SHAKESPEARE'S

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THE SHAKESPEARE HOUbE KESTOKEU.

SHAKESPEARE'S

COMEDY OF

MEASURE FOR MEASURE.

Edited, with Notes,

WILLIAM J. ROLFE, A.M.,

FORMERLY HEAD MASTER OF THE HIGH SCHOOL, CAMBRIDGE, MASS.

WITH ENGRA VINGS.

NEW YORK:

HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS,

FRANKLIN SQUARE. 1884.

ENGLISH	CLASSICS.
Edited by WM.	J. ROLFE, A.M.
Illustrated. i6mo, Cloth, 56 cents per	volume ; Paper, 40 cents per volume.
Shakespeare's Works.
The Merchant of Venice.	The Taming of the Shrew.
Othello.	All > Well that Ends Well.
Julius Caesar.	Coriolanus.
A Midsummer-Night's Dream.	The Comedy of Errors.
Macbeth.	Cyinbeline.
Hamlet.	Antony and Cleopatra.
Much Ado about Nothing.	Measure for Measure.
Romeo and Juliet.	Merry Wives of Windsor.
As You Like It.	Love's Labour 's Lost.
The Tempest.	Two Gentlemen of Verona.
Twelfth Night.	Timon of Athens.
The Winter's Tale.	Troilus and Cressida.
King John.	Henry VI. Part I.
Richard II.	Henry VI. Part II.
Henry IV. Part I.	Henry VI. Part III.
Henrv IV. Part II.	Pericles, Prince of Tyre.
Henrv V.	The Two Noble Kinsmen.
Richard III.	Venus and Adonis, Lucrece, etc.
Henry VIII.	Sonnets. Titus Andronicus.
King Lear.
Goldsmith's Select Poems.
Gray's Select Poems.
Published by HARPER &	BROTHERS, New York.
5£3^* Any of the above works will be se	it by mail, postage prepaid, to any part
of the United States, on receipt of the price.

ljISuifftr

jun &4m

Copyright, 1882, by Harper & Brothers.

/5-/S*W

CONTENTS.

PAGE

Introduction to Measure for Measure 9

I. The History of the Play 9

II. The Sources of the Plot 11

III. Critical Comments on the Play 16

MEASURE FOR MEASURE 35

Act I 37

" II 5*

" HI 74

" IV 91

" V 109

Notes 129

THE MOATED GRANGE.

INTRODUCTION

TO

MEASURE FOR MEASURE.

I. THE HISTORY OF THE PLAY.

Measure for Measure was first printed in the folio of 1623, where it occupies pages 61-84 in the division of" Comedies." It was not entered on the Stationers' Registers, and is not mentioned by Meres in T598. No direct allusion to it in Shakespeare's time has been found, and we have nothing to

IO MEASURE FOR MEASURE.

fix the date of its composition but the style and versification, with some minor points of internal evidence. The critics, however, have generally agreed that the play was written in 1603 or early in 1604.

Tyrwhitt and Malone conjectured that the following pas- sages offer "a courtly apology for King James I.'s stately and ungracious demeanour on his entry into England :"

" I '11 privily away. I love the people, But do not love to stage me to their eyes. Though it do well, I do not relish well Their loud applause and aves vehement" (i. 1. 67 fol.).

" The general, subject to a well-wish'd king, Quit their own part, and in obsequious fondness Crowd to his presence, where their untaught love Must needs appear offence" (ii. 4. 27 fol.).

Ward (Hist, of Dram. Lit. 1. 408) is "inclined to accept this conjecture, the more so that there is something in the senti- ment of these passages not ill according with the tendency towards shrinking from an unnecessary publicity, which we may fairly suppose to have been an element in the poet's own character."

Malone also saw historical allusions in i. 2. 4: "Heaven grant us its peace," etc.; and in i. 2. 77: "What with the war, what with the sweat," etc. James had early announced his intention of ending the war with Spain which was in progress when he came to the throne, and peace was con- cluded in the autumn of 1604. The year before, as Capell pointed out, the " sweating-sickness," or plague, had carried off more than thirty thousand people in London, about one fifth of the entire population of the city.

In the first speech of iv. 3, among the ten prisoners men- tioned are four "stabbers" and duellists; and, according to Wilson the historian, the " roaring boys, bravadoes, roysters," and like characters had become so disorderly in 1604 that

INTRODUCTION. Y 1

the "act of stabbing" (i Jac. I. c. 8) was passed to restrain them.

Fleay (Manual, p. 46), by his metrical tests, confirms this assumed date of 1603. He says : "This play is the central one for the metre of the third period • it has more lines with extra syllables before a pause in the middle of a line than any other. It is freer in rhythm than any play of the first and second periods."

Furnivall, in his classification of the plays (see our ed. of A. Y. Z. p. 25), puts Measure for Measure among the plays of the poet's "third period" (1601-1608), and dates it in 1603. He includes it with Julius Casar and Hamlet in the "unfit -nature, or under -burden -failing group," which he makes the first subdivision of that period; adding in expla- nation that " the prison-scene, where Claudio's nature fails under the burden of coming death, is the centre of the play." Tieck, followed by Ulrici and some other critics, was led by the peculiarities of style and sentiment to regard Measure for Measure as one of the very latest of the plays ■ but, as Verplanck remarks, " the drama, in those very characteris- tics on which the theory is founded, most resembles Othello, Lear, the revised Hamlet, and in general those tragedies known to have been written between 1602 and 1607 ; while, on the contrary, its tone and fancy are entirely dissimilar from the pastoral beauties of the Winter's Tale, with the sprightliness of its gayer scenes, or the spirit of cheerful en- joyment which breathes in the mountain scenes oiCymbeline, both of them known to belong to a later period than that of Lear"*

II. THE SOURCES OF THE PLOT.

" The story, like that of Othello, comes originally from a novel of Cinthio, the Italian novelist and tragic author. He

* Compare what Dowden says of the tone of the latest plays in Shak- spere: his Mind and Art, p. 358 fol. (American ed.) and in the ShaksA Primer, p. 54 fol.

pere

I2 MEASURE FOR MEASURE.

was a prolific relater of dark and bloody stories, which have yet such an air of reality as to give the impression that he drew his materials, like Scott, from domestic traditions or legal records. Shakespeare had also the same plot in Whet- stone's tragedy of Promos and Cassandra (1578), founded on Cinthio's novel. But he owed very little to either predeces- sor but the outline of the story, and some slight hints or cas- ual expressions. It is evident that, in such a case, a previ- ous tragedy on the same subject, instead of lessening Shake- speare's claims to originality, greatly increases them, as it imposed on him the new difficulty of avoiding many obvious images and ideas which must arise to every writer handling the same incidents. Nor was Whetstone an author of so low a rank that he might be safely neglected in this respect, and his materials used without injustice or plagiarism. On the contrary, he was, though inflated and extravagant in style, and deficient in the power of interesting or exciting his readers, a writer of learning and talent. He followed Cinthio very closely, in making the sister (the 'woful Cas- sandra' of his play, the Epitia of Cinthio, and the Isabella of Shakespeare) yield to the governor's desires and her broth- er's pusillanimous sophistry — a degradation which Shake- speare has avoided by the introduction of Mariana, and the very venial artifice of Isabella, which Coleridge censures, but which is certainly, if a blemish at all, a very light one com- pared with the intrinsic repulsiveness of making the heroine the wife of the guilty governor, and the supplicant for his life. The inferior characters of Whetstone are the same only in their habits and occupations — the painting of their character is Shakespeare's own as much as that of the no- bler personages, and the high moral wisdom which overflows in their dialogue. Isabella, as a character, is entirely his own creation. . . .

"The probability of the plot has been objected to, but cer- tainly without any reason ; for it singularly happens that we

INTRODUCTION. I3

have historical evidence of the occurrence of three or four very similar crimes, in different ages and countries. One of these is the well-known story of Col. Kirke, in the reign of James II., half a century after Shakespeare's death ; another occurred in Holland, a century before his birth, under Charles the Bold, and has lately been related from the old chroniclers, with all their antique simplicity, by Barante, in his delightful Histoire des Dues de Bourgogne. Another of these Angelo- like abuses of power is said to have taken place under one of the old Dukes of Ferrara, and this may have been the actual foundation of Cinthio's tale. Shakespeare, whether he was acquainted with the original or not (as his use of the book in Othello indicates that he was), had the story before him, as Whetstone, a few years after the' publication of his play, trans- lated and published it himself — retaining, however, the names, and interweaving the thoughts of his own drama. It is con- tained in his Heptameron of Civil Discourses (1582), and has been reprinted in Collier's Shakespeare 's Library. He has also accompanied his own tragedy with an analytical ar- gument, which will enable the reader to compare Shake- speare's management of the plot with that of his predecessor : " ' In the city of Julio (sometime under the dominion of Corvinus, King of Hungary and Bohemia), there was a law, that what man soever committed adultery should lose his head, and the woman offender should wear some disguised apparel during her life, to make her infamously noted. This severe law, by the favour of some merciful magistrate, be- came little regarded, until the time of Lord Promos' author- ity, who, convicting a young gentleman, named Andrugio, of incontinency, condemned both him and his minion to the ex- ecution of this statute. Andrugio had a very virtuous and beautiful gentlewoman to his sister, named Cassandra : Cas- sandra, to enlarge her brother's life, submitted an humble petition to the Lord Promos. Promos, regarding her good behaviour and fantasying her great beauty, was much de-

I4 MEASURE FOR MEASURE.

lighted with the sweet order of her talk, and, doing good that evil might come thereof, for a time he reprieved her brother; but, wicked man, turning his liking into unlawful lust, he set down the spoil of her honour ransom for her brother's life. Chaste Cassandra, abhorring both him and his suit, by no persuasion would yield to this ransom. But, in fine, won with the importunity of her brother (pleading for life), upon these conditions she agreed to Promos — first, that he should pardon her brother, and after marry her. Promos, as fear- less in promise as careless in performance, with solemn vow signed her conditions ; but, worse than any infidel, his will satisfied, he performed neither the one nor the other ; for, to keep his authority unspotted with favour, and to prevent Cassandra's clamours, he commanded the gaoler secretly to present Cassandra with her brother's head. The gaoler, with the outcries of Andrugio, abhorring Promos' lewdness, by the providence of God provided thus for his safety. He presented Cassandra with a felon's head, newly executed, who (being mangled, knew it not from her brother's, who by the gaoler was set at liberty) was so aggrieved at this treach- ery, that, at the point to kill herself, she spared that stroke to be avenged of Promos ; and devising a way, she concluded to make her fortunes known unto the king. She (executing this resolution) was so highly favoured of the king, that forth- with he hasted to do justice on Promos ; whose judgment was to marry Cassandra, to repair her erased honour ; which done, for his heinous offence he should lose his head. This marriage solemnized, Cassandra, tied in the greatest bonds of affection to her husband, became an earnest suitor for his life. The king (tendering the general benefit of the com- monweal before her special case, although he favoured her much) would not grant her suit. Andrugio (disguised among the company), sorrowing the grief of his sister, betrayed his safety and craved pardon. The king, to renown the virtues of Cassandra, pardoned both him and Promos.'

INTRO D UCTION. 1 5

"The more authentic history of the Angelo of the Nether- lands is recorded by several of the old Dutch and Flemish chroniclers of the reign of Charles le Temeraire, the last of the more than royal dukes who reigned in different rights over the several states of Flanders, Holland, and Burgundy. (See Barante's Histoire des Dues de la Maison de Valois.) The An- gelo was here a very brave and renowned knight, who was governor of Flushing ; and it was the wife of a state crimi- nal, confined on a charge of sedition, who is tempted to yield up her honour on condition of receiving from the governor an order to the gaoler to deliver her husband up to her. In the meanwhile, a prior order had been sent ; the husband was secretly beheaded ; and the wife received, on presenting her order, a chest containing the bloody corpse. Upon the duke's visiting his principality of Zealand, she appealed to him for justice. The governor confessed his guilt, and threw himself with confidence upon the duke's mercy, relying on his former services and favour. The duke commanded him to marry the widow, and endow her formally with all his wealth. She at first shrunk with horror from the alliance, but at last consented to the ceremony, on the prayers of her family, who thought their honour involved in it. When this was done, the governor returned to the duke, and informed him that the injured person was now satisfied. ' So am not I,' replied this far more rigid ruler than Shakespeare's kind- hearted, philosophical duke. He sent the guilty man to the same prison where his victim had died. A confessor was sent with him ; and after the last rites of religion, without further delay, the governor was beheaded. His new wife and her friends had hurried to the prison, and arrived there only to receive the bloody trunk in the same manner that she had received the remains of her first husband. Over- come with horror, she fainted, and never recovered.

" Had Shakespeare adopted this version of the story, it would have afforded him a canvas for many a scene of ter-

!6 measure for measure.

rific, perhaps of too horrible, truth. But this would have de- manded the omission or entire degradation of Isabella's char- acter— one so differing from every other of the many admi- rable portraits he has left us of female excellence, that its loss would have been dearly purchased, even by scenes of terror or pathos vying with those of the last acts of Lear or Othello."*

III. CRITICAL COMMENTS ON THE PLAY. [From SchlegeVs "Dramatic Literature." i] In Measure for Measure Shakspeare was compelled, by the nature of the subject, to make his poetry more familiar with criminal justice than is usual with him. All kinds of proceedings connected with the subject, all sorts of active or passive persons, pass in review before us : the hypocrit- ical lord deputy, the compassionate provost, and the hard- hearted hangman ; a young man of quality who is to suf- fer for the seduction of his mistress before marriage, loose wretches brought in by the police, nay, even a hardened criminal, whom even the preparations for his execution can- not awaken out of his callousness. But yet, notwithstand- ing this agitating truthfulness, how tender and mild is the pervading tone of the picture ! The piece takes improperly its name from punishment ; the true significance of the whole is the triumph of mercy over strict justice ; no man being himself so free from errors as to be entitled to deal it out to his equals. The most beautiful embellishment of the com- position is the character of Isabella, who, on the point of tak- ing the veil, is yet prevailed upon by sisterly affection to tread again the perplexing ways of the world, while, amid the general corruption, the heavenly purity of her mind is not even stained with one unholy thought : in the humble

* From Verplanck's Introduction to M.for M.

t Lectures on Dramatic Art and Literature, by A. W. Schlegel ; Black's translation, revised by Morrison (London, 1846), p. 387 fol.

INTROD UCTION. Y 7

robes of the novice she is a very angel of light. When the cold and stern Angelo, heretofore of unblemished reputa- tion, whom the duke has commissioned, during his pretend- ed absence, to restrain, by a rigid administration of the laws, the excesses of dissolute immorality, is even himself tempted by the virgin charms of Isabella, supplicating for the pardon of her brother Claudio, condemned to death for a youthful indiscretion ; when at first, in timid and obscure language, he insinuates, but at last impudently avouches, his readiness to grant Claudio's life to the sacrifice of her honour ; when Isabella repulses his offer with a noble scorn ; in her account of the interview to her brother, when the latter at first ap- plauds her conduct, but at length, overcome by the fear of death, strives to persuade her to consent to dishonour — in these masterly scenes, Shakspeare has sounded the depths of the human heart. The interest here reposes altogether on the represented action ■ curiosity contributes nothing to our delight, for the duke, in the disguise of a monk, is al- ways present to watch over his dangerous representative, and to avert every evil which could possibly be apprehended ; we look to him with confidence for a happy result. The duke acts the part of the monk naturally, even to decep- tion; he unites in his person the wisdom of the priest and the prince. Only in his wisdom he is too fond of round- about ways ; his vanity is flattered with acting invisibly like an earthly providence ; he takes more pleasure in overhear- ing his subjects than governing them in the customary way of princes. As he ultimately extends a free pardon to all the guilty, we do not see how his original purpose, in com- mitting the execution of the laws to other hands, of restoring their strictness, has in any wise been accomplished. The poet might have had this irony in view, that of the number- less slanders of the duke, told him by the petulant Lucio, in ignorance of the person whom he is addressing, that at least which regarded his singularities and whims was not wholly

C

1 8 MEASURE FOR MEASURE.

without foundation. It is deserving of remark, that Shak- speare, amidst the rancour of religious parties, takes a de- light in painting the condition of a monk, and always repre- sents his influence as beneficial. We find in him none of the black and knavish monks, which an enthusiasm for Prot- estantism, rather than poetical inspiration, has suggested to some of our modern poets. Shakspeare merely gives his monks an inclination to busy themselves in the affairs of oth- ers, after renouncing the world for themselves ; with respect, however, to pious frauds, he does not represent them as very conscientious. Such are the parts acted by the monk in Romeo and Juliet, and another in Much Ado about JVot/iiug, and even by the duke, whom, contrary to the well-known proverb, the cowl seems really to make a monk.

[From Mrs. Jameson's " Characteristics of Women.'''' *] The character of Isabella, considered as a poetical deline- ation, is less mixed than that of Portia ; and the dissimilar- ity between the two appears, at first view, so complete that we can scarce believe that the same elements enter into the composition of each. Yet so it is ; they are portrayed as equally wise, gracious, virtuous, fair, and young ; we perceive in both the same exalted principle and firmness of charac- ter ; the same depth of reflection and persuasive eloquence ; the same self- denying generosity and capability of strong affections ; and we must wonder at that marvellous power by which qualities and endowments essentially and closely allied are so combined and modified as to produce a result altogether different. " O Nature ! O Shakspeare ! which of ye drew from the other?"

