of thy proper lions,

Do curfe the Gout, Serpigo, and the Rheum,

For ending thee no fooner. Thou haft nor youth, nor age;
But as it were an after dinner's fleep,

Dreaming on both; for all thy bleffed youth
Becomes as aged, and doth beg the alms

Of palfied eld; and when thou'rt old and rich,
Thou haft neither heat, affection, limb, nor beauty
To make thy riches pleafant. What's yet in this,
That bears the name of life? yet in this life
Lye hid more thousand deaths; yet death we fear,
That makes thefe odds all even.

CLAUD. I humbly thank you.

To fue to live, I find, I feek to die;

And, seaking death, find life; let it come on.

Enter Ifabella.

ISAB. What, ho? peace here, grace and good company! PROV. Who's there? come in: the with deferves a welcome. DUKE. Dear Sir, ére long I'll vifit you again.

CLAUD. Most holy Sir, I thank you.

ISA B. My business is a word, or two, with Claudio.

PROV. And very welcome.

fifter.

Look, Signior, here's your

DUKE. Provost, a word with you.

PROV. As many as you please.

DUKE. Bring them to speak where I may be conceal'd,

Yet hear them.

[Exeunt Duke and Provost.

SCENE II.

CLAUD. Now, fifter, what's the comfort?

ΤΑ

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