MEASURE FOR MEASURI:

And rather prov'd the sliding of your brother
A merriment than a vice.

Isab. O pardon me my lord; it oft falls out, 680
To have what we would have, we speak not what we

mean:

Isab. True.
Ang. Admit no other way to save his life, 630
s I subscribe not that, nor any other,

in the loss of question) that you, his sister,
ring yourself desir'd of such a person,
ose credit with the judge, or own great place,
Id fetch your brother from the manacles
the all-binding law; and that there were
-zrthly mean to save him, but that either
must lay down the treasures of your body
is supposed, or else let him suffer;
would

you

do ?
. As much for my poor brother, as myself :
s, were I under the terms of death,
ipression of keen whips I'd wear as rubies,
rip myself to death, as to a bed
nging I have been sick for, ere I'd yield
y up to shame.
Then must your brother die,
And 'twere the cheaper way:
were, a brother dy'd at once,
t a sister, by redeeming him,
je for ever.
Vere not you then as cruel as the sentence
have slander'd so?
nominy in ransoin, and free pardon,

houses : lawful mercy
kin to foul redemption.
u seemd of late to make the law a tyrant ;

And

I something do excuse the thing I hate,
For his advantage that I dearly love.

Ang. We are all frail.

Isab. Else let my brother die, " If not a feodary, but only he, " Owe, and succeed by weakness." Ang. Nay, women are frail too. Isab. Ay, as the glasses where they view them.

selyes; Which are as easy broke as they make forms. “Women!--Help heaven! men their creation mar

profiting by them. Nay, call us ten times

frail';"
For we are as soft as our complexions are,
And credulous to false prints.

Ang. I think it well :
And from this testimony of your own sex,
(Since, I suppose, we are made to be no stronger,
Than faults 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 express'd.

701
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

670

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 shall not, Isabel, if you give me love.

Isab. I know, your virtue hath a licence in't, 710
Which seems a little fouler than it is,
To pluck on others.

Ang. Believe me, on mine honour,
My words express my purpose.

Isab. Ha! little honour to be much believed,
And most pernicious purpose !" Seeming, seem-

ing!"
I will proclaim thee, Angelo; look, for't :
Sign me a present pardon for my brother,
Or, with an out-stretch'd throat, I'll tell the world
Aloud, what man thou art.

720
Ang. Who will believe thee, Isabel ?
My unsoild name, the austereness of my life,
My vouch against you, and my place i’ the state,
Will so your accusation over-weigh,
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

I

731

ACT III. SCENE 1.'

The Prison. Enter Duke, CLAUDIO, and Provosta

Duke.

So, then you hope of pardon from lord Angelo ?

Claud. The miserable have no other medicine, But only hope : I have hope to live, and am prepar'd to die. Duke. Be absolute for death; either death of

life, Shall thereby be the sweeter. Reason thus with

life, If I do lose thee, I đo lose a thing, That none but fools would keep: a breath thou art; Servile to all the skiey influences That do this habitation, where thou keep'st,

io Hourly afflict: merely, thou art death's fool ; For him thou labour'st by thy flight to shur, And yet runnest toward him still : Thou art not

noble For all the accommodations, that thou bear'st, Are nurs'd by baseness : Thou art 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;

(s For