Isabella is distinguished from Portia, and strongly indi- vidualized by a certain moral grandeur, a saintly grace, something of vestal dignity and purity, which render her less attractive and more imposing; she is "severe in youthful * American ed. (Boston, 1857), p. 83 foL

INTR OD UC TION. 1 g

beauty," and inspires a reverence which would have placed her beyond the daring of one unholy wish or thought, except in such a man as Angelo —

" O cunning enemy, that, to catch a saint, With saints dost bait thy hook!"

This impression of her character is conveyed from the very first, when Lucio, the libertine jester, whose coarse au- dacious wit checks at every feather, thus expresses his re- spect for her :

" I would not — though 't is my familiar sin 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 talk'd with in sincerity, As with a saint."

A strong distinction between Isabella and Portia is pro- duced by the circumstances in which they are respectively placed. Portia is a high-born heiress, " lord of a fair man- sion, master of her servants, queen o'er herself;" easy and decided, as one born to command, and used to it. Isabella has also the innate dignity which renders her " queen o'er herself," but she has lived far from the world and its pomps and pleasures ; she is one of a consecrated sisterhood — a novice of St. Clare ; the power to command obedience and to confer happiness are to her unknown. Portia is a splen- did creature, radiant with confidence, hope, and joy. She is like the orange-tree, hung at once with golden fruit and lux- uriant flowers, which has expanded into bloom and fragrance beneath favouring skies, and has been nursed into beauty by the sunshine and the dews of heaven. Isabella is like a stately and graceful cedar, towering on some alpine cliff, un- bowed and unscathed amid the storm. She gives us the impression of one who has passed under the ennobling dis- cipline of suffering and self-denial: a melancholy charm

2o MEASURE FOR MEASURE.

tempers the natural vigour of her mind : her spirit seems to stand upon an eminence, and look down upon the world as if already enskied and sainted ; and yet when brought in contact with that world which she inwardly despises, she shrinks back with all the timidity natural to her cloistral education.

This union of natural grace and grandeur with the habits and sentiments of a recluse — of austerity of life with gentle- ness of manner — of inflexible moral principle with humility and even bashfulness of deportment— is delineated with the most beautiful and wonderful consistency. Thus when her brother sends to her, to entreat her mediation, her first feel- ing is fear, and a distrust in her own powers :

" Alas ! what poor ability 's in me To do him good? Lucio. Assay the power you have. Isabel/a. My power? Alas, I doubt."

In the first scene with Angelo she seems divided between her love for her brother and her sense of his fault ; between her self-respect and her maidenly bashfulness. She begins with a kind of hesitation " at war 'twixt will and will not :" and when Angelo quotes the law, and insists on the justice of his sentence, and the responsibility of his station, her native sense of moral rectitude and severe principles takes the lead, and she shrinks back :

" O just but severe law ! I had a brother, then. Heaven keep your honour !" {Retiring.)

Excited and encouraged by Lucio, and supported by her own natural spirit, she returns to the charge. She gains energy and self-possession as she proceeds, grows more earnest and passionate from the difficulty she encounters, and displays that eloquence and power of reasoning for which we had been already prepared by Claudio's first allu- sion to her :

INTR OD UC TION~. 2 1

" In her youth There is a prone and speechless dialect, Such as moves men ; beside, she hath prosperous art, When she will play with reason and discourse, And well she can persuade."

It is a curious coincidence that Isabella, exhorting Angelo to mercy, avails herself of precisely the same arguments and insists on the self- same topics which Portia addresses to Shylock in her celebrated speech ; but how beautifully and how truly is the distinction marked ! how like, and yet how unlike ! Portia's eulogy on mercy is a piece of heavenly rhetoric ; it falls on the ear with a solemn measured har- mony; it is the voice of a descended angel addressing an inferior nature: if not premeditated, it is at least part of a preconcerted scheme ; while Isabella's pleadings are poured from the abundance of her heart in broken sentences, and with the artless vehemence of one who feels that life and death hang upon her appeal. This will be best understood by placing the corresponding passages in immediate com- parison with each other.

"Portia. The quality of mercy is not strain'd, It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven Upon the place beneath; it is twice blest; It blesseth him that gives and him that takes ; 'T is mightiest in the mightiest; it becomes The throned monarch better than his crown : His sceptre shows the force of temporal power, The attribute to awe and majesty, Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings; But mercy is above this sceptred sway; It is enthroned in the hearts of kings."

"Isabella. Well, believe this,

No ceremony that to great ones longs, Not the king's crown, nor the deputed sword, The marshal's truncheon, nor the judge's robe, Become them with one half so good a grace As mercy does."

22 MEASURE FOR MEASURE.

"Portia. Consider this, —

That, in the course of justice, none of us Should see salvation : we do pray for mercy; And that same prayer doth teach us all to render The deeds of mercy."

"Isabella. Alas, alas !

Why all the souls that were were forfeit once ; And He that might the vantage best have took Found out the remedy. How would you be, If He, which is the top of judgment, should But judge you as you are ? O, think on that ! And mercy then will breathe within your lips, Like man new made."

The beautiful things which Isabella is made to utter have, like the sayings of Portia, become proverbial ; but in spirit and character they are as distinct as are the two women. In all that Portia says, we confess the power of a rich, poeti- cal imagination, blended with a quick practical spirit of ob- servation, familiar with the surfaces of things; while there is a profound yet simple morality, a depth of religious feeling, a touch of melancholy, in Isabella's sentiments, and some- thing earnest and authoritative in the manner and expres- sion, as though they had grown up in her mind from long and deep meditation in the silence and solitude of her con- vent cell. . . .

Isabella's confession of the general frailty of her sex has a peculiar softness, beauty, and propriety. She admits the imputation with all the sympathy of woman for woman ; yet with all the dignity of one who felt her own superiority to the weakness she acknowledges.

"Angelo. Nay, women are frail, too.

Isabella. Ay, as the glasses 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."

INTRODUCTION. 23

Nor should we fail to remark the deeper interest which is thrown round Isabella by one part of her character, which is betrayed rather than exhibited in the progress of the action ; and for which we are not at first prepared, though it is so perfectly natural. It is the strong undercurrent of passion and enthusiasm flowing beneath this calm and saintly self- possession ; it is the capacity for high feeling and generous and strong indignation, veiled beneath the sweet austere composure of the religious recluse, which, by the very force of contrast, powerfully impress the imagination. As we see in real life that where, from some external or habitual cause, a strong control is exercised over naturally quick feelings and an impetuous temper, they display themselves with a proportionate vehemence when that restraint is removed ; so the very violence with which her passions burst forth, when opposed or under the influence of strong excitement, is admirably characteristic.

Thus in her exclamation, when she first allows herself to perceive Angelo's vile design —

" Ha ! little honour to be much believ'd, And most pernicious purpose ! Seeming, seeming ! I will proclaim thee, Angelo ; look for it ! Sign me a present pardon for my brother, Or with an outstretch'd throat I '11 tell the world Aloud what man thou art."

And again, where she finds that the "outward sainted

deputy " has deceived her —

" O, I will to him, and pluck out his eyes ! Unhappy Claudio ! wretched Isabel ! Injurious world ! most damned Angelo !"

She places at first a strong and high-souled confidence in her brother's fortitude and magnanimity, judging him by her own lofty spirit; but when her trust in his honour is deceived by his momentary weakness, her scorn has a bitterness and her indignation a force of expression almost fearful ; and

24 MEASURE FOR MEASURE.

both are carried to an extreme which is perfectly in charac- ter. . . .

The whole of this scene with Claudio is inexpressibly grand in the poetry and the sentiment; and the entire play abounds in those passages and phrases which must have be- come trite from familiar and constant use and abuse, if their wisdom and unequalled beauty did not invest them with an immortal freshness and vigour and a perpetual charm. . . .

Of all the characters, Isabella alone has our sympathy. But though she triumphs in the conclusion, her triumph is not produced in a pleasing manner. There are too many disguises and tricks, too many "by-paths and indirect crooked ways," to conduct us to the natural and foreseen catastrophe, which the duke's presence throughout renders inevitable. This duke seems to have a predilection for bringing about justice by a most unjustifiable succession of falsehoods and counterplots. He really deserves Lucio's satirical designation, who somewhere styles him " the fan- tastical duke of dark corners." But Isabella is ever con- sistent in her pure and upright simplicity, and, in the midst of this simulation, expresses a characteristic disapprobation of the part she is made to play :

" To speak so indirectly T am loath ; I would say the truth."

She yields to the supposed friar with a kind of forced docility, because her situation as a religious novice, and his station, habit, and authority, as her spiritual director, demand this sacrifice. In the end we are made to feel that her tran- sition from the convent to the throne has but placed this noble creature in her natural sphere ; for though Isabella as Duchess of Vienna could not more command our highest reverence than Isabella the novice of St. Clare, yet a wider range of usefulness and benevolence, of trial and action, was better suited to the large capacity, the ardent affections, the

INTRODUCTION. 25

energetic intellect, and firm principle of such a woman as Isabella than the walls of a cloister. The .philosophical duke observes in the very first scene :

" Spirits are not finely touch'd But to fine issues, nor Nature never lends The smallest scruple of her excellence But, like a thrifty goddess, she determines Herself the glory of a creditor, Both thanks and use."

This profound and beautiful sentiment is illustrated in the character and destiny of Isabella. She says, of herself, that "she has spirit to act whatever her heart approves;" and what her heart approves we know.

[From Verplanck \r "Shakespeare" *~\ This [the date of "the close of 1603 or the beginning of 1604"] places this remarkable drama at the commencement of that portion of the author's life, from 1602 to 1607, which was memorable for the production of Othello, with its bitter passion; the additions to the original Hamlet^ with their melancholy wisdom ; probably of Timon, with his indignant and hearty scorn, and rebukes of the baseness of civilized society; and, above all, of Lear, with its dark pictures of un- mixed, unmitigated guilt, and its terrible and prophet -like denunciations. Like all these, and perhaps more than any of them, it bears the stamp of that period of the author's life, first noted by Hallam, when some sad influence weighed upon the poet's spirit, and prompted him constantly to ap- pear as " the stern censurer of man." I see no reason to doubt that this did not arise merely from a change of taste, or an experiment in dramatic art, but was, in some mannjer, connected with events or circumstances personal to the author, and affecting his temper, disposition, and moral asso-

* The Illustrated Shakespeare, edited by G. C. Verplatick (New York, 1847), vol. ii. p. 4 of M.for M.

26 MEASURE FOR MEASURE.

ciations of thought. There is no part of the author's own practical philosophy more true than that " a man's mind is parcel of his fortunes." He does not, indeed, like Milton, or Rousseau, or Byron, delight to make himself the prom- inent figure in all his intellectual creations; yet these are not the less evidently coloured by the varying moods pre- dominant, from time to time, during the changes of life. Few men could have more enjoyed life, or have more in- tensely relished the beautiful or the pleasurable, or more revelled in the ludicrous and the fantastical, than the author of that gay and bright succession of poetic comedies, from Love's Labour *s Lost to As You Like Lt and the Twelfth Night. How striking is the contrast, in this respect, between these, and especially between the last — and to my taste the most delightful of all — and the Measure for Measure, austere in its ethical poetry, and sarcastic in its humorous delinea- tions ! or between this last and The Merchant of Venice, where the same topics are often enforced, the same train of thought and even of imagery introduced! They are the same, yet how different! — like the same landscape seen in the sparkling sunshine, after a vernal rain, and again under a lowering wintry sky. The cause must remain in darkness; but, to my mind, it appears manifest that the effect was not the result merely of altering taste or ripening judgment. Samson Agotiistes does not more strongly testify to some great and overwhelming physical and political revolution prostrating and fettering the intellectual giant, in body and mind, than this play and the nearly contemporary writings of its author do to some similar moral cause, or some exter- nal calamity of life acting upon the moral faculties, and pro- ducing new combinations and results in Shakespeare's moral anatomy of the human heart. It may have been some deep wound of the affections, some repeated evidence of man's ingratitude and heartlessness, possibly some mere personal calamity, bringing home to the brilliant and successful man

INTR OD UC TION. 2 7

of genius the living sense of the world's worthlessness, and opening to his sight the mysterious evil of his own nature.

Whatever, then, may have been the immediate and exter- nal causes of this signal intellectual phenomenon in our literary history, it is undeniable that this drama of Measure for Measure specially marks the period of this great climac- teric of Shakespeare's genius, resembling those climacterics of the body which, according to the old notions of philosophy or superstition, come in their regular periods over man, work- ing a strange alteration in the functions of his body, as dif- ferent planets succeed with new influences to rule his mind and his destiny. Although under its strong influence the poet was now about to enter upon a nobler course of labour, and to teach the world deeper and truer lessons in the learn- ing of "human dealings," yet we cannot but rejoice that this solemn change of all the poet's lighter fancies into some- thing still more " rich and strange " came not until after the quick and brilliant succession of his matchless poetic come- dies had perpetuated the memory of his years of buoyant spirits, hope, joy, and untiring fancy. For although we often find in his later works a calm and serene spirit of enjoyment, such as we have before alluded to in the pastoral beauties of Perdita's conversation, and the mountain scenes of Cym- beline — though his comic sketches in his later dramas prove that his perception of whimsical or absurd character was as acute and active as ever, and his power of graphic delinea- tion as vivid — yet even then there seems to be an absence of that personal abandonment of the author's own spirit to the beauty or the humour of the scene to which he had be- fore accustomed us. He appears more as the great philo- sophical artist, depicting the very truth and nature of his scenes, and not, as was his former wont, as himself one of his own joyous throng, mixing in the plot against the bachelor liberty of Benedick — enjoying the frolics in Eastcheap as much as Falstaffor the Prince— or joining his own voice in the boisterous glee of Sir Toby and Sir Andrew.

2 3 MEASURE FOR MEASURE.

But Measure for Measure breathes a sterner spirit than belongs to the productions of either the earlier or the later periods. Dr. Johnson has said that its "comic scenes are natural and pleasing." Their fidelity to nature cannot, in- deed, be denied. But if they please, they do so from their faithfulness of portraiture ; not, like the scenes of Bottom or Falstaff, and their companions, from their exuberance of mirthful sport, or their rich originality of invention and wit. They, as well as the loftier scenes of the piece, are but too faithful pictures of the degrading and hardening influence of licentious passion, from the lighter profligacy of Lucio, the dissipated gentleman, to the grosser and contented deg- radation of the Clown ; and if these are all painted with the truth of Hogarth or Crabbe, they are depicted with no air of sport or mirth, but rather with that of bitter scorn. The author seems to smile like his own Cassius, " as if he mocked himself." Thus Elbow, in his self-satisfied conceit and pe- dantic ignorance, would appear, as some of the critics regard him, simply as an inferior version of Dogberry. But he is not a Dogberry in whose absurdities the author himself lux- uriates, but one whose peculiarities are delineated with a contemptuous sneer. Lucio, again, is a character unfortu- nately too common in civilized, and especially in city, life — a gentleman in manners and education, and of good natural ability, made frivolous in mind and debased in sentiment and disposition by licentious and idle habits — thus substan- tially not a very different character from some of the lighter personages of the prior dramas; but he differs mainly from them because exhibited under a very different light, and re- garded in a different temper. The others are represented in his scenes as they appeared to the transient acquaintance, or the companions of their pleasures. But the poet looks deeper into the heart and life of Lucio, and portrays this man of pleasure in the same mood which governs the higher and more tragic scenes of this drama — a mood sometimes

INTRODUCTION. 29

contemptuous, sometimes sad, often indignant, but never such as had been his former wont, either merely playful or imaginative. Thus it seems to me that, if his comic scenes excite mirth from their truth, it is a mirth in which the author did not participate; and their sarcastic humour assimilates itself in feeling to that of the stern and grave interest of the plot, and the strong passion of its poetic scenes. Characters, in themselves light and amusing, are branded with contempt from the degradation of licentious habits; while the same passion, in a form of less grossness, but of deeper guilt, pros- trates before it high reputation, talent, and wisdom. The intellectual and amiable Claudio, willing to purchase "the weariest and most loathed worldly life," at any cost of shame and sin, is strangely contrasted with the drunken Barnardine, " careJe-ss, reckless, and fearless of what is past, present, or to come." Indeed, the higher characters are mainly dis- criminated from the lower ones, in this moral delineation, in that conscience is dull or dead in the latter, while it appears in all its terrors in Angelo and Claudio, and in all the maj- esty of purity in Isabella. There is little formality of moral instruction, but the secret workings of guilt and fear are laid open with the rapidity, suddenness, and brevity of unuttered and half-formed thoughts. That men of lax moral opinions should shrink with disgust, as some of his critics have done, from this too true a delineation of so common a vice, is not to be wondered at. It was less to be expected that Cole- ridge should have formed the judgment he has expressed on this drama, though there are not a few readers who will as- sent to it. He observes, in his Literary Remains : "This play, which is Shakespeare's throughout, is to me the most painful, say rather the only painful, part of his genuine works. The comic and tragic parts equally border on the miseteon — the one being disgusting, the other horrible; and the pardon and marriage of Angelo not merely baffles the strong, indig- nant claim of justice (for cruelty, witn lust and damnable

30 MEASURE FOR MEASURE.

baseness, cannot be forgiven, because we cannot conceive them as being morally repented of), but it is likewise degrad- ing to the character of woman." We also learn from Mr. Collier that, in the course of lectures on Shakespeare de- livered in 1818 (which were delivered from imperfect notes, and never written out), Coleridge pointed especially to the artifice of Isabella, and her seeming consent to the suit of Angelo, as the circumstances which tended to lower the character of the female sex. He then called Measure for Measure only the "least agreeable " of Shakespeare's dramas. This criticism, however little laudatory, is still substantially an acknowledgment of the severe unity of feeling and pur- pose which pervades the piece, and the impressive power with which it enforces revolting and humbling truths. These are the more conspicuous, because the dark painting of moral degradation, of guilt, remorse, and the dread of death, is not relieved, as is the poet's use elsewhere, by passages of descriptive beauty, or fancy, or tenderness. The only strong contrast which supplies their place is that of the severe beauty of Isabella's character, and the majestic wisdom and deep sentiment of her fervid eloquence. That in this sense the drama is not agreeable, and that it is even painful, is very true; yet the degree of pain thus given is precisely that by which the intellect is most excited, and which is thus the source of the deep and absorbing interest excited by all gloomy yet true pictures of life, in its sadder shapes of crime and woe. Though the subject and the thoughts be in them- selves repulsive, yet when, as here, we feel that the author is breathing through them the strong emotions of his own soul, the attention is fixed, and the sympathy enchained. This is the secret of Dante's power, and of that of the nobler por- tion of Byron's poetry. That Measure for Measure possesses much of this power, is proved by the fact that, in spite of the objections of critics of every degree, it has always taken a strong hold of the general mind. No one of the high female

INTRODUCTION. 31

characters of tragedy has been found more effective in rep- resentation than Isabella; while there is perhaps no com- position of the same length in the language which has left more of its expressive phrases, its moral aphorisms, its brief sentences crowded with meaning, fixed in the general mem- ory, and embodied by daily use in every form of popular eloquence, argument, and literature.

