The Complete Works of William Shakespeare Part 329

ANGELO. That you might know it would much better please me Than to demand what 'tis. Your brother cannot live.

ISABELLA. Even so! Heaven keep your honour!

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

ISABELLA. Under your sentence?

ANGELO. Yea.

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

ANGELO. Ha! Fie, these filthy vices! It were as good To pardon him that hath from nature stol'n A man already made, as to remit Their saucy sweetness that do coin heaven's image In stamps that are forbid; 'tis all as easy Falsely to take away a life true made As to put metal in restrained means To make a false one.

ISABELLA. 'Tis set down so in heaven, but not in earth.

ANGELO. Say you so? Then I shall pose 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 such sweet uncleanness As she that he hath stain'd?

ISABELLA. Sir, believe this: I had rather give my body than my soul.

ANGELO. I talk not of your soul; our compell'd sins Stand more for number than for accompt.

ISABELLA. How say you?

ANGELO. Nay, I'll not warrant that; for I can speak Against the thing I say. Answer to this: I, now the voice of the recorded law, p.r.o.nounce a sentence on your brother's life; Might there not be a charity in sin To save this brother's life?

ISABELLA. Please you to do't, I'll take it as a peril to my soul It is no sin at all, but charity.

ANGELO. Pleas'd you to do't at peril of your soul, Were equal poise of sin and charity.

ISABELLA. That I do beg his life, if it be sin, Heaven let me bear it! You granting of my suit, If that be sin, I'll make it my morn prayer To have it added to the faults of mine, And nothing of your answer.

ANGELO. Nay, but hear me; Your sense pursues not mine; either you are ignorant Or seem so, craftily; and that's not good.

ISABELLA. Let me be ignorant, and in nothing good But graciously to know I am no better.

ANGELO. Thus wisdom wishes to appear most bright When it doth tax itself; as these black masks Proclaim an ens.h.i.+elded beauty ten times louder Than beauty could, display'd. But mark me: To be received plain, I'll speak more gross- Your brother is to die.

ISABELLA. So.

ANGELO. And his offence is so, as it appears, Accountant to the law upon that pain.

ISABELLA. True.

ANGELO. Admit no other way to save his life, As I subscribe not that, nor any other, But, in the loss of question, that you, his sister, Finding yourself desir'd of such a person Whose credit with the judge, or own great place, Could fetch your brother from the manacles Of the all-binding law; and that there were No earthly mean to save him but that either You must lay down the treasures of your body To this supposed, or else to let him suffer- What would you do?

ISABELLA. As much for my poor brother as myself; That is, were I under the terms of death, Th' impression of keen whips I'd wear as rubies, And strip myself to death as to a bed That longing have been sick for, ere I'd yield My body up to shame.

ANGELO. Then must your brother die.

ISABELLA. And 'twere the cheaper way: Better it were a brother died at once Than that a sister, by redeeming him, Should die for ever.

ANGELO. Were not you, then, as cruel as the sentence That you have slander'd so?

ISABELLA. Ignominy in ransom and free pardon Are of two houses: lawful mercy Is nothing kin to foul redemption.

ANGELO. You seem'd of late to make the law a tyrant; And rather prov'd the sliding of your brother A merriment than a vice.

ISABELLA. O, pardon me, my lord! It oft falls out, To have what we would have, we speak not what we mean: I something do excuse the thing I hate For his advantage that I dearly love.

ANGELO. We are all frail.

ISABELLA. Else let my brother die, If not a fedary but only he Owe and succeed thy weakness.

ANGELO. Nay, women are frail too.

ISABELLA. Ay, as the gla.s.ses where they view themselves, Which are as easy broke as they make forms.

Women, help heaven! Men their creation mar In profiting by them. Nay, call us ten times frail; For we are soft as our complexions are, And credulous to false prints.

ANGELO. I think it well; And from this testimony of your own s.e.x, 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 By all external warrants, show it now By putting on the destin'd livery.

ISABELLA. I have no tongue but one; gentle, my lord, Let me intreat you speak the former language.

ANGELO. Plainly conceive, I love you.

ISABELLA. My brother did love Juliet, And you tell me that he shall die for't.

ANGELO. He shall not, Isabel, if you give me love.

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

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

ISABELLA. Ha! little honour to be much believ'd, And most pernicious purpose! Seeming, seeming!

I will proclaim thee, Angelo, look for't.

Sign me a present pardon for my brother Or, with an outstretch'd throat, I'll tell the world aloud What man thou art.

ANGELO. Who will believe thee, Isabel?

