Duke. You have told me too many of him already, sir, if they be true; if not true, none were enough.

Lucio. I was once before him for getting a wench with child.

Duke. Did you such a thing?

Lucio. Yes, marry, did I; but I was fain to forswear it: they would else have married me to the rotten medlar.

Duke. Sir, your company is fairer than honest. Rest you well.

Lucio. By my troth, I'll go with thee to the lane's end. If bawdy talk offend you, we'll have very little of it. Nay, friar, I am a kind of burr; I shall stick. [Exeunt.

SCENE IV.-A Room in ANGELO's House.

Enter ANGELO, and ESCALUS.

Escal. Every letter he hath writ hath disvouch'd other.

Ang. In most uneven and distracted manner. His actions show much like to madness: pray heaven, his wisdom be not tainted! And why meet him at the gates, and re-deliver our authorities there? Escal. I guess not.

Ang. And why should we proclaim it in an hour before his ent'ring, that if any crave redress of injustice, they should exhibit their petitions in the street?

This deed unshapes me quite, makes me unpregnant,
And dull to all proceedings. A deflowered maid.
And by an eminent body, that enforc'd
The law against it!-But that her tender shame
Will not proclaim against her maiden loss,
How might she tongue me! Yet reason dares
her, no.

For my authority bears of a credent bulk
That no particular scandal once can touch,
But it confounds the breather. He should have
liv'd,

Save that his riotous youth, with dangerous sense.
Might in the times to come have ta'en revenge,
By so receiving a dishonour'd life

With ransom of such shame. Would yet he had liv'd!

Alack! when once our grace we have forgot, Nothing goes right: we would, and we would not.

[Erit.

SCENE VI.-Street near the City Gate.

Enter ISABELLA, and MARIANA. Isab. To speak so indirectly, I am loath: I would say the truth; but to accuse him so, That is your part; yet I'm advis'd to do it, He says, to veil full purpose.

Mari.
Be rul'd by him.
Isab. Besides, he tells me, that if peradventure
He speak against me on the adverse side,

I should not think it strange; for 'tis a physic,
That's bitter to sweet end.

Mari. I would, friar Peter-
Isab

O, peace! the friar is come.
Enter Friar PETER.

F. Peter. Come; 1 have found you out a stand

SCENE I.-A public Place near the City Gate. MARIANA, (veil'd,) ISABELLA, and PETER, at a distance. Enter at several doors, DUKE, VARRIUS, Lords: ANGELO, ESCALUS, LUCIO, Provost, Officers, and Citizens.

Duke. My very worthy cousin, fairly met:— Our old and faithful friend, we are glad to see you. Ang. and Escal. Happy return be to your royal grace!

Duke. Many and hearty thankings to you both. We have made inquiry of you; and we hear Such goodness of your justice, that our soul Cannot but yield you forth to public thanks, Forerunning more requital.

Ang.

You make my bonds still greater. Duke. O! your desert speaks loud; and I should wrong it,

To lock it in the wards of covert bosom,
When it deserves with characters of brass
A forted residence 'gainst the tooth of time,
And razure of oblivion. Give me your hand,
And let the subject see, to make them know
That outward courtesies would fain proclaim
Favours that keep within.-Come, Escalus;
You must walk by us on our other hand,
And good supporters are you.

Friar PETER, and ISABELLA come forward. F. Peter. Now is your time. Speak loud, and kneel before him.

Isab. Justice, O royal duke! Vail your regard
Upon a wrong'd, I would fain have said, a maid!
O worthy prince! dishonour not your eye
By throwing it on any other object,

Till you have heard me in my true complaint,
And given me justice, justice, justice, justice!
Duke. Relate your wrongs: in what? by whom?

Be brief.

Here is lord Angelo shall give you justice:
Reveal yourself to him.
Isab.
O, worthy duke!
You bid me seek redemption of the devil.
Hear me yourself; for that which I must speak
Must either punish me, not being believ'd,

strange.

Isab. Most strange, but yet most truly, will 1 speak.

That Angelo's forsworn, is it not strange?
That Angelo's a murderer, is't not strange?
That Angelo is an adulterous thief,

An hypocrite, a virgin-violator,
Is it not strange, and strange?
Duke.

Nay, it is ten times strange.
Isab. It is not truer he is Angelo,
Than this is all as true as it is strange:
Nay, it is ten times true; for truth is truth
To th' end of reckoning.

Duke.
Away with her.-Poor soul!
She speaks this in th' infirmity of sense.
Isab. O prince, I conjure thee, as thou believ'st
There is another comfort than this world,
That thou neglect me not, with that opinion
That I am touch'd with madness: make not impos-
sible

That which but seems unlike. 'Tis not impossible,
But one, the wicked'st caitiff on the ground,
May seem as shy, as grave, as just, as absolute,
As Angelo; even so may Angelo,

In all his dressings, characts, titles, forms,
Be an arch-villain. Believe it, royal prince:
If he be less, he's nothing; but he's more,
Had I more name for badness.

No, my good lord;

Duke. You were not bid to speak.
Lucio.

Nor wish'd to hold my peace.
Duke.
I wish you now, then:
Pray you, take note of it; and when you have
A business for yourself, pray heaven, you then
Be perfect.

Lucio. I warrant your honour.