[From Mr. F. J. FnrnivalVs Introduction to the Play*'] On the stifling air of this drama, as contrasted with earlier ones, hear Mr. W. Watkiss Lloyd : " We never throughout this play get into the free, open, joyous atmosphere so invig- orating in other works of Shakspere : the oppressive gloom of the prison, the foul breath of the brothel, are only ex- changed for the chilly damp of conventual walls, or the op- pressive retirement of the monastery, where friars are curious as to the motives of ducal seclusion, and are ready to inti- mate that a petticoat is concerned in the secret." Yet though we have this " night's black curtain " over the play ;f though woman's and man's incontinence match, to some ex- tent, the queen's and Claudius's in Hamlet; though Claudio in his weak fear of death, like Hamlet, fails to do his duty; yet here, beside, in intentional contrast to the lust and weak will of woman and man, rises, like the moon in its pure beauty, like the lightning-flash in its white wrath, the noble figure of Isabella, " a thing enskied and sainted, an immortal spirit," Shakspere's first wholly Christian woman, steadfast and true as Portia, Brutus's wife, pure as Lucrece's soul, merciful above Portia, Bassanib's bride, in that she prays for forgiveness for her foe, not her friend; with an unyielding will, a martyr's spirit above Helena's of All 's Well, the high- est type of woman that Shakspere has yet drawn. . . .

* The Leopold Shakspere (London, 1877), p. lxxiv. t The play was probably written during the plague of 1603 in London, in which, according to Stowe, 30,578 persons died.

3 2 MEASURE FOR MEASURE.

Those who would put Measure for Measure next to All *s Well* surely overlook the far deeper tone of the former play: its dealing with death and the future world, its weight of reflection, the analysis of Angelo's character, the working of conscience, the greater corruption dealt with, the higher saintliness shown in Isabella. Also, if we look at the name of the play, Measure for Measure, we shall see that Shak- spere's idea in it was, though with grim humour and ultimate relenting, to preach in Angelo and Lucio his Third-Period doctrine — an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, vengeance for weakness, yielding to temptation and sin, though here the vengeance is but the poetical justice of marriage to the women whom the sinners have sinned with or abandoned. Intending nun as Isabella is, we must nevertheless look on her as no hard recluse, but as " Isabel, sweet Isabel," with cheek-roses, gentle and fair. Yet she is "a thing enskied and sainted, an immortal spirit;" and this enables us to un- derstand the conflict that must have gone on in her mind between her sisterly affection and her religious principles when pleading her brother's cause, and her acquiescence in Angelo's resolve that Claudio must die. Both times she needs Lucio's appeal before she '11 again urge how much bet- ter mercy becomes the king and judge than justice. Her unhappy words, "Hark! how I '11 bribe you," seem to have first brought out the evil in Angelo. " He tempts her through that which is uppermost in the noble woman, the passion for sacrifice. There is something splendid in the idea of perilling the soul itself for the sake of another " (E. H. Hickey). Shakspere's original, Whetstone, makes his heroine Cassandra give way to her brother's appeal :

" My Andrugio, take comfort in distresse ; Cassandra is wonne, thy rannsome greate to paye."

* Mr. Furnivall puts M. for M. next to Hamlet in the order of the plays. See p. n above. — Ed.

INTRODUCTION. ^

But this was not Shakspere's conception of Isabella. She believed that the son of her heroic father was noble like her- self; and when she found that he was willing to sacrifice her honour for his life, " her swift vindictive anger leapt like a white flame from her white spirit," # and her indignant " take my defiance, die, perish," was her fit answer to her brother's base proposal. Yet she who would not stoop to wrong, dared for the sake of Mariana to bear the imputation of it. She had no care for the world's opinion, so that the deed appeared not foul in the truth of her spirit ; and as in The Merry Wives and Much Ado, her quick woman's wit took a righteous delight in circumventing a knave. We have an- other passionate outburst from her when she hears the false news that her brother has been executed. And then she takes her side by the duke, who loves her, to fight with him God's fight against the evil in that foul Vienna; a far better post, heading Heaven's army in her land, than praying bar- ren prayers in convent walls. She is the first of the three splendid women who illumine the dark Third Period : she, glorious for her purity and righteousness, Cordelia for her truth and filial love, Volumnia for her devotion to honour and her love of her native land. Perhaps we may add a fourth, Portia, Brutus's wife, for nobleness and wifely duty. But the highest of all is Isabella.

* See my friend Mr. W. H. Pater's admirable paper in The Fortnightly Review, 1874 or 1875.

c

MEASURE FOR MEASURE.

Vincentio, the Duke.

Angelo, Deputy.

Escalus, an ancient Lord.

Claudio, a young gentleman

Lucio, a fantastic.

Two other gentlemen.

Provost.

Thomas, I. c ■

Peter, ) two fnars

A Justice.

Varrius.

Elbow, a simple constable.

Froth, a foolish gentleman.

Pom pry, servant to Mistress Overdone

Abhorson, an executioner.

Barnardine, a dissolute prisoner.

Isabella, sister to Claudio. Mariana, betrothed to Angelo. Juliet, beloved of Claudio. Francisca, a nun. Mistress Overdone, a bawd.

Lords, Officers, Citizens, Boy, and Attendants.

Vie?ina.

STREET IN VIENNA (SCENE III.).

ACT I.

Scene I. An Apartment in the Duke's Palace.

Enter Duke, Escalus, Lords and Attendants.

Duke. Escalus.

Escalus. My lord.

Duke. Of government the properties to unfold Would seem in me to affect speech and discourse, Since I am put to know that your own science Exceeds, in that, the lists of all advice My strength can give you ; then no more remains

38 MEASURE FOR MEASURE.

But that to your sufficiency — as your worth is able —

And let them work. The nature of our people,

Our city's institutions, and the terms iq

For common justice, you 're as pregnant in

As art and practice hath enriched any

That we remember. There is our commission,

From which we would not have you warp. — Call hither,

I say, bid come before us Angelo. — [Exit an Attendant

What figure of us think you he will bear?

For you must know, we have with special soul

Elected him our absence to supply,

Lent him our terror, dress'd him with our love,

And given his deputation all the organs zc

Of our own power. What think you of it?

Escalus. If any in Vienna be of worth To undergo such ample grace and honour, It is Lord Angelo.

Duke. Look where he comes.

Enter Angelo.

Angelo. Always obedient to your grace's will, I come to know your pleasure.

Duke, Angelo,

There is a kind of character in thy life, That to the observer doth thy history Fully unfold. Thyself and thy belongings Are not thine own so proper as to waste 3°

Thyself upon thy virtues, they on thee. Heaven doth with us as we with torches do, Not light them for themselves ; for if our virtues Did not go forth of us, 't were all alike As if we had them not. Spirits are not finely touch'd But to fine issues, nor Nature never lends The smallest scruple of her excellence But, like a thrifty goddess, she determines

ACT I. SCENE I.

39

Herself the glory of a creditor,

Both thanks and use. But I do bend my speech 4o

To one that can my part in him advertise ;

Hold therefore, Angelo : —

In our remove be thou at full ourself ;

Mortality and mercy in Vienna

Live in thy tongue and heart. Old Escalus,

Though first in question, is thy secondary.

Take thy commission.

Angelo. Now, good my lord,

Let there be some more test made of my metal, Before so noble and so great a figure Be stamp'd upon it.

Duke. No more evasion : so

We have with a leaven'd and prepared choice Proceeded to you ; therefore take your honours. Our haste from hence is of so quick condition That it prefers itself and leaves unquestion'd Matters of needful value. We shall write to you, As time and our concernings shall importune, How it goes with us, and do look to know What doth befall you here. So, fare you well ; To the hopeful execution do I leave you Of your commissions.

Angelo. Yet give leave, my lord, 60

That we may bring you something on the way.

Duke. My haste may not admit it : Nor need you, on mine honour, have to do With any scruple ; your scope is as mine own, So to enforce or qualify the laws As to your soul seems good. Give me your hand. I '11 privily away. I love the people, But do not like to stage me to their eyes. Though it do well, I do not relish well Their loud applause and aves vehement; 70

4o

MEASURE FOR MEASURE.

Nor do I think the man of safe discretion That does affect it. Once more, fare you well.

Angelo. The heavens give safety to your purposes !

Escalus. Lead forth and bring you back in happiness !

Duke. I thank you. Fare you well. [Exit.

Escalus. I shall desire you, sir, to give me leave To have free speech with you ; and it concerns me To look into the bottom of my place. A power I have, but of what strength and nature I am not yet instructed. 80

Angelo. 'T is so with me. Let us withdraw together, And we may soon our satisfaction have Touching that point.

Escalus. I '11 wait upon your honour. [Exeunt.

Scene II. A Street. . E?iter Lucio and two Gentlemen. Lucio. If the duke with the other dukes come not to com- position with the King of Hungary, why then all the dukes fall upon the king.

1 Gentle??ian. Heaven grant us its peace, but not the King of Hungary's !

2 Gentleman. Amen.

Lucio. Thou concludest like the sanctimonious pirate, that went to sea with the Ten Commandments, but scraped one out of the table.

2 Gentleman. Thou shalt not steal? 10

Lucio. Ay, that he razed.

1 Gentleman. Why, 't was a commandme-nt to command the captain and all the rest from their functions ; they put forth to steal. There 's not a soldier of us all, that, in the thanksgiving before meat, do relish the petition well that prays for peace.

2 Getitleman. I never heard any soldier dislike it.

ACT I. SCENE II.

41

Lucio. I believe thee ; for I think thou never wast where grace was said.

2 Gentleman. No ? a dozen times at least. 20

1 Gentleman. What, in metre ?

Lucio. In any proportion or in any language.

1 Gentleman. I think, or in any religion.

Lucio. Ay, why not? Grace is grace, despite of all con- troversy; as, for example, thou thyself art a wicked villain, despite of all grace.

1 Gentleman. Well, there went but a pair of shears be- tween us.

Lucio. I grant; as there may between the lists and the velvet. Thou art the list. 30

1 Gentleman. And thou the velvet: thou art good velvet; thou 'rt a three-piled piece, I warrant thee. I had as lief be a list of an English kersey as be piled, as thou art piled, for a French velvet. Do I speak feelingly now ?

Lucio. I think thou dost; and, indeed, with most painful feeling of thy speech. I will, out of thine own confession, learn to begin thy health ; but, whilst I live, forget to drink after thee.

1 Gentleman. I think I have done myself wrong, have I not ? 40

2 Gentleman. Yes, that thou hast, whether thou art tainted or free.

Lucio. Behold, behold, where Madam Mitigation comes !

1 Gentleman. I have purchased as many diseases under her roof as come to —

2 Gentleman. To what, I pray ? Lucio. Judge.

2 Gentleman. To three thousand dolours a year. 1 Gentleman. Ay, and more.

Lucio. A French crown more. so

1 Gentleman. Thou art always figuring diseases in me ; but thou art full of error ; I am sound.

42 MEASURE FOR MEASURE.

Lucio. Nay, not as one would say, healthy ; but so sound as things that are hollow : thy bones are hollow ; impiety has made a feast of thee.

Enter Mistress Overdone.

i Gentleman. How now ! which of your hips has the most profound sciatica ?

Mrs. Overdone. Well, well; there 's one yonder arrested and carried to prison was worth five thousand of you all.

2 Ge?itleman. Who 's that, I pray thee ? 60

Mrs. Overdo?ie. Marry, sir, that 's Claudio, Signior Claudio.

1 Gentleman. Claudio to prison ! 't is not so.

Mrs. Overdone. Nay, but I know 't is so. I saw him ar- rested, saw him carried away; and, which is more, within these three days his head to be chopped off.

Lucio. But, after all this fooling, I would not have it so. Art thou sure of this?

Mrs. Overdone. I am too sure of it; and it is for getting Madam Julietta with child. 69

Lucio. Believe me, this may be ; he promised to meet me two hours since, and he was ever precise in promise-keeping.

2 Gentleman. Besides, you know, it draws something near to the speech we had to such a purpose.

1 Gentleman. But, most of all, agreeing with the proclama- tion.

Lucio. Away ! let 's go learn the truth of it.

[Exeunt Lucio and Gentlemen.

Mrs. Overdofie. Thus, what with the war, what with the sweat, what with the gallows, and what with poverty, I am custom-shrunk. —

Enter Pompey. How now ! what 's the news with you ? 80

Pompey. Yonder man is carried to prison. Mrs. Overdone. Well, what has he done ?

ACT I. SCENE II. 43

Pompey. A woman.

Mrs. Overdone. What, is there a maid with child by him ?

Pompey. No, but there 's a woman with maid by him. You have not heard of the proclamation, have you ?

Mrs. Overdone. What proclamation, man ?

Po?npey. All houses in the suburbs of Vienna must be plucked down.

Mrs. Overdone. And what shall become of those in the city ? 9I

Pompey. They shall stand for seed ; they had gone down too, but that a wise burgher put in for them.

Mrs. Overdone. But shall all our houses of resort in the suburbs be pulled down ?

Pompey. To the ground, mistress.

Mrs. Overdone. Why, here 's a change indeed in the com- monwealth? What shall become of me ?

Pompey. Come, fear not you ; good counsellors lack no clients. Though you change your place, you need not change your trade ; I '11 be your tapster still. Courage ! there will be pity taken on you ; you that have worn your eyes almost out in the service, you will be considered. 103

Mrs. Overdone. What 's to do here, Thomas Tapster ? let 's withdraw.

Pompey. Here comes Signior Claudio, led by the provost to prison ; and there 's Madam Juliet. [Exeunt.

Enter Provost, Claudio, Juliet, and Officers.

Claudio. Fellow, why dost thou show me thus to the world ? Bear me to prison, where I am committed.

Provost. I do it not in evil disposition, no

But from Lord Angelo by special charge.

Claudio. Thus can the demigod Authority Make us pay down for our offence by weight. — The words of heaven : — on whom it will, it will ; On whom it will not, so; yet still 't is just.

44 MEASURE FOR MEASURE.

Re-enter Lucio and two Gentlemen.

Lucio. Why, how now, Claudio ! whence comes this re- straint ?

Claudio. From too much liberty, my Lucio, liberty ; As surfeit is the father of much fast, So every scope by the immoderate use

Turns to restraint. Our natures do pursue, 120

Like rats that ravin down their proper bane, A thirsty evil; and when we drink we die.

Lucio. If I could speak so wisely under an arrest, I would send for certain of my creditors ; and yet, to say the truth, I had as lief have the foppery of freedom as the morality of imprisonment. What 's thy offence, Claudio?

Claudio. What but to speak of would offend again.

Lucio. What, is 't murther?

Claudio. No.

Lucio. Lechery? 130

Claudio. Call it so.

Provost. Away, sir ! you must go.

Claudio. One word, good friend. — Lucio, a word with you.

Lucio. A hundred, if they '11 do you any good. — Is lechery so look'd after?

Claudio. 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 propagation of a dower 140

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?

ACT I. SCENE II. 45

■- Claudio. 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, 150

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 unscour'd armour, hung by the wall

So long that nineteen zodiacs have gone round

And none of them been worn ; and, for a name,

Now puts the drowsy and neglected act 160

Freshly on me: 't is surely for a name.