My unsoil'd name, th' austereness of my life, My vouch against you, and my place i' th' state, Will so your accusation overweigh 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 appet.i.te; 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 ling'ring sufferance. Answer me to-morrow, Or, by the affection that now guides me most, I'll prove a tyrant to him. As for you, Say what you can: my false o'erweighs your true. Exit ISABELLA. To whom should I complain? Did I tell this, Who would believe me? O perilous mouths That bear in them one and the self-same tongue Either of condemnation or approof, Bidding the law make curtsy to their will; Hooking both right and wrong to th' appet.i.te, To follow as it draws! I'll to my brother.

Though he hath fall'n by prompture of the blood, Yet hath he in him such a mind of honour That, had he twenty heads to tender down On twenty b.l.o.o.d.y blocks, he'd yield them up Before his sister should her body stoop To such abhorr'd pollution.

Then, Isabel, live chaste, and, brother, die: More than our brother is our chast.i.ty.

I'll tell him yet of Angelo's request, And fit his mind to death, for his soul's rest. Exit

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ACT III. SCENE I.

The prison

Enter DUKE, disguised as before, CLAUDIO, and PROVOST

DUKE. So, then you hope of pardon from Lord Angelo?

CLAUDIO. The miserable have no other medicine But only hope: I have hope to Eve, and am prepar'd to die.

DUKE. Be absolute for death; either death or life Shall thereby be the sweeter. Reason thus with life.

If I do lose thee, I do lose a thing That none but fools would keep. A breath thou art, Servile to all the skyey influences, That dost this habitation where thou keep'st Hourly afflict. Merely, thou art Death's fool; For him thou labour'st by thy flight to shun And yet run'st toward him still. Thou art not n.o.ble; For all th' accommodations that thou bear'st Are nurs'd by baseness. Thou 'rt 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; For thou exists on many a thousand grains That issue out of dust. Happy thou art not; For what thou hast not, still thou striv'st to get, And what thou hast, forget'st. Thou art not certain; For thy complexion s.h.i.+fts to strange effects, After the moon. If thou art rich, thou'rt poor; For, like an a.s.s whose back with ingots bows, Thou bear'st thy heavy riches but a journey, And Death unloads thee. Friend hast thou none; For thine own bowels which do call thee sire, The mere effusion of thy proper loins, Do curse the gout, serpigo, and the rheum, For ending thee no sooner. Thou hast nor youth nor age, But, as it were, an after-dinner's sleep, Dreaming on both; for all thy blessed youth Becomes as aged, and doth beg the alms Of palsied eld; and when thou art old and rich, Thou hast neither heat, affection, limb, nor beauty, To make thy riches pleasant. What's yet in this That bears the name of life? Yet in this life Lie hid moe thousand deaths; yet death we fear, That makes these odds all even.

CLAUDIO. I humbly thank you.

To sue to live, I find I seek to die; And, seeking death, find life. Let it come on.

ISABELLA. [Within] What, ho! Peace here; grace and good company!

PROVOST. Who's there? Come in; the wish deserves a welcome.

DUKE. Dear sir, ere long I'll visit you again.

CLAUDIO. Most holy sir, I thank you.

Enter ISABELLA

ISABELLA. My business is a word or two with Claudio.

PROVOST. And very welcome. Look, signior, here's your sister.

DUKE. Provost, a word with you.

PROVOST. As many as you please.

DUKE. Bring me to hear them speak, where I may be conceal'd.

Exeunt DUKE and PROVOST CLAUDIO. Now, sister, what's the comfort?

ISABELLA. Why, As all comforts are; most good, most good, indeed.

Lord Angelo, having affairs to heaven, Intends you for his swift amba.s.sador, Where you shall be an everlasting leiger.

Therefore, your best appointment make with speed; To-morrow you set on.

CLAUDIO. Is there no remedy?

ISABELLA. None, but such remedy as, to save a head, To cleave a heart in twain.

CLAUDIO. But is there any?

ISABELLA. Yes, brother, you may live: There is a devilish mercy in the judge, If you'll implore it, that will free your life, But fetter you till death.

CLAUDIO. Perpetual durance?

ISABELLA. Ay, just; perpetual durance, a restraint, Though all the world's vastidity you had, To a determin'd scope.

CLAUDIO. But in what nature?

ISABELLA. In such a one as, you consenting to't, Would bark your honour from that trunk you bear, And leave you naked.

CLAUDIO. Let me know the point.

ISABELLA. O, I do fear thee, Claudio; and I quake, Lest thou a feverous life shouldst entertain, And six or seven winters more respect Than a perpetual honour. Dar'st thou die?

The sense of death is most in apprehension; And the poor beetle that we tread upon In corporal sufferance finds a pang as great As when a giant dies.

CLAUDIO. Why give you me this shame?

Think you I can a resolution fetch From flow'ry tenderness? If I must die, I will encounter darkness as a bride And hug it in mine arms.