Ifab. Moft ftrange, but yet moft truly, will I speak;
That Angelo's forfworn, is it not ftrange?
That Angelo's a murth'rer, is't not strange?
That Angelo is an adult'rous thief,
An hypocrite, a virgin-violater;
Is it not ftrange, and ftrange?

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

Duke. Away with her: poor foul,

She speaks this in th' infirmity of sense.

Ifab. O prince, I conjure thee, as thou believ'ft
There is another comfort than this world,
That thou neglect me not; with that opinion
That I am touch'd with madness. Make not im-
poffible

That, which but feems unlike; 'tis not impoffible,
But one, the wicked'ft caitiff on the ground,
May seem as shy, as grave, as juft, as absolute,
As Angelo; even fo may Angelo,

In all his dreffings, caracts, 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.

Duke. By mine honesty,

If fhe be mad, as I believe no other,
Her madness hath the oddeft frame of sense;
Such a dependency of thing on thing,
As e'er I heard in madness.

Ifab. Gracious Duke,

Harp not on That; nor do not banish reason
For inequality; but let your reason serve

To make the truth appear, where it seems hid;
Not hide the false, seems true.

Duke. Many, that are not mad,
Have, fure, more lack of reason.
What would you say?

Jab.

Ifab. I am the fifter of one Claudio,
Condemn'd upon the act of fornication
To lofe his head; condemn'd by Angelo:
I, in probation of a fifterhood,

Was fent to by my brother; one Lucio,
As then the messenger,-

Lucio. That's I, an't like your Grace:
I came to her from Claudio, and defir'd her

To try her gracious fortune with lord Angelo,
For her poor brother's pardon.

Ifab. That's he, indeed.

Duke. You were not bid to speak.

[To Lucio.

Lucio. No, my good lord, 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 heav'n, you then
Be perfect.

Lucio. I warrant your Honour.

Duke. The warrant's for yourself; take heed to't. Ifab. 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.

Ifab. I went

To this pernicious caitiff Deputy.

Duke. That's fomewhat madly spoken.
Ifab. Pardon it:

The phrafe is to the matter.

Duke. Mended again: the matter;-proceed.
Ifab. In brief; (to fet the needless Process by,
How I perfuaded, how I pray'd and kneel'd,
How he repell'd me, and how I reply'd;
For this was of much length) the vile conclufion
I now begin with grief and fhame to utter.
He would not, but by gift of my chafte body
To his concupifcent intemp'rate luft,

Release my brother; and after much debatement,

My fifterly Remorfe confutes mine Honour,
And I did yield to him: But the next morn betimes,
His purpose furfeiting, he fends a Warrant
For my poor brother's head.

Duke. This is most likely!

Ifab. Oh, that it were as like, as it is true!
Duke. By heav'n, fond wretch, thou know'ft not
what thou fpeak'st,

Or elfe thou art fuborn'd againft his honour
In hateful practice. Firft, his integrity

Stands without blemish; next, it imports no reason,
That with fuch vehemence he should purfue
Faults proper to himfelf: if he had fo offended,
He would have weigh'd thy brother by himself,
And not have cut him off. Some one hath fet
Confefs the truth, and fay, by whofe advice
Thou cam'ft here to complain.

Ifab. And is this all?

Then, oh, you bleffed minifters above!
Keep me in patience; and with ripen'd time,
Unfold the evil which is here wrapt up

you on;

Grace from woe,

In countenance: Heav'n fhield. your
As I, thus wrong'd, hence unbelieved go.
Duke. I know, you'd fain be gone. An officer;
To prifon with her. Shall we thus permit

A blafting and a fcandalous breath to fall

On him fo near us? this needs must be a practice. Who knew of your intent, and coming hither?

Ifab. One that I would were here, Friar Lodowick. Duke. A ghoftly 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 fpake against your Grace In your retirement, I had fwing'd him foundly. Duke. Words against me? this is a good Friar, belike; And to fet on this wretched woman here Against our fubftitute! let this Friar be found.

Lucio. But yefternight, my lord, fhe and that Friar, I saw them at the prison: a faucy Friar, A very fcurvy fellow.

Peter. Bleffed be your royal Grace!

I have stood by, my lord, and I have heard
Your royal ear abus'd. First, hath this woman
Moft wrongfully accus'd your Substitute;
Who is as free from touch or foil with her,
As fhe from one ungot.

Duke. We did believe no less.

Know you that Friar Lodowick, which she speaks of?
Peter. I know him for a man divine and holy;
Not fcurvy, nor a temporary meddler,

As he's reported by this gentleman;

And, on my Trust, a man that never yet

Did, as he vouches, mifreport your Grace.
Lucio. My lord, moft villanously; believe it.
Peter. Well; he in time may come to clear himself;
But at this inftant he is fick, my lord,

Of a ftrange fever. On 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
By all Probation will make up full clear,
Whenever he's convented. Firft, for this woman;
To juftify this worthy Nobleman,

So vulgarly and perfonally accus'd,

Her fhall you hear difproved to her eyes, 'Till fhe herself confefs it.

Duke. Good Friar, let's hear it.

Do you not fmile at this, lord Angelo?
O heav'n! the vanity of wretched fools!
Give us fome feats; come, Coufin Angelo,
In this I'll be impartial: be you judge
Of your own Cause.

Is this the witness, Friar?
[Ifabella is carried off, guarded.
E 4

SCENE.

Firft let her fhew her face; and, after speak. Mari. Pardon, my lord, I will not shew my face, Until my husband bid me.

Duke. What, are you marry'd?

Mari. No, my lord.

Duke. Are you a maid?

Mari. No, my lord.

Duke. A widow then?

Mari. Neither, my lord.

Duke. Why, are you nothing then? neither maid, widow, nor wife?

Lucio. My lord, fhe 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 confefs, I ne'er was marry'd; And, I confefs, befides, I am no maid;

I've 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 filence, would thou wert fo too.

Lucio. Well, my lord.

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

She, that accufes him of fornication,

In felf-fame manner doth accuse my husband
And charges him, my lord, with fuch a time,

When I'll depose I had him in mine arms,
With all th' effect of love.

Ang. Charges fhe more than me?

Mari. Not that I know.

Duke.