Lucio. I warrant it is; and thy head stands so tickle on thy shoulders that a milkmaid, if she be in love, may sigh it off. Send after the duke and appeal to him.

Claudio. I have done so, but he 's not to be found. I prithee, Lucio, do me this kind service. This day my sister should the cloister enter And there receive her approbation : Acquaint her with the danger of my state; Implore her, in my voice, that she make friends 170

To the strict deputy ; bid herself assay him. I have great hope in that ; for in her youth There is a prone and speechless dialect, Such as move men ; beside, 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 '11 to her.

46 MEASURE FOR MEASURE.

Claudio. I thank you, good friend Lucio. 1S1

Lucio. Within two hours.

Claudio. Come, officer, away ! [Exeunt.

j r ■ J. *'' Scene III. A Monastery.

Enter Duke and Friar Thomas.

Duke. No, holy father; throw away that thought; Believe not that the dribbling dart of love Can pierce a complete bosom. Why I desire thee To give me secret harbour, hath a purpose More grave and wrinkled than the aims and ends Of burning youth.

Friar Thomas. May your grace speak of it ?

Duke. My holy sir, none better knows than you How I have ever lov'd the life remov'd, And held in idle price to haunt assemblies Where youth, and cost, and witless bravery keeps. 10

I have deliver'd to Lord Angelo, A man of stricture and firm abstinence, My absolute power and place here in Vienna, And he supposes me travell'd to Poland; For so I have strew'd it in the common ear, And so it is receiv'd. Now, pious sir, You will demand of me why I do this?

Friar Thomas. Gladly, my lord.

Duke. We have strict statutes and most biting laws, The needful bits and curbs to headstrong steeds, 2c

Which for this 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 mock'd than fear'd ; so our decrees,

ACT I. SCENE IV. 47

\

Dead to infliction, to themselves are dead,

And liberty plucks justice by the nose;

The baby beats the nurse, and quite athwart 30

Goes all decorum.

Friar Thomas. It rested in your grace To unloose this tied-up justice when you pleas'd : And it in you more dreadful would have seem'd Than in Lord Angelo.

Duke. I do fear, too dreadful.

Sith 't was my fault to give the people scope, 'T would 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, I have on Angelo impos'd the office; 40

Who may, in the ambush of my name, strike home, And yet my nature never in the fight To do me slander. And to behold his sway, I will, as 't were a brother of your order, Visit both prince and people ; therefore, I prithee, 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, so

Stands at a guard 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. [Exeunt.

Scene IV. A Nunnery. Enter Isabella and Francisca.

Isabella. And have you nuns no farther privileges ? Francisca. Are not these large enough ?

48 MEASURE FOR MEASURE.

Isabella. Yes, truly; I speak not as desiring more, But rather wishing a more strict restraint Upon the sisterhood, the votarists of Saint Clare.

Lucia.- \-l$£ithiti\ Ho ! Peace be in this place !

Isabella. * k Who 's that which calls ?

Francisca. It is a man's voice. Gentle Isabella, Turn yoa^the key, and know his business of him. You may, I may not; you are yet unsworn. When you have vow'd, you must not speak with men 10

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. [£xit.

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

Enter Lucio.

Lucio. Hail, virgin, if you be, as those cheek-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 ? 20

Isabella. 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.

Isabella. 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.

Isabella. Sir, make me not your story.

Lucio. It is true. 30

I would not — though 't is my familiar sin Writh maids to seem the lapwing and to jest, Tongue far from heart — play with all virgins so.

ACT I. SCENE IV. 49

I hold you as a thing enskied and sainted, By your renouncement an immortal spirit, And to be talk'd with in sincerity, As with a saint.

Isabella. You do blaspheme the good in mocking me.

Lucio. Do not believe it. Fewness and truth, 't is thus: Your brother and his lover have embrac'd ; 40

As those that feed grow full, as blossoming time That from the seedness the bare fallow brings To teeming foison, even so her plenteous womb Expresseth his full tilth and husbandry.

Isabella. Some one with child by him ? My cousin Juliet?

Lucio. Is she your cousin ?

Isabella. Adoptedly ; as school-maids change their names By vain though apt affection.

Lucio. She it is.

Lsabella. O, let him marry her !

Lucio. This is the point.

The duke is very strangely gone from hence; so

Bore many gentlemen, myself being one, In hand and hope of action : but we do learn By those that know the very nerves of state, His givings-out were of an infinite distance From his true-meant design. Upon his place, And with full line of his authority, Governs Lord Angelo; a man whose blood Is very snow-broth, one who never feels The wanton stings and motions of the sense, But doth rebate and blunt his natural edge 60

With profits of the mind, study and fast. He — to give fear to use and liberty, Which have for long run by the hideous law, As mice by lions — hath pick'd out an act, Under whose heavy sense your brother's life Falls into forfeit; he arrests him on it,

D

5o MEASURE FOR MEASURE.

And follows close the rigour of the statute,

To make him an example. All hope is gone,

Unless you have the grace by your fair prayer

To soften Angelo ; and that 's my pith of business 70

'Twixt you and your poor brother.

Isabella. Doth he so seek his life ?

Lucio. Has censur'd him

Already ; and, as I hear, the provost hath A warrant for his execution.

Isabella. Alas! what poor ability 's in me To do him good?

Lucio. Assay the power you have.

Isabella. My power? Alas, I doubt —

Lucio. Our doubts are traitors,

And make us lose the good we oft might win By fearing to, attempt. Go to Lord Angelo, And let him learn to know, when maidens sue, 80

Men give like gods ; but when they weep and kneel, All their petitions are as freely theirs As they themselves would owe them.

Isabella. I '11 see what I can do.

Lucio. But speedily.

Isabella. I will about it straight, No longer staying but to give the mother Notice of my affair. I humbly thank you : Commend me to my brother ; soon at night I '11 send him certain word of my success.

Lucio. I take my leave of you.

Isabella. Good sir, adieu. [Exeunt.

China dishes (ii. i. 91).

ACT II.

Scene I. A Hall i?i Angelas House.

Enter Angelo, Escalus, and a Justice, Provost, Officers,

and other Attendants, behind.

Angelo. We must not make a scarecrow of the law, Setting it up to fear the birds of prey,

5 2 MEASURE FOR MEASURE.

And let it keep one shape, till custom make it Their perch and not their terror.

Escalus. Ay, but yet

Let us be keen, and rather cut a little, Than fall and bruise to death. Alas, this gentleman, Whom I would save, had a most noble father ! Let but your honour know, Whom I believe to be most strait in virtue, That, in the working of your own affections, 10

Had time coher'd with place, or place with wishing, Or that the resolute acting of your blood Could have attain'd the effect of your own purpose, Whether you had not sometime in your life Err'd in this point which now you censure him, And pull'd the law upon you.

Angela. T is one thing to be tempted, Escalus, Another thing to fall. I not deny, The jury, passing on the prisoner's life,

May in the sworn twelve have a thief or two 20

Guiltier than him they try. What 's open made to justice, That justice seizes; what knows the law That thieves do pass on thieves? T is very pregnant, The jewel that we find, we stoop and take 't Because we see it ; but what we do not see We tread upon, and never think of it. You may not so extenuate his offence For I have had such faults ; but rather tell me, When I, that censure him, do so offend, Let mine own judgment pattern out my death, 30

And nothing come in partial. Sir, he must die.

Escalus. Be it as your wisdom will.

Angelo. Where is the provost ?

Provost. Here, if it like your honour.

Angelo. See that Claudio

Be executed by nine to-morrow morning.

ACT II. SCENE I.

53

Bring him his confessor, let him be prepar'd ; For that 's the utmost of his pilgrimage. [Exit Provost.

Escalus. [Aside] Well, heaven forgive him ! and forgive us all !

/Some rise by sin, and some by virtue fall : Some run from brakes of vice, and answer nonej; And some condemned for a fault alone. / 40

Enter Elbow, and Officers with Froth and Pompey.

Elbow. Come, bring them away. If these be good people in a commonweal that do nothing but use their abuses in common houses, I know no law ; bring them away.

Angelo. How now, sir! What 's your name? and what 's the matter?

Elbow. If it please your honour, I am the poor duke's constable, and my name is Elbow. I do lean upon justice, sir, and do bring in here before your good honour two no- torious benefactors. 50

Angelo. Benefactors ? Well ; what benefactors are they ? are they not malefactors ?

Elbow. If it please your honour, I know not well what they are ; but precise villains they are, that I am sure of, and void of all profanation in the world that good Christians ought to have.

Escalus. This comes off well ; here 's a wise officer.

Angelo. Go to; what quality are they of? Elbow is your name ? why dost thou not speak, Elbow ?

Pompey. He cannot, sir ; he 's out at elbow. 60

Angelo. What are you, sir ?

Elbow. He, sir! a tapster, sir, — parcel -bawd; one that serves a bad woman, whose house, sir, was, as they say, plucked clown in the suburbs ; and now she professes a hot- house, which, I think, is a very ill house too.

Escalus. How know you that ?

54

MEASURE FOR MEASURE.

Elbow. My wife, sir, whom I detest before heaven and your honour, —

Escalus. How ? thy wife ?

Elbow. Ay, sir ; whom, I thank heaven, is an honest woman, — 7i

Escalus. Dost thou detest her therefore ?

Elbow. I say, sir, I will detest myself also, as well as she, that this house, if it be not a bawd's house, it is pity of her life, for it is a naughty house.

Escalus. How dost thou know that, constable ?

Elbow. Marry, sir, by my wife ; who, if she had been a woman cardinally given, might have been accused in forni- cation, adultery, and all uncleanliness there.

Escalus. By the woman's means ? 80

Elbow. Ay, sir, by Mistress Overdone's means ; but as she spit in his face, so she defied him.

Pompey. Sir, if it please your honour, this is not so.

Elbow. Prove it before these varlets here, thou honourable man ; prove it.

Escalus. Do you hear how he misplaces ?

Pompey. Sir, she came in great with child, and longing, saving your honour's reverence, for stewed prunes ; sir, we had but two in the house, which at that very distant time stood, as it were, in a fruit-dish, a dish of some three-pence : your honours have seen such dishes ; they are not China dishes, but very good dishes, — 92

Escalus. Go to, go to ; no matter for the dish, sir.

Pompey. No, indeed, sir, not of a pin ; you are therein in the right : but to the point. As I say, this Mistress Elbow, being, as I say, with child, and being great-bellied, and long- ing, as I said, for prunes, and having but two in the dish, as I said, Master Froth here, this very man, having eaten the rest, as I said, and, as I say, paying for them very honestly, — for, as you know, Master Froth, I could not give you three- pence again. roi

ACT II. SCENE I. 55

Froth. No, indeed.

Pompey. Very well ; you being then, if you be remem- bered, cracking the stones of the foresaid prunes, —

Froth. Ay, so I did indeed.

Pompey. Why, very well ; I telling you then, if you be re- membered, that such a one and such a one were past cure of the thing you wot of, unless they kept very good diet, as I told you, —

Froth. All this is true. "°

Pompey. Why, very well, then, —

Escalus. Come, you are a tedious fool ; to the purpose. What was done to Elbow's wife, that he hath cause to com- plain of? Come me to what was clone to her.

Pompey. Sir, your honour cannot come to that yet.

Escalus. No, sir, nor I mean it not.

Pompey. Sir, but you shall come to it, by your honour's leave. And, I beseech you, look into Master Froth here, sir ; a man of fourscore pound a year, whose father died at Hallowmas. — Was 't not at Hallowmas, Master Froth ? 120

Froth. All-hallownd eve.

Pompey. Why, very well ; I hope here be truths. He, sir, sitting, as I say, in a lower chair, sir, — 't was in the Bunch of Grapes, where indeed you have a delight to sit, have you not ?

Froth. I have so ; because it is an open room and good for winter.

Pompey. Why, very well, then ; I hope here be truths.

Angelo. This will last out a night in Russia, When nights are longest there. I '11 take my leave, 130

And leave you to the hearing of the cause, Hoping you '11 find good cause to whip them all.

Escalus. I think no less. Good morrow to your lord- ship.— [Exit Angelo. Now, sir, come on ; what was done to Elbow's wife, once

5 6 MEASURE FOR MEASURE.

Pompey. Once, sir ? there was nothing done to her once.

Elbow. I beseech you, sir, ask him what this man did to my wife.

Pompey. I beseech your honour, ask me.

Escalus. Well, sir, what did this gentleman to her ? i4o

Pompey. I beseech you, sir, look in this gentleman's face. — Good Master Froth, look upon his honour ; 't is for a good purpose. — Doth your honour mark his face ?

Escalus. Ay, sir, very well.

Pompey. Nay, I beseech you, mark it well.

Escalus. Well, I do so.

Po?npey. Doth your honour see any harm in his face ?

Escalus. Why, no.

Pompey. I '11 be supposed upon a book, his face is the worst thing about him. Good, then ; if his face be the worst thing about him, how could Master Froth do the constable's wife any harm? I would know that of your honour. 152

Escalus. He 's in the right. Constable, what say you to it?

Elbow. First, an it like you, the house is a respected house ; next, this is a respected fellow, and his mistress is a respected woman.

Pompey. By this hand, sir, his wife is a more respected person than any of us all. «

Elbow. Varlet, thou liest ; thou liest, wicked varlet ! the time is yet to come that she was ever respected with man, woman, or child. 162

Pompey. Sir, she was respected with him before he married with her.

Escalus. Which is the wiser here ? Justice or Iniquity ? — Is this true ?

Elbow. O thou caitiff! O thou varlet! O thou wicked Hannibal ! I respected with her before I was married to her! — If ever I was respected with her, or she with me, let not your worship think me the poor duke's officer. — Prove

ACT II. SCENE I. 57

this, thou wicked Hannibal, or I '11 have mine action of bat- tery on thee. 1?2

Escalus. If he took you a box o' the ear, you might have your action of slander too.

Elbow. Marry, I thank your good worship for it. What is 't your worship's pleasure I shall do with this wicked caitiff?

Escalus. Truly, officer, because he hath some offences in him that thou wouldst discover if thou couldst, let him con- tinue in his courses till thou knowest what they are. i8o

Elbow. Marry, I thank your worship for it. — Thou seest, thou wicked varlet, now, what 's come upon thee : thou art to continue now, thou varlet ; thou art to continue.

Escalus. Where were you born, friend ?

Eroth. Here in Vienna, sir.

Escalus. Are you of fourscore pounds a year?

Froth. Yes, an 't please you, sir.

Escalus. So. — What trade are you of, sir ?

Pompey. A tapster; a poor widow's tapster.

Escalus. Your mistress' name ? 190

Pompey. Mistress Overdone.

Escalus. Hath she had any more than one husband ?

Pompey. Nine, sir; Overdone by the last. ■+* Escalus. Nine ! — Come hither to me, Master Froth. Mas- ter Froth, I would not have you acquainted with tapsters ; they will draw you, Master Froth, and you will hang them. Get you gone, and let me hear no more of you.

Froth. I thank your worship. For mine own part, I never come into any room in a taphouse, but I am drawn in. 199

Escalus. Well, no more of it, Master Froth : farewell. — [Exit Froth.] Come you hither to me, Master Tapster. What 's your name, Master Tapster?

Pompey. Pompey.

Escalus. What else?

Pompey. Bum, sir.

58 MEASURE FOR MEASURE.

Escalus. Troth, and your bum is the greatest thing about you ; so that in the beastliest sense you are Pompey the Great. Pompey, you are partly a bawd, Pompey, howsoever you colour it in being a tapster, are you not ? come, tell me true; it shall be the better for you. 210

Pompey. Truly, sir, I am a poor fellow that would live.

Escalus. How would you live, Pompey ? by being a bawd ? What do you think of the trade, Pompey ? is it a lawful trade ?

Pompey. If the law would allow it, sir.

Escalus. But the law will not allow it, Pompey; nor it shall not be allowed in Vienna.

Pofnpey. Does your worship mean to geld and spay all the youth of the city ?

Escalus. No, Pompey. 220

Po?npey. Truly, sir, in my poor opinion, they will to 't then. If your worship will take order for the drabs and the knaves, you need not to fear the bawds.

Escalus. There are pretty orders beginning, I can tell you ; it is but heading and hanging.

Pompey. If you head and hang all that offend that way but for ten year together, you '11 be glad to give out a commission for more heads. If this law hold in Vienna ten year, I '11 rent the fairest house in it after three-pence a day. If you live to see this come to pass, say Pompey told you so. 230

Escalus. Thank you, good Pompey; and, in requital of your prophecy, hark you : I advise you, let me not find you before me again upon any complaint whatsoever: no, not for dwell- ing where you do. If I do, Pompey, I shall beat you to your tent, and prove a shrewd Caesar to you; in plain dealing, Pompey, I shall have you whipt. So, for this time, Pompey, fare you well.

Pompey. I thank your worship for your good counsel ; [Aside] but I shall follow it as the flesh and fortune shall better determine. 240

ACT II. SCENE I.

59

Whip me ? No, no; let carman whip his jade ;

The valiant heart is not whipt out of his trade. [Exit.

Escalus. Come hither to me, Master Elbow; come hither, Master Constable. How long have you been in this place of constable?

Elbow. Seven year and a half, sir.

Escalus. I thought, by your readiness in the office, you had continued in it some time. You say, seven years to- gether ?

