Claud. What, but to speak of, would offend again.

Prov. Away, sir; you must go.

Claud. One word, good friend:-Lucio, a word

with you.

Takes him aside.

Lucio. A hundred, if they'll do you any good.

Is lechery so looked after?

Claud. Thus stands it with me:-upon a true

contract,

I got possession of Julietta's bed;

You know the lady; she is fast my wife,

Save that we do the denunciation lack

Of outward order: this we came not to,
Only for propagation1 of a dower
Remaining in the coffer of her friends;

From whom we thought it meet to hide our love,
Till time had made them for us.

But it chances,

The stealth of our most mutual entertainment,

With character too gross, is writ on Juliet.
Lucio. With child, perhaps?

Claud. Unhappily, even so.

And the new deputy now for the duke,

Whether it be the fault and glimpse of newness;
Or whether that the body public be

A horse whereon the governor doth ride,
Who, newly in the seat, that it may know
He can command, lets it straight feel the spur:
Whether the tyranny be in his place,
Or in his eminence that fills it up,
I stagger in--but this new governor
Awakes me all the enrolled penalties,

Which have, like unscoured armor, hung by the wall
So long, that nineteen zodiacs have gone round,
And none of them been worn; and, for a name,

1 It appears that Claudio would say "for the sake of promoting such a dower as her friends might hereafter bestow on her, when time had reconciled them to her clandestine marriage.”

Now puts the drowsy and neglected act
Freshly on me :-'tis surely for a name.

Lucio. I warrant, it is: and thy head stands so tickle1on thy shoulders, that a milk-maid, if she be in love, may sigh it off. Send after the duke, and appeal to him.

Claud. I have done so, but he's not to be found.
I pr'ythee, Lucio, do me this kind service:
This day my sister should the cloister enter,
And there receive her approbation : 2
Acquaint her with the danger of my state;
Implore her, in my voice, that she make friends
To the strict deputy; bid herself assay him;
I have great hope in that; for in her youth
There is a prone 3 and speechless dialect,

Such as moves men; besides, she hath prosperous art
When she will play with reason and discourse,
And well she can persuade.

Lucio. I pray, she may; as well for the encouragement of the like, which else would stand under grievous imposition, as for the enjoying of thy life, who I would be sorry should be thus foolishly lost at a game of tick-tack. I'll to her.

Claud. I thank you, good friend Lucio.
Lucio. Within two hours,-

Claud. Come, officer, away.

SCENE IV. A Monastery.

Enter DUKE and Friar Thomas.

[Exeunt.

Duke. No; holy father; throw away that thought; Believe not that the dribbling dart of love

4

Can pierce a cómplete bosom: why I desire thee
To give me secret harbor, hath a purpose

1 Tickle, for ticklish.

2 i. e. enter on her novitiate or probation.

3 Prone is prompt or ready.

4 "A complete bosom" is a bosom completely armed.

More grave and wrinkled than the aims and ends
Of burning youth.

Fri.

May your grace speak of it?
Duke. My holy sir, none better knows than you
How I have ever loved the life removed:
;

And held in idle price to haunt assemblies,

Where youth, and cost, and witless bravery keeps.
I have delivered to lord Angelo

(A man of stricture1 and firm abstinence)

My absolute power and place here in Vienna,
And he supposes me travelled to Poland;
For so I have strewed it in the common ear,
And so it is received: now, pious sir,
You will demand of me, why I do this?
Fri. Gladly, my lord.

Duke. We have strict statutes and most biting laws, (The needful bits and curbs for headstrong steeds,) Which for these fourteen years we have let sleep; Even like an o'ergrown lion in a cave,

That goes not out to prey: now, as fond fathers,
Having bound up the threatening twigs of birch,
Only to stick it in their children's sight,

For terror, not to use; in time the rod

Becomes more mocked than feared: so our decrees,
Dead to infliction, to themselves are dead;
And liberty plucks justice by the nose;

The baby beats the nurse, and quite athwart
Goes all decorum.

Fri.

It rested in your grace

To unloose this tied-up justice when you pleased;
And it in you more dreadful would have seemed,
Than in lord Angelo.

Duke.

I do fear, too dreadful:
Sith 'twas my fault to give the people scope,
'Twould be my tyranny to strike, and gall them
For what I bid them do; for we bid this be done,
When evil deeds have their permissive pass,

And not the punishment. Therefore, indeed, my

father,

1 Strictness.

I have on Angelo imposed the office;

Who may, in the ambush of my name, strike home,
And yet my nature never in the sight,

To do it slander: and to behold his sway,

I will, as 'twere a brother of your order,

Visit both prince and people: therefore, I pr'ythee,
Supply me with the habit, and instruct me
How I may formally in person bear me
Like a true friar. More reasons for this action,
At our more leisure, shall I render you;
Only, this one-lord Angelo is precise;
Stands at a guard1 with envy; scarce confesses
That his blood flows, or that his appetite

Is more to bread than stone: hence shall we see,
If power change purpose, what our seemers be.

SCENE V. A Nunnery.

Enter ISABELLA and FRANCISCA.

[Exeunt.

Isab. And have you nuns no further privileges?
Fran. Are not these large enough?

[Within.

Isab. Yes, truly; I speak not as desiring more; But rather wishing a more strict restraint Upon the sisterhood, the votarists of Saint Clare. Lucio. Ho! Peace be in this place! Isab. Who's that which calls? Fran. It is a man's voice: gentle Isabella, Turn you the key, and know his business of him; You may, I may not; you are yet unsworn:

When you have vowed, you must not speak with men,
But in the presence of the prioress:

Then, if you speak, you must not show your face;
Or, if you show your face, you must not speak.

He calls again; I pray you, answer him.

[Exit FRANCISCA.

Isab. Peace and prosperity! Who is't that calls ?

1 i. e. on his defence.

Enter LUCIO.

Lucio. Hail, virgin, if you be; as those check-roses Proclaim you are no less! Can you so stead me, As bring me to the sight of Isabella,

A novice of this place, and the fair sister

To her unhappy brother Claudio?

Isab. Why her unhappy brother? let me ask; The rather, for I now must make you know

I am that Isabella, and his sister.

Lucio. Gentle and fair, your brother kindly greets you:

Not to be weary with you, he's in prison.

Isab. Woe me! For what?

Lucio. For that, which, if myself might be his

judge,

He should receive his punishment in thanks:

He hath got his friend with child.

Isab. Šir, make me not your story.1
Lucio.

I would not, though 'tis my familiar sin

It is true

With maids to seem the lapwing, and to jest,
Tongue far from heart,-play with all virgins so:
I hold you as a thing enskied, and sainted;

By your renouncement, an immortal spirit ;
And to be talked with in sincerity,

As with a saint.

Isab. You do blaspheme the good, in mocking me. Lucio. Do not believe it. Fewness and truth,3 'tis

thus:

Your brother and his lover have embraced:

As those that feed grow full; as blossoming time,
That from the seedness the bare fallow brings

4

To teeming foison; even so her plenteous womb
Expresseth his full tilth and husbandry.

39

1 Mr. Malone reads, "Sir, mock me not;—your story.”

2 This bird is said to draw pursuers from her nest by crying in other places. This was formerly the subject of a proverb-"The lapwing cries most, farthest from her nest," i. e. tongue far from heart.

3 In few and true words.

1 Abundant produce.