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From fafting maids, whose minds are dedicate
To nothing temporal.

Ang. Well; come to-morrow.

Lucio. Go to; 'tis well; away.

Lab. Heav'n keep your Honour safe!
Ang. Amen:

For I am that way going to temptation,
Where prayers cross,

Ifab. At what hour to-morrow
Shall I attend your lordship?
Ang. At any time 'fore noon.

Jab. Save your Honour!

[Exeunt Lucio and Ifabella.

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Ang.

ROM thee; even from thy virtue.
What's this? what's this? is this her fault,
or mine?

The tempter, or the tempted, who fins moft?
Not fhe; nor doth fhe tempt; but it is I,
That, lying by the violet in the fun,
Do, as the carrion does, not as the flower,
Corrupt with virtuous season. Can it be,
That modefty may more betray our sense,
Than woman's lightnefs? having wafte ground
enough,

Shall we defire to raze the fanctuary,

And pitch our evils there? oh, fie, fie, fie!
What doft thou? or what art thou, Angelo?
Doft thou defire her foully, for those things
That make her good? Oh, let her brother live:
Thieves for their robbery have authority,

When judges fteal themfelves. What? do I love her,
That I defire to hear her speak again,

And feaft

her upon eyes? what is't I dream on? Oh, cunning enemy, that, to catch a Saint, With Saints doft bait thy hook! moft dangerous

Is

Is that temptation, that doth goad us on
To fin in loving virtue: ne'er could the ftrumpet,
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, I fmil'd, and wonder'd how.

SCENE

Changes to a Prifon.

IX.

[Exit.

Enter Duke habited like a Friar, and Provoft. Duke. H. Prou. I'am the Provoft; what's your will, AIL to you, Provoft! fo, I think, you are.

good Friár?

Duke. Bound by my charity, and my bleft Order, I come to vifit the afflicted spirits

Here in the prifon; do me the common right
To let me fee them, and to make me know
The nature of their crimes; that I may minifter
To them accordingly.

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

needful.

Enter Juliet.

Look, here comes one; a gentlewoman of mine,
*Who falling in the flames of her own youth,
Hath blifter'd her report: fhe is with child;
And he, that got it, fentenc'd: a young man
More fit to do another fuch offence,

Than die for this.

Duke. When muft he die?

Prov. As I do think, to-morrow.

I have provided for you; ftay a while, [To Juliet. And you fhall be conducted.

Duke. Repent you, fair one, of the fin you carry?

Who falling in the flaws of her own youth

Hath blifter'd her report:] Who doth not fee that the Integrity of

the Metaphor requires we fhould read, flames of her own youth.

Juliet.

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 most offenceful act Was mutually committed.

Juliet. Mutually.

Duke. Then was your fin of heavier kind than his. Juliet. I do confefs 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 reft.

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

So,

u! benedicite.

grace go with you

[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.

SCENE

X.

Changes to the Palace.

Enter Angelo.

Ang. 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 wifer 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 access 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?

Ifab.

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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.

Ifab. 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 sentence?

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 vicès! 'twere as good To pardon him, that hath from nature ftoľn A man already made, as to remit

Their fawcy fweetnefs, 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 falfe one.

Ifab. 'Tis fet down fo in heav'n, but not in earth. Ang. And fay you fo? then I shall 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 sweet 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 fpeak 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.

C 6

Ang.

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