Elbow. And a half, sir. 250

Escalus. Alas, it hath been great pains to you. They do you wrong to put you so oft upon 't. Are there not men in your ward sufficient to serve it?

Elbow. Faith, sir, few of any wit in such matters. As they are chosen, they are glad to choose me for them; I do it for some piece of money, and go through with all.

Escalus. Look you bring me in the names of some six or seven, the most sufficient of your parish.

Elbozv. To your worship's house, sir?

Escalus. To my house. Fare you well. — [Exit Elbow. What 's o'clock, think you? 261

Justice. Eleven, sir.

Escalus. I pray you home to dinner with me.

Justice. I humbly thank you.

Escalus. It grieves me for the death of Claudio; But there 's no remedy.

Justice. Lord Angelo is severe.

Escalus. It is but needful.

1 Mercy is not itself, that oft looks so ; Pardon is still the nurse of second woe. But yet, — poor Claudio ! There is no remedy. 270

Come, sir. [Exeunt.

6o MEASURE FOR MEASURE.

Scene II. Another Room in the Same. Enter Provost and a Servant. Servant. He 's hearing of a cause; he will come straight. I '11 tell him of you.

Provost. Pray you, do. — [Exit Servant.'] I '11 know

His pleasure; may be he will relent. Alas, He hath but as offended in a dream ! All sects, all ages smack of this vice; and he To die for 't !—

Enter Angelo.

Angelo. Now, what 's the matter, provost?

Provost. Is it your will Claudio shall die to-morrow?

Angelo. Did not I tell thee yea? hadst thou not order? Why dost thou ask again ?

Provost. Lest I might be too rash.

Under your good correction, I have seen, 10

When, after execution, judgment hath Repented o'er his doom.

Angelo. Go to; let that be mine.

Do you your office, or give up your place, And you shall well be spar'd.

Provost. I crave your honour's pardon.

What shall be done, sir, with the groaning Juliet? She 's very near her hour.

Angelo. Dispose of her

To some more fitter place, and that with speed.

Re-enter Servant.

Servant. Here is the sister of the man condemn'd Desires access to you.

Angelo. Hath he a sister?

Provost. Ay, my good lord ; a very virtuous maid, 20

And to be shortly of a sisterhood, If not already.

ACT II. SCENE II. 6 1

Angelo. Well, let her be admitted. — [Exit Servant.

See you the fornicatress be remov'd : Let her have needful but not lavish means ; There shall be order for 't!

Enter Isabella and Lucio.

Provost. Save your honour !

Angelo. Stay a little while. — [To Isabella] You 're wel- come ; what 's your will ?

Isabella. I am a woful suitor to your honour, Please but your honour hear me.

Afigelo. Well, what 's your suit?

Isabella. There is a vice that most I do abhor, And most desire should meet the blow of justice; 3o

For which I would not plead, but that I must ; For which I must not plead, but that I am At war 'twixt will and will not.

Angelo. Well, the matter ?

Isabella. I have a brother is condemn'd to die; I do beseech you, let it be his fault, And not my brother.

Provost. [Aside] Heaven give thee moving graces !

Angelo. Condemn the fault, and not the actor of it ? Why, every fault 's condemn'd ere it be done. Mine were the very cipher of a function, To fine the faults whose fine stands in record, 40

And let go by the actor.

Isabella. O just but severe law !

I had a brother, then. Heaven keep your honour !

lucio. [Aside to Isabella] Give 't not o'er so : to him again, entreat him; Kneel down before him, hang upon his gown. You are too cold; if you should need a pin, You could not with more tame a tongue desire it. To him, I say !

62 MEASURE FOR MEASURE.

Isabella. Must he needs die ?

Afigelo. Maiden, no remedy.

Isabella. Yes; I do think that you might pardon him, And neither heaven nor man grieve at the mercy. 5°

Angelo. I will not do 't.

Isabella. But can you, if you would ?

Angelo. Look, what I will not, that I cannot do.

Isabella. But might you do 't, and do the world no wrong, If so your heart were touch'd with that remorse As mine is to him ?

Angelo. He 's sentenc'd; 't is too late.

Lucio. {Aside to Isabella} You are too cold.

Isabella. Too late? why, no; I, that do speak a word, May call it back again. Well believe this, No ceremony that to great ones longs,

Not the king's crown, nor the deputed sword, 60

The marshal's truncheon, nor the judge's robe, Become them with one half so good a grace As mercy does.

If he had been as you and you as he, You would have slipt like him ; but he like you Would not have been so stern.

Angelo. Pray you, be gone.

Isabella. I would to heaven I had your potency, And you were Isabel ! should it then be thus? No ; I would tell what 't were to be a judge, And what a prisoner.

Lucio. [Aside to Isabella] Ay, touch him; there 's the vein. 70

Angelo. Your brother is a forfeit of the law, And you but waste your words.

Isabella. Alas, alas !

Why, all the souls that were were forfeit once, And He that might the vantage best have took Found out the remedy. How would you be,

ACT II. SCENE II. 63

If He, which is the top of judgment, should But judge you as you are ? O, think on that ! And mercy then will breathe within your lips, Like man new made.

Angelo. Be you content, fair maid;

It is the law, not I condemn your brother. so

Were he my kinsman, brother, or my son, It should be thus with him; he must die to-morrow.

Isabella. To - morrow ! O, that 's sudden ! Spare him, spare him ! He 's not prepar'd for death. Even for our kitchens We kill the fowl of season ; shall we serve heaven With less respect than we do minister To our gross selves ? Good, good my lord, bethink you ; Who is it that hath died for this offence ? There 's many have committed it.

Lucio. [Aside to Isabella} Ay, well said. 89

Angelo. The law hath not been dead, though it hath slept. Those many had not dar'd to do that evil, If the first that did the edict infringe Had answer'd for his deed ; now 't is awake, Takes note of what is done, and, like a prophet, Looks in a glass, that shows what future evils, Either new, or by remissness new-conceiv'd, And so in progress to be hatch'd and born, Are now to have no successive degrees, But, ere they live, to end.

Isabella. Yet show some pity.

Angelo. I show it most of all when I show justice; ico

For then I pity those I do not know, Which a dismiss'd offence would after gall, And do him right that, answering one foul wrong, Lives not to act another. Be satisfied ; Your brother dies to-morrow ; be content.

Isabella. So you must be the first that gives this sentence,

f

64 MEASURE FOR MEASURE.

And he that suffers. O, it is excellent

To have a giant's strength, but it is tyrannous

To use it like a giant.

Lucio. [Aside to Isabel/a] That 's well said.

Isabella. Could great men thunder no

As Jove himself does, Jove would ne'er be quiet, For every pelting, petty officer Would use his heaven for thunder; Nothing but thunder ! Merciful Heaven, Thou rather with thy sharp and sulphurous bolt Split'st the unwedgeable and gnarled oak Than the soft myrtle; but man, proud man, Drest in a little brief authority, Most ignorant of what he 's most assur'd, His glassy essence, like an angry ape, 120

Plays such fantastic tricks before high heaven As make the angels weep, who, with our spleens, Would all themselves laugh mortal.

Lucio. [Aside to Isabella] O, to him, to him, wench ! he will relent : He 's coming; I perceive 't.

Provost. [Aside] Pray heaven she win him !

Isabella. We cannot weigh our brother with ourself. Great men may jest with saints; 't is wit in them, But in the less foul profanation.

Lucio. Thou 'rt i' the right, girl ; more o' that.

Isabella. That in the captain 's but a choleric word 130 Which in the soldier is flat blasphemy.

Lucio. [Aside to Isabella] Art avis'd o' that? more on 't.

Angelo. Why do you put these sayings upon me ?

Isabella. Because authority, though it err like others, Hath yet a kind of medicine in itself, That skins the vice o' the top. Go to your bosom ; Knock there, and ask your heart what it doth know That 's like my brother's fault : if it confess

ACT II. SCENE II. 65

A natural guiltiness such as is his,

Let it not sound a thought upon your tongue 140

Against my brother's life.

Angelo. [Aside] She speaks, and 't is

Such sense, that my sense breeds with it. — Fare you well.

Isabella. Gentle my lord, turn back.

Angelo. I will bethink me ; come again to-morrow.

Isabella. Hark how I '11 bribe you ; good my lord, turn back.

Angelo. How ! bribe me ?

Isabella. Ay, with such gifts that heaven shall share with you.

Incio. [Aside to Isabella} You had marr'd all else.

Isabella. Not with fond shekels of the tested gold, Or stones whose rates are either rich or poor 150

As fancy values them, but with true prayers That shall be up at heaven and enter there Ere sunrise, prayers from preserved souls, From fasting maids whose minds are dedicate To nothing temporal.

Angelo. Well ; come to me to-morrow.

Lucio. [Aside to Isabella} Go to ■ 't is well ; away !

Isabella. Heaven keep your honour safe !

Afigelo. [Aside] Amen ;

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

Isabella. At what hour to-morrow

Shall I attend your lordship ?

Angelo. At any time fore noon. 160

Isabella. Save your honour !

[Exeunt Isabella, Lucio, and Provost.

Angelo. From thee, — even from thy virtue !

What 's this, what 's this ? Is this her fault or mine ? The tempter or the tempted, who sins most? Ha ! Not she \ nor doth she tempt: but it is I

E

66 MEASURE FOR MEASURE.

That, lying by the violet in the sun,

Do as the carrion does, not as the flower,

Corrupt with virtuous season. Can it be

That modesty may more betray our sense

Than woman's lightness ? Having waste ground enough,

Shall we desire to raze the sanctuary 170

And pitch our evils there ? O, fie, fie, fie !

What dost thou, or what art thou, Angelo ?

Dost thou desire her foully for those things

That make her good? O, let her brother live !

Thieves for their robbery have authority

When judges steal themselves. What! do I love her,

That I desire to hear her speak again,

And feast upon her eyes ? What is 't I dream on ?

O cunning enemy, that, to catch a saint,

WTith saints dost bait thy hook ! Most dangerous 180

Is that temptation that doth goad us on

To sin in loving virtue. Never could the strumpet,

With all her double vigour, art and nature,

Once stir my temper, but this virtuous maid

Subdues me quite. Ever till now,

When men were fond, I smiPd and wonder'd how. [Exit.

Scene III. A Roo?n in a Prison. Enter ', severally, Duke, disguised as a friar, and Provost.

Duke. Hail to you, provost ! — so I think you are.

Provost. I am the provost. What 's your will, good friar ?

Duke. Bound by. my charity and my blest order, I come to visit the afflicted spirits Here in the prison. Do me the common right To let me see them and to make me know The nature of their crimes, that I may minister To them accordingly.

Provost. I would do more than that, if more were needful.

ACT II. SCENE III. 67

Enter Juliet. Look, here comes one ; a gentlewoman of mine, 1Q

Who, falling in the flames of her own youth, Hath blister'd her report. She is with child ; And he that got it, sentenced — a young man More fit to do another such offence Than die for this. . Duke. When must he die ?

Provost. As I do think, to-morrow. —

[To Juliet] I have provided for you ; stay awhile, And you shall be conducted.

Duke. Repent you, fair one, of the sin you carry ? •

Juliet. I do, and bear the shame most patiently. 20

Duke. I '11 teach you how you shall arraign your con- science, And try your penitence, if it be sound, Or hollowly put on.

Juliet. ' I '11 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 sin of heavier kind than his.

Juliet. I do confess it, and repent it, father.

Duke. 'T is meet so, daughter ; but lest you do repent, 3a As that the sin hath brought you ta this shame, Which sorrow is always towards ourselves, not heaven, Showing we would not spare heaven as we love it, But as we stand in fear, —

Juliet. I do repent me, as it is an evil, And take the shame with joy.

Duke. There rest.

Your partner, as I hear, must die to-morrow,

68 MEASURE FOR MEASURE.

And I am going with instruction to him.

Grace go with you ! Benedicite ! [Exit.

Juliet. Must die to-morrow ! O injurious law, 40

That respites me a life, whose very comfort Is still a dying horror!

Provost. 'T is pity of him. [Exeunt.

Scene IV. A Room in Angelo's House.

Enter Angelo.

Angelo. When I would pray and think, I think and pray To several subjects. Heaven hath my empty words, Whilst my invention, hearing not my tongue, Anchors on Isabel ; Heaven in my mouth, As if I did but only chew his name, And in my heart the strong and swelling evil Of my conception. The state whereon I studied, Is like a good thing, being often read, Grown sear'd and tedious ; yea, my gravity, Wherein — let no man hear me — I take pride, 10

Could I with boot change for an idle plume, Which the air beats for vain. O place, O form, How often dost thou with thy case, thy habit, Wrench awe from fools and tie the wiser souls To thy false seeming ! Blood, thou art blood; Let 's write good angel on the devil's horn, 'T is not the devil's crest. —

Enter a Servant.

How now ! who 's there ? Servant. One Isabel, a sister, desires access to you. Angelo. Teach her the way. — [Exit Servant.'] O heavens ! Why does my blood thus muster to my heart, 20

Making both it unable for itself, And dispossessing all my other parts Of necessary fitness?

ACT II. SCENE IV. 69

So play the foolish throngs with one that swoons, — Come all to help him, and so stop the air By which he should revive ; and even so The general, subject to a well-wish'd king, Quit their own part, and in obsequious fondness Crowd to his presence, where their untaught love Must needs appear offence. —

Enter Isabella.

How now, fair maid? 30

Isabella. I am come to know your pleasure.

Angelo. That you might know it, would much better please me Than to demand what 't is. 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 4o

That his soul sicken not.

Angelo. Ha ! fie, these filthy vices ! It were as good To pardon him that hath from nature stolen A man already made, as to remit Their saucy sweetness that do coin heaven's image In stamps that are forbid ; 't is all as easy Falsely to take away a life true made As to put metal in restrained means To make a false one.

Isabella. 'T is set down so in heaven, but not in earth. 50

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?

70 MEASURE FOR MEASURE.

Isabella. Sir, believe this,

I had rather give my body than my soul.

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

Isabella. How say you ?

Afigelo. Nay, I '11 not warrant that; for I can speak Against the thing I say. Answer to this : 60

I, now the voice of the recorded law, Pronounce 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 '11 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, 70

If that be sin, I '11 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 enshield beauty ten times louder So

Than beauty could, display'd. But mark me ; To be received plain, I '11 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.

ACT II. SCENE IV. 71

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, 9°

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-holding 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 suppos'd, 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, «»

The impression of keen whips I 'd wear as rubies, And strip myself to death, as to a bed That longing I 've been sick for, ere I 'd yield My body up to shame.

Angelo. Then must your brother die.

Isabella. And 't were 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. Ignomy 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. "

72 MEASURE FOR MEASURE.

Angclo. 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 glasses 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; «3o

And from this testimony of your own sex, — 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 entreat you speak the former language. ,4o

A?igelo. Plainly conceive, I love you.

Isabella. My brother did love Juliet, And you tell me that he shall die for it.

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 ! i5o

I will proclaim thee, Angelo ; look for 't ! Sign me a present pardon for my brother*

ACT II SCENE IK 73

Or with an outstretch'd throat I '11 tell the world aloud What man thou art.

Angelo. Who will believe thee, Isabel ?

My unsoil'd name, the austereness of my life, My vouch against you, and my place i' the 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: 160

Fit thy consent to my sharp appetite ; 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 lingering sufferance. Answer me to-morrow, Or, by the affection that now guides me most, I '11 prove a tyrant to him. As for you, ,69

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 court'sy to their will, Hooking both right and wrong to the appetite, To follow as it draws ! I '11 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 180

On twenty bloody 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 chastity. I '11 tell him yet of Angelo's request, And fit his mind to death, for his soul's rest. \Exit.

STREET BEFORE THE PRISON (SCENE II.).

ACT III.

Scene I. A Room in 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

ACT III. SCENE I. 75

But only hope.

I 've hope to live, and am prepar'd to die.

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

Hourly afflict. Merely, thou art death's fool; For him thou labour'st by thy flight to shun, And yet runn'st toward him still. Thou art not noble; For all the 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 exist'st on many a thousand grains 20

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 shifts to strange effects, After the moon. If thou art rich, thou 'rt poor; For, like an ass 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, 30

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,

76 MEASURE FOR MEASURE.

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, 4o

That makes these odds all even.

Clandio. I humbly thank you.

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

Isabella. [ Withiri\ What, ho ! Peace here ; grace and good company !

Provost. Who 's there ? come in ; the wish deserves a wel- come.

Duke. Dear sir, ere long I '11 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. 50

Provost. As many as you please.

Duke. Bring me to hear them speak, where I may be con- cealed. [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 ambassador, Where you shall be an everlasting lieger. Therefore your best appointment make with speed; To-morrow you set on.

Claudio. Is there no remedy ? 60

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 ;

ACT III. SCENE I. 77

There is a devilish mercy in the judge, If you '11 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, . 70

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? 80

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

Isabella. There spake my brother; there my father's grave Did utter forth a voice. Yes, thou must die ; Thou art too noble to conserve a life In base appliances. This outward-sainted deputy, Whose settled visage and deliberate word Nips youth i' the head, and follies doth emmew 90

As falcon doth the fowl, is yet a devil; His filth within being cast, he would appear A pond as deep as hell.

Claudio. The priestly Angelo !