Duke. The warrant's for yourself: take heed to it.

Isab. This gentleman told somewhat of my tale. Lucio. Right.

Duke. It may be right; but you are in the wrong To speak before your time.-Proceed. Isab.

I went

To this pernicious, caitiff deputy.
Duke. That's somewhat madly spoken.
Isab.

The phrase is to the matter.

Pardon it:

Duke. Mended again: the matter?-Proceed. Isab. In brief,-to set the needless process by, How I persuaded, how I pray'd, and kneel'd, How he refell'd me, and how I repli'd,

(For this was of much length,) the vile conclusion
I now begin with grief and shame to utter.
He would not, but by gift of my chaste body
To his concupiscible intemperate lust,

Release my brother; and, after much debatement,
My sisterly remorse confutes mine honour,

And I did yield to him. But the next morn betimes,

His purpose surfeiting, he sends a warrant
For my poor brother's head.

Duke.
This is most likely.
Isab. O, that it were as like, as it is true!
Duke. By heaven, fond wretch! thou know'st
not what thou speak'st,

Or else thou art suborn'd against his honour,
In hateful practice. First, his integrity
Stands without blemish: next, it imports no reason,
That with such vehemency he should pursue
Faults proper to himself: if he had so offended,
He would have weigh'd thy brother by himself,
And not have cut him off. Some one hath set you

On him so near us? This needs must be a practice. Who knew of your intent, and coming hither? Isab. One that I would were here, friar Lodowick.

Duke. A ghostly father, belike.-Who knows that Lodowick?

Lucio. My lord, I know him: 'tis a meddling friar;

I do not like the man: had he been lay, my lord,
For certain words he spake against your grace
In your retirement, I had swing'd him soundly.
Duke. Words against me? This a good friar,
belike!

And to set on this wretched woman here
Against our substitute!-Let this friar be found.
Lucio. But yesternight, my lord, she and that
friar

I saw them at the prison. A saucy friar,
A very scurvy fellow.

F. Peter.

Blessed be your royal grace'

I have stood by, my lord, and I have heard
Your royal ear abus'd. First, hath this woman
Most wrongfully accus'd your substitute,
Who is as free from touch or soil with her,
As she from one ungot.
Duke.
We did believe no less.
Know you that friar Lodowick, that she speaks of?
F. Peter. I know him for a man divine and holy;
Not scurvy, nor a temporary meddler,
As he's reported by this gentleman;

And, on my trust, a man that never yet
Did, as he vouches, misreport your grace.

Lucio. My lord, most villainously: believe it.
F. Peter. Well; he in time may come to clear
himself,

But at this instant he is sick, my lord,
Of a strange fever. Upon his mere request,
Being come to knowledge that there was complaint
Intended 'gainst lord Angelo, came I hither,
To speak, as from his mouth, what he doth know
Is true, and false; and what he with his oath,
And all probation, will make up full clear,
Whensoever he's convented. First, for this woman,
To justify this worthy nobleman,

So vulgarly and personally accus'd,
Her shall you hear disproved to her eyes,
Till she herself confess it.
Duke.

Good friar, let's hear it.
[ISABELLA is carried off guarded; and
MARIANA comes forward.

Do you not smile at this, lord Angelo?—
O heaven, the vanity of wretched fools!—
Give us some seats.-Come, cousin Angelo;
In this I'll be impartial: be you judge
Of your own cause.-Is this the witness, friar?
First, let her show her face, and after speak.
Mari. Pardon, my lord, I will not show my face.
Until my husband bid me.

Duke.

Mari. No, my lord.

What, are you married?

Duke.

Are you a maid?

And is this all!

Then, O! you blessed ministers above,
Keep me in patience; and, with ripen'd time,
Unfold the evil which is here wrapt up
In countenance!-Heaven shield your grace from

woe,

As I, thus wrong'd, hence unbelieved go!

Duke. I know, you'd fain be gone.—An officer! To prison with her.-Shall we thus permit A blasting and a scandalous breath to fall

Are nothing then: neither maid, widow, nor wife?
Lucio. My lord, she may be a punk; for many
of them are neither maid, widow, nor wife.
Duke. Silence that fellow: I would, he had some

cause

To prattle for himself.

Lucio. Well, my lord.

Mari. My lord, I do confess I ne'er was married; And, I confess, besides, I am no maid:

I have known my husband, yet my husband knows

not

That ever he knew me.

Lucio. He was drunk then, my lord: it can be no better.

Duke. For the benefit of silence, 'would thou wert so too!

Lucio. Well, my lord.

Duke. This is no witness for lord Angelo. Mari. Now I come to't, my lord.

She that accuses him of fornication,

In self-same manner doth accuse my husband; And charges him, my lord, with such a time, When, I'll depose, I had him in mine arms, With all th' effect of love.

Ang.

Charges she more than me? Mari. Not that I know. Duke. No? you say, your husband. Mari. Why, just, my lord, and that is Angelo, Who thinks, he knows, that he ne'er knew my body, But knows, he thinks, that he knows Isabel's. Ang. This is a strange abuse.-Let's see thy face.

Mari. My husband bids me; now I will unmask. [Unveiling.

This is that face, thou cruel Angelo,
Which once, thou swor'st, was worth the looking

on: