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Lucio. Thou’rt right, girl; more o' that.

Isab. That in the Captain's but a cholerick word,
Which in the Soldier is flat Blasphemy.

Lucio. Art avis'd o' that? more on't.
Ang. Why do you put these sayings upon me?

Ifab. Because authority, tho' it err like others,
Hath yet a kind of medicine in it self,
That skins the vice o'th'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 guiltiness, such as is his,
Let it not found a thought upon your tongue
Against my brother's life.

Ang. She speaks, and 'tis such fenso,

sense breeds with it. Fare you well.
Ifab. Gentle, my lord, turn back.
Ang. I will bethink me : come again to morrow.
Isab. Hark, how I'll bribe you: good my lord, turn

Ang. How? bribe me?
Isab. Ay, with such gifts, that heav'ni thall Mare

with you.

Lucio. You had marr'd all else.

Isab. Not with fond fhekles of the tested gold,
Or' stones, whose rate are either rich, or poor,
As fancy values them ; but with true prayers,
That shall be up at heav'n, and enter there,
Ere sun-rise: prayers from preserved souls,
From fafting maids, whose minds are dedicate
To nothing temporal.

Ang. Well; come to mortow.
Lucio. Go to ; 'tis well; away.
Isab. Heav'n keep your Honour safe !

Ang. Amen:
For I am that way going to temptatiob,
Where prayers cross.

Isab. Ac what hour to morrow
Shall I attend your lordship?

Ang. At any time 'fore noon.
Ifab. Save your Honour! [Exe. Lucio and Isabella.


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Ang. From thee; even from thy virtue. What's this? what's this ? is this her fault, or mine? The tempter, or the tempted, who fins most? Not the ; nor doth 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 virtuous season. Can it be, That modelty may more betray our sense, Than woman's lightness ? having waste ground enough, Shall we desire to raze the sanctuary, And pitch our evils there ? oh, fie, fie, fie! What doit thou? or what art thou, Angelo? Dost thou desire her foully, for those things That make her good? Oh, 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 (peak again, And feast upon her eyes? what is't I dream on? Oh, cunning Enemy, that to catch a Saint, With Saints doft bait thy hook! most dangerous Is that temptation, that doth goad us on To fin in loving virtue : ne'er could the strumpet, With all her double vigour, art and nature, Once ftir my temper, but this virtuous maid Subdues me quite: Ever 'till this very Now, When men were fond, Į smil'd, and wonder'd how.


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SCEN E changes to a Prison.

Enter Duke habited like a Friar, and Provost. Duke. AIL to you, Provost ; so, I think, you are.

Prov. I am the Provost; what's your Will,

good Friar? Duke. Bound by my charity, and my blest 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.



Prov. I would do more than that, if more were

Enter Juliet.
Look, here comes one ; a gentlewoman of mine,
Who falling in the flaws of her own youth, (12)
Hath blister'd her report: she is with child;
And he, that got it, sentenc'd : a young man
More fit to do another such offence,
Than die for this.

Duke. "When must he die?

Prov. As I do think, to morrow.
I have provided for you ; stay a while,

[To Juliet. And you shall be conducted.'.

Duke. Repent you, fair one, of the sin you carry? Juliet. I do; and bear the shame most patiently. Duke. I'll teach you, how you shall arraign your

And try your penitence, if it be sound,
Or hollowly put on.

Juliet. I'll gladly learn.
Duke. Love you the man that wrongd you?
Juliet. Yes, as I love the woman that wrong'd him.
Juliet. Mutually.
Duke. Then was your fin of heavier kind than his.
(12) Who falling in the Flaws of her own Youth,

Hath blister'd her Report.] As, blister'd, follows in the second Line, Mr. Warburton ingeniously advises to read Flames in the forft. And it is the Metaphor our Author elsewhere chooses to use. So Polonius in Hamlet.

I do knor,
When the blood burns, how prodigal the Soul

Lends the Tongue Vorus. Thele Blazes, oh, my daughter, &c. And so the Countess, in All's Well ibat ends Well.

Nat'ral Rebellion, done i'th' Blaze of Youth,
When Oyl and Fire, toa sirong for Reason's force,

O'erbears it, and burns on.
And so Prospero, in The Tempest;

do not give Dalliance
Too much the rein; the firongest Oaths are Straru
To'tb' Fire i'ch' blood :
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Juliet. I do confess it, and repent it, father.

Duke. 'Tis meet so, daughter; but repent you not, As that the sin hath brought you to this shame? Which sorrow's always tow'rds our felves, not heaven; Showing we'd not seek heaven, as we love it, But as we stand in fear.

Juliet. I do repent me, as it is an evil;
And take the shame with joy.

Duke. There rest.
Your partner, as I hear, muft die to morrow,
And I am going with instruction to him ;
So grace go with you; benedicite.

Fuliet. Must die to morrow! oh, injurious love,
That respites me a life, whose very comfort
Is still a dying horror!
Prov. 'Tis pity of him.


· SCENE changes to the PALACE.

Enter Angelo. Ang. WHEN I would pray and think, I think To sev'ral subjects : 'heav'n hath my empty words, Whilst my invention, hearing not my tongue, Anchors on Isabel : Heav'n's in my mouth, As if I did but only chew its name; And in my heart the strong and swelling evil Of my conception: the state, whereon I studied, 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 dost thou with thy case, thy habit, Wrench awe from fools, and tie the wiser souls To thy false seeming? blood, thou art but blood : Let's write good Angel on the Devil's horn; 'Tis not the devil's crest.


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Enter Servant.
How now, who's there?

Serv. One Isabel, a sister, desires access to you,

Ang. Teach her the way. Oh heav'ns!
Why does my blood thus muster to my heart,
Making both That unable for it self,
And dilpossessing all my other parts
Of necessary fitness?
So play the foolish throngs with one that swoons
Come all to help him, and so stop the air
By which he should revive; and even so
The gen’ral Subjects to a well-wisht King
Quit their own part, and in obsequious fondness
Crowd to his presence, where their untaught love
Must needs appear offence. How now, fair maid?

Enter Isabella.
Ifab. I 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.

Isab. Ev'n so? - Heav'n keep your Honour! (Going.

Ang. Yet may he live awhile; and, it may be,
As long as you or I; yet he must die.

Isab. Under your Sentence?
Ang. Yea.

Isab. When, I beseech you? that in his reprieve,
Longer or shorter, he may be so fitted,
That his soul ficken not.

Ang. Ha? fie, these filthy vices ! 'twere as good
To pardon him, that hath from nature stol'n
A man already made, as to remit
Their sawcy sweetness, that do coin heav'n's image
In Stamps that are forbid : ’tis all as eafic,
Falsely to take away a life true made;
As to put Mecal in restrained means,
To make a false one.

Isab. 'Tis set down so in heav'n, but not in earth.
Ang. And say you so? then I shall poze you quickly,

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