78 MEASURE FOR MEASURE.

Isabella. O, 't is the cunning livery of hell, The damned'st body to invest and cover In priestly guards ! Dost thou think, Claudio ? If I would yield him my virginity, Thou mightst be freed.

Claudio. O heavens ! it cannot be.

Isabella. Yes, he would give 't thee, from this rank of- fence, So to offend him still. This night 's the time 100

That I should do what I abhor to name, Or else thou diest to-morrow.

Claudio. Thou shalt not do 't.

Isabella. O, were it but my life, I 'd throw it clown for your deliverance As frankly as a pin.

Claudio. Thanks, dear Isabel.

Isabella. Be ready, Claudio, for your death to-morrow.

Claudio. Yes. Has he affections in him, That thus can make him bite the law by the nose, When he would force it? Sure, it is no sin; Or of the deadly seven it is the least. no

Isabella. Which is the least?

Claudio. If it were damnable, he being so wise, Why would he for the momentary trick Be perdurably fin'd ? — O Isabel !

Isabella. What says my brother ?

Claudio. Death is a fearful thing.

Isabella. And shamed life a hateful.

Claudio. Ay, but to die, and go we know not where ; To lie in cold obstruction and to rot ; This sensible warm motion to become

A kneaded clod; and the delighted spirit 120

To bathe in fiery floods, or to reside In thrilling region of thick-ribbed ice; To be imprison'd in the viewless winds,

ACT III. SCENE I. 79

And blown with restless violence round about

The pendent world; or to be worse than worst

Of those that lawless and incertain thought

Imagine howling ! — 't is too horrible !

The weariest and most loathed worldly life

That age, ache, penury, and imprisonment

Can lay on nature is a paradise i3c

To what we fear of death.

Isabella. Alas, alas !

Claudio. Sweet sister, let me live.

What sin you do to save a brother's life, Nature dispenses with the deed so far That it becomes a virtue.

Isabella. O you beast !

0 faithless coward! O dishonest wretch! Wilt thou be made a man out of my vice? Is 't not a kind of incest to take life

From thine own sister's shame? What should I think?

Heaven shield my mother play'd my father fair! ,40

For such a warped slip of wilderness

Ne'er issued from his blood. Take my defiance !

Die, perish ! Might but my bending down

Reprieve thee from thy fate, it should proceed.

1 '11 pray a thousand prayers for thy death, No word to save thee.

Claudio. Nay, hear me, Isabel.

Isabella. O, fie, fie, fie !

Thy sin 's not accidental, but a trade. Mercy to thee would prove itself a bawd; 'T is best that thou diest quickly.

Claudio. O hear me, Isabella ! iSo

Re-enter Duke.

Duke. Vouchsafe a word, young sister, but one word. Isabella. What is your will ?

8o MEASURE FOR MEASURE.

Duke. Might you dispense with your leisure, I would by and by have some speech with you ; the satisfaction I would require is likewise your own benefit. 155

Isabella. I have no superfluous leisure : my stay must be stolen out of other affairs ; but I will attend you awhile.

[ Walks apart.

Dake. Son, I have overheard what hath passed between you and your sister. Angelo had never the purpose to corrupt her ; only he hath made an assay of her virtue to practise his judgment with the disposition of natures. She, having the truth of honour in her, hath made him that gracious de- nial which he is most glad to receive. I am confessor to Angelo, and I know this to be true ; therefore prepare your- self to death. Do not satisfy your resolution with hopes that are fallible : to-morrow you must die ; go to your knees and make ready.

Claudio. Let me ask my sister pardon. I am so out of love with life that I will sue to be rid of it. 169

Duke. Hold you there ; farewell. — [Exit Claudio.~\ Prov- ost, a word with you !

Re-enter Provost.

Provost. What 's your will, father ?

Duke. That now you are come, you will be gone. Leave me awhile with the maid ; my mind promises with my habit no loss shall touch her by my company.

Provost. In good time.

[Exit Provost. Isabella comes forivard.

Duke. The hand that hath made you fair hath made you good : the goodness that is cheap in beauty makes beauty brief in goodness ; but grace, being the soul of your com- plexion, shall keep the body of it ever fair. The assault that Angelo hath made to you, fortune hath conveyed to my understanding ; and, but that frailty hath examples for his falling, I should wonder at Angelo. How will you do to content this substitute, and to save your brother ? 184

ACT /If. SCENE /. 81

Isabella. I am now going to resolve him. I had rather my brother die by the law than my son should be unlawfully born. But, O, how much is the good duke deceived in An- gelo I If ever he return, and I can speak to him, I will open my lips in vain, or discover his government. 189

Duke. That shall not be much amiss : yet, as the matter now stands, he will avoid your accusation ; he made trial of you only. Therefore fasten your ear on my advisings : to the love I have in doing good a remedy presents itself. I do make myself believe that you may most uprighteously do a poor wronged lady a merited benefit, redeem your brother from the angry law, do no stain to your own gracious person, and much please the absent duke, if peradventure he shall ever return to have hearing of this business.

Isabella. Let me hear you speak farther. I have spirit to do any thing that appears not foul in the truth of my spirit.

Duke. Virtue is bold, and goodness never fearful. Have you not heard speak of Mariana, the sister of Frederick the great soldier who miscarried at sea? 203

Isabella. I have heard of the lady, and good words went with her name.

Duke. She should this Angelo have married j was affianced to her by oath, and the nuptial appointed : between which time of the contract and limit of the solemnity, her brother Frederick was wracked at sea, having in that perished vessel the dowry of his sister. But mark how heavily this befell to the poor gentlewoman : there she lost a noble and renowned brother, in his love toward her ever most kind and natural; with him, the portion and sinew of her fortune, her marriage- dowry ; with both, her combinate husband, this well-seeming Angelo. 2I5

Isabella. Can this be so ? did Angelo so leave her ?

Duke. Left her in her tears, and dried not one of them with his comfort ; swallowed his vows whole, pretending in her discoveries of dishonour : in few, bestowed her on her own

F

g2 MEASURE FOR MEASURE.

lamentation, which she yet wears for his sake, and he, a marble to her tears, is washed with them, but relents not.

Isabella. What a merit were it in death to take this poor maid from the world ! What corruption in this life, that it will let this man live ! But how out of this can she avail ?

Duke. It is a rupture that you may easily heal ; and the cure of it not only saves your brother, but keeps you from dishonour in doing it.

Isabella. Show me how, good father. 228

Duke. This forenamed maid hath yet in her the continu- ance of her first affection ; his unjust unkindness, that in all reason should have quenched her love, hath, like an impedi- ment in the current, made it more violent and unruly. Go you to Angelo; answer his requiring with a plausible obedi- ence; agree with his demands to the point ; only refer your- self to this advantage, first, that your stay with him may not be long, that the time may have all shadow and silence in it, and the place answer to convenience. This being granted in course — and now follows all — we shall advise this wronged maid to stead up your appointment, go in your place ; if the encounter acknowledge itself hereafter, it may compel him to her recompense : and here, by this, is your brother saved, your honour untainted, the poor Mariana advantaged, and the corrupt deputy foiled. The maid will I frame and make fit for his attempt. If you think well to carry this as you may, the doubleness of the benefit defends the deceit from reproof. What think you of it? 246

Isabella. The image of it gives me content already, and I trust it will grow to a most prosperous perfection.

Duke. It lies much in your holding up. Haste you speedi- ly to Angelo ; if for this night he entreat you to his bed, give him promise of satisfaction. I will presently to Saint Luke's; there, at the moated grange, resides this dejected Mariana. At that place call upon me, and dispatch with Angelo, that it may be quickly.

ACT III. SCENE II. 83

Isabella. I thank you for this comfort. Fare you well, good father. [Exeunt severally.

Scene II. The Street before the Prison.

Enter, on one side, Duke disguised as before; on the other,

Elbow, and Officers with Pompey.

Elbow. Nay, if there be no remedy for it, but that you will needs buy and sell men and women like beasts, we shall have all the world drink brown and white bastard.

Duke. O heavens ! what stuff is here ?

Pompey. T was never merry world since, of two usuries, the merriest was put down, and the worser allowed by order of law a furred gown to keep him warm ; and furred with fox and lamb skins too, to signify that craft, being richer than innocency, stands for the facing. 9

Elbow. Come your way, sir.— Bless you, good father friar.

Duke. And you, good brother father. What offence hath this man made you, sir?

Elbow. Marry, sir, he hath offended the law ; and, sir, we take him to be a thief too, sir, for we have found upon him, sir, a strange picklock, which we have sent to the deputy.

Duke. Fie, sirrah ! a bawd, a wicked bawd ! The evil that thou causest to be done, That is thy means to live. Do thou but think What 't is to cram a maw or clothe a back From such a filthy vice ; say to thyself, From their abominable and beastly touches I drink, I eat, array myself, and live. Canst thou believe thy living is a life, So stinkingly depending? Go mend, go mend.

Pompey. Indeed, it does stink in some sort, sir ■ but, yet, sir, I would prove —

Duke. Nay, if the devil have given thee proofs for sin, Thou wilt prove his. — Take him to prison, officer.

84

MEASURE FOR MEASURE.

Correction and instruction must both work

Ere this rude beast will profit. 3°

Elbow. He must before the deputy, sir ; he has given him warning. The deputy cannot abide a whoremaster ; if he be a whoremonger, and comes before him, he were as good go a mile on his errand.

Duke. That we were all, as some would seem to be, Free from our faults, as from faults seeming free !

Elbow. His neck will come to your waist, — a cord, sir.

Pompey. I spy comfort ; I cry bail. Here 's a gentleman and a friend of mine. 39

Enter Lucio.

Lucio. How now, noble Pompey ! What, at the wheels of Caesar ? art thou led in triumph ? What, is there none of Pygmalion's images, newly made woman, to be had now, for putting the hand in the pocket and extracting it clutched ? What reply, ha ? What sayest thou to this tune, matter, and method ? Is 't not drowned i' the last rain, ha ? What say- est thou, Trot ? Is the world as it was, man ? Which is the way ? Is it sad, and few words ? or how ? The trick of it?

Duke. Still thus, and thus ; still worse !

Lucio. How doth my dear morsel, thy mistress ? Procures she still, ha ? 5°

Pompey. Troth, sir, she hath eaten up all her beef, and she is herself in the tub.

Lucio. W7hy, 't is good ; it is the right of it ; it must be so : an unshunned consequence ; it must be so. Art going to prison, Pompey ?

Pompey. Yes, faith, sir.

Lucio. Why, 't is not amiss, Pompey. Farewell ; go, say I sent thee thither. For debt, Pompey? or how?

Elbow. For being a bawd, for being a bawd. 59

Lucio. WTell, then, imprison him. If imprisonment be the due of a bawd, why, 't is his right ; bawd is he doubtless, and

ACT III. SCENE II. 85

of antiquity too — bawd-born. Farewell, good Pompey. Com- mend me to the prison, Pompey. You will turn good hus- band now, Pompey ; you will keep the house.

Pompey. I hope, sir, your good worship will be my bail.

Lucio. No, indeed, will I not, Pompey; it is not the wear. I will pray, Pompey, to increase your bondage ; if you take it not patiently, why, your mettle is the more. Adieu, trusty Pompey. — Bless you, friar.

Duke. And you. 70

Lucio. Does Bridget paint still, Pompey, ah ?

Elbow. Come your ways, sir ; come.

Pompey. You will not bail me, then, sir ?

Lucio. Then, Pompey, nor now. — What news abroad, friar? what news?

Elbow. Come your ways, sir ; come.

Lucio. Go to kennel, Pompey, go. — {Exeunt Elbow, Pom- pey and Officers^ What news, friar, of the duke ?

Duke. I know none. Can you tell me of any?

Lucio. Some say he is with the Emperor of Russia ; other some, he is in Rome ; but where is he, think you ? 81

Duke. I know not where ; but wheresoever, I wish him well.

Lucio. It was a mad fantastical trick of him to steal from the state, and usurp the beggary he was never born to. Lord Angelo dukes it well in his absence ; he puts transgression to 't.

Duke. He does well in 't.

Lucio. A little more lenity to lechery would do no harm in him ; something too crabbed that way, friar. 90

Duke. It is too general a vice, and severity must cure it.

Lucio. Yes, in good sooth, the vice is of a great kindred ; it is well allied : but it is impossible to extirp it quite, friar, till eating and drinking be put down. They say this Angelo was not made by man and woman after this downright way of creation ; is it true, think you ?

86 MEASURE FOR MEASURE.

Duke. How should he be made, then ?

Lucio. Some report a sea-maid spawned him; some, that he was begot between two stock-fishes.

Duke. You are pleasant, sir, and speak apace. 100

Lucio. Why, what a ruthless thing is this in him, for the rebellion of a codpiece to take away the life of a man ! Would the duke that is absent have done this ? Ere he would have hanged a man for the getting a hundred bas- tards, he would have paid for the nursing a thousand. He had some feeling of the sport ; he knew the service, and that instructed him to mercy.

Duke. I never heard the absent duke much detected for women ; he was not inclined that way.

Lucio. O, sir, you are deceived. no

Duke. 'T is not possible.

Lucio. Who, not the duke ? yes, your beggar of fifty ; and his use was to put a ducat in her clack-dish : the duke had crotchets in him. He would be drunk too ; that let me in- form you.

Duke. You do him wrong, surely.

Lucio. Sir, I was an inward of his. A shy fellow was the duke ; and I believe I know the cause of his withdrawing.

Duke. What, I prithee, might be the cause? u9

Lucio. No, pardon ; 't is a secret must be locked within the teeth and the lips : but this I can let you understand, the greater file of the subject held the duke to be wise.

Duke. Wise ! why, no question but he was.

Lucio. A very superficial, ignorant, unweighing fellow.

Duke. Either this is envy in you, folly, or mistaking ; the very stream of his life and the business he hath helmed must upon a warranted need give him a better proclamation. Let him be but testimonied in his own bringings-forth, and he shall appear to the envious a scholar, a statesman, and a soldier. Therefore you speak unskilfully j or if your knowl- edge be more, it is much darkened in your malice. 131

ACT III. SCENE II. 87

Lucio. Sir, I know him, and I love him. Duke. Love talks with better knowledge, and knowledge with dearer love.

Lucio. Come, sir, I know what I know. Duke I can hardly believe that, since you know not what you speak. But, if ever the duke return, as our prayers are he may let me desire you to make your answer before him. If it be honest you have spoke, you have courage to main- tain it. I am bound to call upon you j and, I pray you, your name.-'

Lucio. Sir, my name is Lucio, well known to the duke. Duke. He shall know you better, sir, if I may live to re- port you.

Lucio. I fear you not.

Duke O you hope the duke will return no more, or you imagine me too unhurtful an opposite. But indeed I can do you little harm ; you '11 forswear this again. _

Lucio I '11 be hanged first; thou art deceived in me, friar. But no' more of this. Canst thou tell if Claudio die to- ■> 151

morrow or no r

Duke. Why should he die, sir?

Lucio Why? For filling a bottle with a tun-dish. I would the duke we talk of were returned again: this ungemtured agent will unpeople the province with continency; sparrows must not build in his house-eaves, because they are lecher- ous The duke yet would have dark deeds darkly answered ; he would never bring them to light: would he were returned! Marry, this Claudio is condemned for untrussing. Farewell, good friar ; I prithee, pray for me. The duke, I say to thee again, would eat mutton on Fridays. He »s not past it yet and I say to thee, he would mouth with a beggar, though she smelt brown bread and garlic; say that I said *>.

Farewell. L

Duke. No might nor greatness in mortality Can censure scape; back-wounding calumny

88 MEASURE FOR MEASURE.

The whitest virtue strikes. What king so strong Can tie the gall up in the slanderous tongue ? — But who comes here ?

Enter Escalus, Provost, and Officers with Mistress Over- done.

Escalus. Go ; away with her to prison ! i7o

Mrs. Overdone. Good my lord, be good to me; your hon- our is accounted a merciful man, good my lord.

Escalus. Double and treble admonition, and still forfeit in the same kind ! This would make mercy swear and play the tyrant.

Provost. A bawd of eleven years' continuance, may it please your honour.

Mrs. Overdone. My lord, this is one Lucio's information against me. Mistress Kate Keepdown was with child by him in the duke's time ; he promised her marriage : his child is a year and a quarter old, come Philip and Jacob. I have kept it myself; and see how he goes about to abuse me !

Escalus. That fellow is a fellow of much license; — let him be called before us. — Away with her to prison ! — Go to ; no more words. — [Exeunt Officers with Mistress Overdone.'] Provost, my brother Angelo will not be altered ; Claudio must die to-morrow. Let him be furnished with divines, and have all charitable preparation. If my brother wrought by my pity, it should not be so with him.

Provost. So please you, this friar hath been with him, and advised him for the entertainment of death. i9i

Escalus. Good even, good father.

Duke. Bliss and goodness on you !

Escalus. Of whence are you ?

Duke. Not of this country, though my chance is now To use it for my time ; I am a brother Of gracious order, late come from the See In special business from his holiness.

ACT III. SCENE II. 89

Escalus. What news abroad i' the world ? i99

Duke. None, but that there is so great a fever on good- ness, that the dissolution of it must cure it : novelty is only in request; and it is as dangerous to be aged in any kind of course, as it is virtuous to be constant in any undertaking. There is scarce truth enough alive to make societies secure, but security enough to make fellowships accurst. Much upon this riddle runs the wisdom of the world. This news is old enough, yet it is every day's news. I pray you, sir, of what disposition was the duke?

Escalus. One that, above all other strifes, contended es- pecially to know himself. 2IO

Duke. What pleasure was he given to ?

Escalus. Rather rejoicing to see another merry, than merry at any thing which professed to make him rejoice; a gentle- man of all temperance. But leave we him to his events, with a prayer they may prove prosperous, and let me desire to know how you find Claudio prepared. I am made to understand that you have lent him visitation.

Duke. He professes to have received no sinister measure from his judge, but most willingly humbles himself to the determination of justice ; yet had he framed to himself, by the instruction of his frailty, many deceiving promises of life, which I by my good leisure have discredited to him, and now is he resolved to die. 223

Escalus. You have paid the heavens your function, and the prisoner the very debt of your calling. I have laboured for the poor gentleman to the extremest shore of my mod- esty; but my brother justice have I found so severe, that he hath forced me to tell him he is indeed justice.

Duke. If his own life answer the straitness of his pro- ceeding, it shall become him well ; wherein if he chance to fail, he hath sentenced himself. 231

Escalus. I am going to visit the prisoner. Fare you well.

Duke. Peace be with you ! — [Exeunt Escalus and Provost.

9o MEASURE FOR MEASURE.

He who the sword of heaven will bear

Should be as holy as severe ;

Pattern in himself to know,

Grace to stand, and virtue go ;

More nor less to others paying

Than by self-offences weighing.

Shame to him whose cruel striking 240

Kills for faults of his own liking !

Twice treble shame on Angelo,

To weed my vice and let his grow !

O, what may man within him hide,

Though angel on the outward side !

How may likeness wade in crimes,

Making practice on the times,

To draw with idle spiders' strings

Most ponderous and substantial things !

Craft against vice I must apply : 250

With Angelo to-night shall lie

His old betrothed but despis'd ;

So disguise shall, by the disguis'd,

Pay with falsehood false exacting,

And perform an old contracting. {Exit.

ill, lilt,

INTERIOR OF PRISON (SCENE III.).

ACT IV.

Scene I. The Moated Grange at St. Luke's. Enter Mariana and a Boy. Boy sings. Take, O, take those lips away,

That so sweetly were forsworn, And those eyes, the break of day, Lights that do mislead the morn;

9 2 MEASURE FOR MEASURE.

But my kisses bring again, bri?ig again. — Seals of love, but seaVd in vain, seal'd in vain.

Mariana. Break off thy song, and haste thee quick away ; Here comes a man of comfort, whose advice Hath often still'd my brawling discontent. — [Exit Boy.

Enter Duke disguised as before. I cry you mercy, sir, and well could wish 10

You had not found me here so musical. Let me excuse me, and believe me so, My mirth it much displeas'd, but pleas'd my woe.

Duke. 'T is good ; though music oft hath such a charm To make bad good, and good provoke to harm. I pray you, tell me, hath anybody inquired for me here to-day? much upon this time have I promised here to meet.

Mariana. You have not been inquired after; I have sat here all day. 2Q

Enter Isabella.

Duke. I do constantly believe you. The time is come even now. I shall crave your forbearance a little; may be I will call upon you anon, for some advantage to yourself.

Mariana. I am always bound to you. [Exit.

Duke. Very well met, and well come. What is the news from this good deputy ?

Isabella. He hath a garden circummur'd with brick, Whose western side is with a vineyard back'd; And to that vineyard is a planched gate, That makes his opening with this bigger key: 30

This other doth command a little door Which from the vineyard to the garden leads ; There have I made my promise Upon the heavy middle of the night To call upon him.

ACT IV. SCENE I. 93

Duke. But shall you on your knowledge find this way ?

Isabella. I have ta'en a due and wary note upon 't ; With whispering and most guilty diligence, In action all of precept, he did show me The way twice o'er.

Duke. Are there no other tokens 40

Between you greed concerning her observance ?

Isabella. No, none, but only a repair i' the dark, And that I have possess'd him my most stay Can be but brief; for I have made him know I have a servant comes with me along, That stays upon me, whose persuasion is I come about my brother.

Duke. 'T is well borne up.

I have not yet made known to Mariana A word of this. — What, ho ! within ! come forth !

Re-enter Mariana. I pray you, be acquainted with this maid ; 50

She comes to do you good.

Isabella. I do desire the like.

Duke. Do you persuade yourself that I respect you ?

Mariana. Good friar, I know you do, and have found it.

Duke. Take, then, this your companion by the hand, Who hath a story ready for your ear„ I shall attend your leisure: but make haste; The vaporous night approaches.

Mariana. Will 't please you walk aside ?

[Exeunt Mariana a?id Isabella.

Duke. O place and greatness ! millions of false eyes Are stuck upon thee; volumes of report 60

Run with these false and most contrarious quests Upon thy doings ; thousand escapes of wit Make thee the father of their idle dreams And rack thee in their fancies. —

94 MEASURE FOR MEASURE.

Re-enter Mariana and Isabella.

Welcome, how agreed ?

Isabella. She '11 take the enterprise upon her, father, If you advise it.

Duke. It is not my consent,

But my entreaty too.

Isabella. Little have you to say

When you depart from him, but, soft and low, 1 Remember now my brother.'

Mariana. Fear me not.

Duke. Nor, gentle daughter, fear you not at all. 70

He is your husband on a pre-contract; To bring you thus together, 't is no sin, Sith that the justice of your title to him Doth flourish the deceit. Come, let us go; Our corn 's to reap, for yet our tilth 's to sow. [Exeunt.

Scene II. A Room in the Prison. Enter Provost and Pompey.

Provost. Come hither, sirrah. Can you cut off a man's head?

Pompey. If the man be a bachelor, sir, I can; but if he be a married man, he 's his wife's head, and I can never cut off a woman's head.

Provost. Come, sir, leave me your snatches, and yield me a direct answer. To-morrow morning are to die Claudio and Barnardine. Here is in our prison a common executioner, who in his office lacks a helper: if you will take it on you to assist him, it shall redeem you from your gyves ; if not, you shall have your full time of imprisonment and your deliver- ance with an unpitied whipping, for you have been a notori- ous bawd. 13

Pompey. Sir, I have been an unlawful bawd time out of

ACT IV. SCENE II. 95

mind, but yet I will be content to be a lawful hangman. I would be glad to receive some instruction from my fellow partner.

Provost. What, ho ! Abhorson ! Where 's Abhorson, there?

Enter Abhorson.

Abhorson. Do you call, sir?

Provost. Sirrah, here 's a fellow will help you to-morrow in your execution. If you think it meet, compound with him by the year, and let him abide here with you; if not, use him for the present and dismiss him. He cannot plead his esti- mation with you ; he hath been a bawd. 24

Abhorson. A bawd, sir ? fie upon him ; he will discredit our mystery.

Provost. Go to, sir; you weigh equally; a feather will turn the scale. [Exit

Pompey. Pray, sir, by your good favour, — for surely, sir, a good favour you have, but that you have a hanging look, — do you call, sir, your occupation a mystery ? 31

Abhorson. Ay, sir; a mystery.

Pompey. Painting, sir, I have heard say, is a mystery ; and your whores, sir, being members of my occupation, using painting, do prove my occupation a mystery; but what mys- tery there should be in hanging, if I should be hanged, I can- not imagine.

Abhorson. Sir, it is a mystery.

Pompey. Proof?

Abhorson. Every true man's apparel fits your thief. 40

Pompey. If it be too little for your thief, your true man thinks it big enough ; if it be too big for your thief, your thief thinks it little enough : so every true man's apparel fits your thief.

Re-etiter Provost.

Provost. Are you agreed ?

Pompey. Sir, I will serve him, for I do find your hangman

96 MEASURE FOR MEASURE.

is a more penitent trade than your bawd; he doth oftener ask forgiveness.

Provost. You, sirrah, provide your block and your axe to- morrow four o'clock.

Abhorson. Come on, bawd ; I will instruct thee in my trade ; follow. 51

Pompey. I do desire to learn, sir: and I hope, if you have occasion to use me for your own turn, you shall find me yare; for truly, sir, for your kindness I owe you a good turn.

Provost. Call hither Barnardine and Claudio. —

[Exeunt Pompey and Abhorson. The one has my pity; not a jot the other, Being a murtherer, though he were my brother. —

Enter Claudio. Look, here 's the warrant, Claudio, for thy death ; 'T is now dead midnight, and by eight to-morrow Thou must be made immortal. Where 's Barnardine ? 60

Claudio. As fast lock'd up in sleep as guiltless labour When it lies starkly in the traveller's bones ; He will not wake.

Provost. Who can do good on him ?

Well, go, prepare yourself. [Knocking within.] But, hark,

what noise ? Heaven give your spirits comfort ! — [Exit Claudio.'] By and

by.- I hope it is some pardon or reprieve For the most gentle Claudio.

Enter Duke disguised as before.

Welcome, father. Duke. The best and wholesom'st spirits of the night Envelop you, good provost ! Who call'd here of late ? Provost. None, since the curfew rung. 70

Duke. Not Isabel ?

ACT IV. SCENE II. 97

Provost. No.

Duke. They will, then, ere 't be long.

Provost. What comfort is for Claudio ?

Duke. There 's some in hope.

Provost. It is a bitter deputy.

Duke. Not so, not so \ his life is parallePd Even with the stroke and line of his great justice. He doth with holy abstinence subdue That in himself which he spurs on his power To qualify in others. Were he meal'd with that Which he corrects, then were he tyrannous; But this being so, he 's just.— {Knocking within.'] Now are they come.— [Exit Provost

This is a gentle provost; seldom when 81

The steeled gaoler is the friend of men.— [Knocking within. How now ! what noise ? That spirit 's possess'd with haste That wounds the unsisting postern with these strokes.

Re-enter Provost.

Provost. There he must stay until the officer Arise to let him in; he is call'd up.

Duke. Have you no countermand for Claudio yet, But he must die to-morrow ?

Provost None, sir, none.

Duke. As near the dawning, provost, as it is, You shall hear more ere morning.

Provost Happily 90

You something know, yet I believe there comes No countermand ; no such example have we. Besides, upon the very siege of justice Lord Angelo hath to the public ear Profess'd the contrary.

Enter a Messenger.

This is his lordship's man. G

98

MEASURE FOR MEASURE.

Duke. And here comes Claudio's pardon.

Messenger. [Giving a paper.] My lord hath sent you this note \ and by me this further charge, that you swerve not from the smallest article of it, neither in time, matter, or oth- er circumstance. Good morrow; for, as I take it, it is almost day. i°x

Provost. I shall obey him. [Exit Messenger.

Duke. [Aside'] This is his pardon, purchas'd by such sin For which the pardoner himself is in. Hence hath offence his quick celerity, When it is borne in high authority. When vice makes mercy, mercy 's so extended, That for the fault's love is the offender friended. — Now, sir, what news ?

Provost. I told you. Lord Angelo, belike thinking me re- miss in mine office, awakens me with this unwonted putting- on; methinks strangely, for he hath not used it before. 112

Duke. Pray you, let 's hear.

Provost. [Reads] ' Whatsoever you may hear to the contrary, let Claudio be executed by four of the clock, a?id in the after- noon Bamardine. For my better satisfaction, let me have Claudio's head sent me by five. Let this be duly performed, with a thought that more depends on it than we must yet de- liver. Thus fail not to do your office, as you will answer it at your peril.'1 I2°

What say you to this, sir ?

Duke. What is that Bamardine who is to be executed in the afternoon ?

Provost. A Bohemian born, but here nursed up and bred ; one that is a prisoner nine years old.

Duke. How came it that the absent duke had not either delivered him to his liberty or executed him ? I have heard it was ever his manner to do so.

Provost. His friends still wrought reprieves for him; and,

ACT IV. SCENE II

99

indeed, his fact, till now in the government of Lord Angelo, came not to an undoubtful proof. 131

Duke. It is now apparent?

Provost. Most manifest, and not denied by himself.

Duke. Hath he borne himself penitently in prison ? how seems he to be touched ?

Provost. A man that apprehends death no more dreadfully but as a drunken sleep; careless, reckless, and fearless of what 's past, present, or to come ; insensible of mortality, and desperately mortal.

Duke. He wants advice. 140

Provost. He will hear none. He hath evermore had the liberty of the prison; give him leave to escape hence, he would not: drunk many times a day, if not many days en- tirely drunk. We have very oft awaked him, as if to carry him to execution, and showed him a seeming warrant for it; it hath not moved him at all.

Duke. More of him anon. There is written in your brow, provost, honesty and constancy: if I read it not truly, my an- cient skill beguiles me ; but, in the boldness of my cunning, I will lay myself in hazard. Claudio, whom here you have warrant to execute, is no greater forfeit to the law than An- gelo who hath sentenced him. To make you understand this in a manifested effect, I crave but four days' respite ; for the which you are to do me both a present and a dangerous courtesy.

Provost. Pray, sir, in what ?

Duke. In the delaying death.

Provost. Alack, how may I do it, having the hour limited, and an express command, under penalty, to deliver his head in the view of Angelo? I may make my case as Claudio's, to cross this in the smallest. 161

Duke. By the vow of mine order I warrant you, if my in- structions may be your guide. . Let this Barnardine be this morning executed, and his head borne to Angelo.

ioo MEASURE FOR MEASURE.

Provost. Angelo hath seen them both, and will discover the favour.

Duke. O, death 's a great disguiser, and you may add to it. Shave the head, and tie the beard, and say it was the desire of the penitent to be so bared before his death ; you know the course is common. If any thing fall to you upon this, more than thanks and good fortune, by the saint whom I profess, I will plead against it with my life. 173

Provost. Pardon me, good father ; it is against my oath.

Duke. Were you sworn to the duke, or to the deputy?

Provost. To him, and to his substitutes.

Duke. You will think you have made no offence, if the duke avouch the justice of your dealing?

Provost. But what likelihood is in that ?

Duke. Not a resemblance, but a certainty. Yet since I see you fearful, that neither my coat, integrity, nor persuasion can with ease attempt you, I will go further than I meant, to pluck all fears out of you. Look you, sir, here is the hand and seal of the duke ; you know the character, I doubt not, and the signet is not strange to you. 185

Provost. I know them both.

Duke. The contents of this is the return of the duke; you shall anon over-read it at your pleasure, where you shall find within these two days he will be here. This is a thing that Angelo knows not, for he this very day receives letters of strange tenour: perchance of the duke's death; perchance entering into some monastery; but, by chance, nothing of what is writ. Look, the unfolding star calls up the shep- herd. Put not yourself into amazement how these things should be ; all difficulties are but easy when they are known. Call your executioner, and off with Barnardine's head ; I will give him a present shrift and advise him for a better place. Yet you are amazed ; but this shall absolutely resolve you. Come away; it is almost clear dawn. \Exeunt.

ACT IV. SCENE III. ioi

Scene III. Another Room in the Same. Enter Pompey.

Pompey. I am as well acquainted here as I was in our house of profession ; one would think it were Mistress Over- done's own house, for here be many of her old customers. First, here 's young Master Rash; he 's in for a commodity of brown paper and old ginger, nine-score and seventeen pounds, of which he made five marks, ready money: marry, then ginger was not much in request, for the old women were all dead. Then is there here one Master Caper, at the suit of Master Three-pile the mercer, for some four suits of peach- coloured satin, which now peaches him a beggar. Then have we here young Dizy, and young Master Deep-vow, and Mas- ter Copper-spur, and Master Starve-lackey the rapier and dagger man, and young Drop-heir that killed lusty Pudding, and Master Forthright the tilter, and brave Master Shooty the great traveller, and wild Half- can that stabbed Pots, and, I think, forty more, all great doers in our trade, and are now for the Lord's sake.

Enter Abhorson.

Abhorson. Sirrah, bring Barnardine hither.

Pompey. Master Barnardine ! you must rise and be hang- ed, Master Barnardine ! 2o

Abhorson. What, ho, Barnardine !

Barnardine. [ JVithin] A pox o' your throats ! Who makes that noise there ? What are you ?

Pompey. Your friends, sir; the hangman. You must be so good, sir, to rise and be put to death.

Barnardine. [ Within] Away, you rogue, away ! I am sleepy.

Abhorson. Tell him he must awake, and that quickly too.

Pompey. Pray, Master Barnardine, awake till you are ex- ecuted, and sleep afterwards. 30

102 MEASURE FOR MEASURE.

Abhorson. Go in to him, and fetch him out. Pompey. He is coming, sir, he is coming; I hear his straw rustle.

Abhorson. Is the axe upon the block, sirrah ? Pompey. Very ready, sir.

Enter Barnardine.

Barnardine. How now, Abhorson ? what 's the news with you ?

Abhorson. Truly, sir, I would desire you to clap into your prayers ; for, look you, the warrant 's come.

Barnardine. You rogue, I have been drinking all night; I am not fitted for 't. 41

Pompey. O, the better, sir; for he that drinks all night, and is hanged betimes in the morning, may sleep the sound- er all the next day.

Abhorson. Look you, sir; here comes your ghostly father: do we jest now, think you ?

Enter Duke disguised as before.

Duke. Sir, induced by my charity, and hearing how hastily you are to depart, I am come to advise you, comfort you, and pray with you.

Barnardine. Friar, not I ; I have been drinking hard all night, and I will have more time to prepare me, or they shall beat out my brains with billets. I will not consent to die this day, that 's certain. 53

Duke. O, sir, you must ; and therefore I beseech you Look forward on the journey you shall go.

Barnardine. I swear I will not die to-day for any man's persuasion.

Duke. But hear you, —

Barnardine. Not a word ; if you have any thing to say to me, come to my ward, for thence will not I to-day. [Exit.

ACT IV. SCENE III, 103

Duke. Unfit to live or die. 0 gravel heart ! 61

After him, fellows ; bring him to the block.

[Exeunt Abhor son and Pompey.

Re-enter Provost.

Provost. Now, sir, how do you find the prisoner ?

Duke. A creature unprepar'd, unmeet for death ; And to transport him in the mind he is Were damnable.

Provost. Here in the prison, father,

There died this morning of a cruel fever One Ragozine, a most notorious pirate, A man of Claudio's years; his beard and head Just of his colour. What if we do omit 70

This reprobate till he were well inclin'd And satisfy the deputy with the visage Of Ragozine, more like to Claudio ?

Duke. O, 't is an accident that heaven provides ! Dispatch it presently; the hour draws on Prefix'd by Angelo : see this be done, And sent according to command, whiles I Persuade this rude wretch willingly to die.

Provost. This shall be done, good father, presently. But Barnardine must die this afternoon; 80

And how shall we continue Claudio, To save me from the danger that might come If he were known alive ?

Duke. Let this be done :

Put them in secret holds, both Barnardine and Claudio. Ere twice the sun hath made his journal greeting To the under generation, you shall find Your safety manifested.

Provost. I am your free dependant.

Duke. Quick, dispatch, and send the head to Angelo. —

[Exit Provost.

104

MEASURE FOR MEASURE.

Now will I write letters to Angelo, — 90

The provost, he shall bear them, — whose contents

Shall witness to him I am near at home,

And that, by great injunctions, I am bound

To enter publicly. Him I '11 desire

To meet me at the consecrated fount

A league below the city; and from thence,

By cold gradation and well-balanc'd form,

We shall proceed with Angelo.

Re-enter Provost.

Provost Here is the head ; I '11 carry it myself.

Dake. Convenient is it. Make a swift return, 100

For I would commune with you of such things That want no ear but yours.

Provost. I '11 make all speed. [Exit.

Isabella. [ Withiii\ Peace, ho, be here !

Duke. The tongue of Isabel. She 's come to know If yet her brother's pardon be come hither; But I will keep her ignorant of her good, To make her heavenly comforts of despair, When it is least expected.

Enter Isabella.

Isabella. Ho, by your leave !

Duke. Good morning to you, fair and gracious daughter.

Isabella. The better, given me by so holy a man. no

Hath yet the deputy sent my brother's pardon ?

Duke. He hath releas'd him, Isabel, from the world; His head is off and sent to Angelo.

Isabella. Nay, but it is not so.

Duke. It is no other; show your wisdom, daughter, In your close patience.

Isabella. O, I will to him and pluck out his eyes !

Duke. You shall not be admitted to his sight.

ACT IV. SCENE III. 105

Isabella. Unhappy Claudio ! wretched Isabel ! Injurious world ! most damned Angelo ! 120

Duke. This nor hurts him nor profits you a jot. Forbear it therefore ; give your cause to heaven. Mark what I say, which you shall find By every syllable a faithful verity :

The duke comes home to-morrow; — nay, dry your eyes; One of our covent, and his confessor, Gives me this instance. Already he hath carried Notice to Escalus and Angelo, Who do prepare to meet him at the gates, There to give up their power. If you can pace your wisdom In that good path that I would wish it, go; i3I

And you shall have your bosom on this wretch, Grace of the duke, revenges to your heart, And general honour.

Isabella. I am directed by you.

Duke. This letter, then, to Friar Peter give ; 'T is that he sent me of the duke's return. Say, by this token, I desire his company At Mariana's house to-night. Her cause and yours I '11 perfect him withal, and he shall bring you Before the duke, and to the head of Angelo i4o

Accuse him home and home. For my poor self, I am combined by a sacred vow And shall be absent. Wend you with this letter. Command these fretting waters from your eyes With a light heart; trust not my holy order, If I pervert your course. — Who 's here ?

Enter Lucio. Lucio. Good even. Friar, where 's the provost ? Duke. Not within, sir.

Lucio. O pretty Isabella, I am pale at mine heart to see thine eyes so red ; thou must be patient. I am fain to dine

106 MEASURE FOR MEASURE.

and sup with water and bran ; I dare not for my head fill my belly; one fruitful meal would set me to 't. But they say the duke will be here to-morrow. By my troth, Isabel, I loved thy brother; if the old fantastical duke of dark corners had been at home, he had lived. [Exit Isabella.

Duke. Sir, the duke is marvellous little beholding to your reports ; but the best is, he lives not in them.

Lucio. Friar, thou knowest not the duke so well as I do; he 's a better woodman than thou takest him for. 159

Duke. Well, you '11 answer this one day. Fare ye well.

Lucio. Nay, tarry ; I '11 go along with thee. I can tell thee pretty tales of the duke.

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. 171

Lucio. By my troth, I '11 go with thee to the lane's end. If bawdy talk offend you, we '11 have very little of it. Nay, friar, I am a kind of burr; I shall stick. [Exeunt.

Scene IV. A Room in Angelas House. Enter Angelo and Escalus. Escalus. Every letter he hath writ hath disvouched other. Angelo. In most uneven and distracted manner. His actions show much like to madness; pray heaven his wis- dom be not tainted ! And why meet him at the gates, and redeliver our authorities there ? Escalus. I guess not. Angelo. And why should we proclaim it in an hour before

ACT IV. SCENE V. 107

his entering, that if any crave redress of injustice, they should exhibit their petitions in the street ? 9

Escalus. He shows his reason for that: to have a dispatch of complaints, and to deliver us from devices hereafter, which shall then have no power to stand against us.

Angelo. Well, I beseech you, let it be proclaimed betimes i' the morn ; I '11 call you at your house. Give notice to such men of sort and suit as are to meet him.

Escalus. I shall, sir. Fare you well.

Angelo. Good night. — [Exit Escalus.

This deed unshapes me quite, makes me unpregnant And dull to all proceedings. A deflower'd maid ! And by an eminent body that enforc'd 20

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 so 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 ! 30 Alack, when once our grace we have forgot, Nothing goes right; we would, and we would not. [Exit.

Scene V. Fields without the Town. Enter Duke in his own habit, and Friar Peter. Duke. These letters at fit time deliver me. [Giving letters. The provost knows our purpose and our plot. The matter being afoot, keep your instruction, And hold you ever to our special drift, Though sometimes you do blench from this to that, As cause doth minister. Go call at Flavius' house,

108 MEASURE FOR MEASURE.

And tell him where I stay: give the like notice To Valentinus, Rowland, and to Crassus, And bid them bring the trumpets to the gate j But send me Flavius first.

Friar Peter. It shall be speeded well. [Exit.

Enter Varrius. Duke. I thank thee, Varrius ; thou hast made good haste. Come, we will walk. There 's other of our friends 12

Will greet us here anon, my gentle Varrius. [Exeunt.

Scene VI. Street near the City Gate. Enter Isabella and Mariana.

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

Mariana. Be ruPd by him.

Isabella. Besides, he tells me that, if peradventure He speak against me on the adverse side, I should not think it strange ; for 't is a physic That 's bitter to sweet end.

Mariana. I would Friar Peter —

Isabella. O, peace! the friar is come.

Enter Friar Peter. Friar Peter. Come, I have found you out a stand most fit, Where you may have such vantage on the duke, u

He shall not pass you. Twice have the trumpets sounded ; The generous and gravest citizens Have hent the gates, and very near upon The duke is entering: therefore, hence, away! [Exeunt.

ACT V.

Scene I. The City Gate. Mariana veiled, Isabella, and Friar Peter, at their stand. Enter Duke, Varrius, Lords, Angelo, Escalus, Lucio, Provost, Officers, and Citizens, at several doors.

Duke. My very worthy cousin, fairly met ! — Our old and faithful friend, we are glad to see you.

IIO MEASURE FOR MEASURE.

* ' I 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.

Angelo. 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, 10

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.

Friar Peter. Now is your time; speak loud and kneel be- fore him.

Isabella. Justice, O royal duke ! Vail your regard 20

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.

Isabella. O worthy duke,

You bid me seek redemption of the devil. Hear me yourself; for that which I must speak 30

ACT V. SCENE I. IFI

Must either punish me, not being believ'd,

Or wring redress from you. Hear me, O hear me, here !

Angelo. My lord, her wits, I fear me, are not firm ; She hath been a suitor to me for her brother Cut off by course of justice, —

Isabella. By course of justice !

Angelo. And she will speak most bitterly and strange.

Isabella. Most strange, but yet most truly, will I speak : That Angelo 's forsworn ; is it not strange ? That Angelo 's a murtherer ; is 't not strange ? That Angelo is an adulterous thief, 4o

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

Duke. Nay, it is ten times strange.

Isabella. 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 the end of reckoning.

Duke. Away with her! — Poor soul,

She speaks this in the infirmity of sense.

Isabella. O prince, I conjure thee, as thou believ'st There is another comfort than this world, That thou neglect me not, with that opinion 5o

That I am touch'd with madness ! Make not impossible That which but seems unlike : 't is 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.

Duke. By mine honesty,

If she be mad, — as I believe no other, — 60

Her madness hath the oddest frame of sense,

H2 MEASURE FOR MEASURE.

Such a dependency of thing on thing, As e'er I heard in madness.

Isabella. O 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, And hide the false seems true.

Duke. Many that are not mad

Have, sure, more lack of reason. — What would you say ?

Isabella. I am the sister of one Claudio, Condemn'd upon the act of fornication To lose his head, condemn'd by Angelo. I, in probation of a sisterhood, Was sent 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 desir'd her To try her gracious fortune with Lord Angelo For her poor brother's pardon.

Isabella. That 's he indeed.

Duke. You were not bid to speak.

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 heaven you then Be perfect.

Lucio. I warrant your honour.

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

Isabella. This gentleman told somewhat of my tale, —

Lucio. Right.

Duke. It may be right, but you are i' the wrong To speak before your time. — Proceed.

Isabella. I went

To this pernicious caitiff deputy, —

ACT V. SCENE I.

H3

Duke. That 's somewhat madly spoken.

Isabella. Pardon it;

The phrase is to the matter. 90

Duke. Mended again. The matter; proceed.

Isabella. 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 replied, — 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, 100

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!

Isabella. 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, *io

He would have weigh'd thy brother by himself, And not have cut him off. Some one hath set you on ; Confess the truth, and say by whose advice Thou cam'st here to complain.

Isabella. 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 vvrong'd, hence unbelieved go!

H

II4 MEASURE FOR MEASURE.

Duke. I know you 'd fain be gone. — An officer! — I20

To prison with her! — Shall we thus permit A blasting and a scandalous breath to fall On him so near us? This needs must be a practice. Who knew of your intent and coming hither?

Isabella. One that I would were here, Friar Lodowick?

Duke. A ghostly father, belike. — Who knows that Lodo- wick ?

Lucio. My lord, I know him; 't is 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. ,30

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.

Lueio. But yesternight, my lord, she and that friar, I saw them at the prison, — a saucy friar, A very scurvy fellow.

Friar 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, i4o

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?

Friar 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 villanously; believe it.

Friar Peter. Well, he in time may come to clear himself, But at this instant he is sick, my lord, 151

Of a strange fever. Upon his mere request,

ACT V. SCENE L

"5

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, 160

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 '11 be impartial; be you judge Of your own cause. — Is this the witness, friar? First, let her show her face, and after speak.

Mariana. Pardon, my lord ; I will not show my face Until my husband bid me. 170

Duke. What, are you married?

Mariana. No, my lord.

Duke. Are you a maid ?

Mariana. No, my lord.

Duke. A widow, then ?

Mariana. Neither, my lord.

Duke. Why, you 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. i&>

Duke. Silence that fellow ; I would he had some cause To prattle for himself.

Lucio. Well, my lord.

Mariana. My lord, I do confess I ne'er was married;

n6 MEASURE FOR MEASURE.

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. 190

Duke. This is no witness for Lord Angelo.

Mariana. 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 '11 depose I had him in mine arms With all the effect of love.

Angelo. Charges she more than me?

Mariana. Not that I know.

Duke. No ? you say your husband.

Mariana. Why, just, my lord, and that is Angelo, 200

Who thinks he knows that he ne'er knew my body, But knows, he thinks, that he knows Isabel's.

Angelo. This is a strange abuse. — Let 's see thy face.

Mariana. 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; This is the hand which, with a vow'd contract, Was fast belock'd in thine ; this is the body That took away the match from Isabel,

And did supply thee at thy garden-house 210

In her imagin'd person.

Duke. Know you this woman?

Lucio. Carnally, she says.

Duke. Sirrah, no more !

Lucio. Enough, my lord.

Angelo. My lord, I must confess I know this woman ; And five years since there was some speech of marriage

ACT V. SCENE I.

Betwixt myself and her, which was broke off,

Partly for that her promised proportions

Came short of composition, but in chief

For that her reputation was disvalued

In levity: since which time of five years

I never spake with her, saw her, nor heard from her,

Upon my faith and honour.

Mariana. Noble prince,

As there comes light from heaven and wrords from breath, As there is sense in truth and truth in virtue, I am affianc'd this man's wife as strongly As words could make up vows; and, my good lord, But Tuesday night last gone in 's garden-house He knew me as a wife. As this is true, Let me in safety raise me from my knees; Or else for ever be confixed here, A marble monument !

Angelo. I did but smile till now :

Now, good my lord, give me the scope of justice; My patience here is touch'd. I do perceive These poor informal women are no more But instruments of some more mightier member That sets them on. Let me have way, my lord, To find this practice out.

Duke. Ay, with my heart ;

And punish them to your height of pleasure. — Thou foolish friar, and thou pernicious woman, Compact with her that 's gone, think'st thou thy oaths, Though they would swear down each particular saint, Were testimonies against his worth and credit That 's seal'd in approbation ? — You, Lord Escalus, Sit with my cousin ; lend him your kind pains To find out this abuse, whence 't is deriv'd. — There is another friar that set them on ; Let him be sent for.

117

Il8 MEASURE FOR MEASURE.

Friar Peter. Would he were here, my lord ! for he indeed Hath set the women on to this complaint. Your provost knows the place where he abides, 250

And he may fetch him.

Duke. Go do it instantly. — [Exit Provost.

And you, my noble and well-warranted cousin, Whom it concerns to hear this matter forth, Do with your injuries as seems you best, In any chastisement. I for a while will leave you; But stir not you till you have well determin'd Upon these slanderers.

Escalus. My lord, we '11 do it throughly. — [Exit Duke. Signior Lucio, did not you say you knew that Friar Lodowick to be a dishonest person ? 260

Lucio. Cucullus non facit monachum : honest in nothing but in his clothes; and one that hath spoke most villainous speeches of the duke.

Escalus. We shall entreat you to abide here till he come, and enforce them against him; we shall find this friar a notable fellow.

Lucio. As any in Vienna, on my word.

Escalus. Call that same Isabel here once again ; I would speak with her. — [Exit an Attendant.] Pray you, my lord, give me leave to question; you shall see how I '11 handle her. 2?l

Lucio. Not better than he, by her own report.

Escalus. Say you ?

Lucio. Marry, sir, I think, if you handled her privately, she would sooner confess; perchance, publicly, she '11 be ashamed.

Escalus. I will go darkly to work with her.

Lucio. That 's the way; for women are light at midnight.

ACT V. SCENE I.

119

Re-enter Officers with Isabella; and Provost with the Duke in his friar's habit.

Escalns. Come on, mistress. — Here 's a gentlewoman denies all that you have said. 280

Lucio. My lord, here comes the rascal I spoke of; here with the provost.

Escalus. In very good time; speak not you to him till we call upon you.

Lucio. Mum.

Escalus. Come, sir; did you set these women on to slander Lord Angelo? they have confessed you did.

Duke. 'T is false.

Escalus. How! know you where you are?

Duke. Respect to your great place! and let the devil 290 Be sometime honour'd for his burning throne ! — Where is the duke? 't is he should hear me speak.

Escalus. The duke 's in us, and we will hear you speak; Look you speak justly.

Duke. Boldly, at least. — But, O, poor souls, Come you to seek the lamb here of the fox? Good night to your redress ! Is the duke gone? Then is your cause gone too. The duke 's unjust, Thus to retort your manifest appeal,

And put your trial in the villain's mouth 300

Which here you come to accuse.

Lucio. This is the rascal ; this is he I spoke of.

Escalus. Why, thou unreverend and unhallow'd friar, Is 't not enough thou hast suborn'd these women To accuse this worthy man, but, in foul mouth And in the witness of his proper ear, To call him villain? and then to glance from him To the duke himself, to tax him with injustice? — Take him hence; to the rack with him! — We '11 touze you Joint by joint, but we will know his purpose. 310

What, unjust!

J20 MEASURE FOR MEASURE.

Duke. Be not so hot; the duke

Dare no more stretch this finger of mine than he Dare rack his own j his subject am I not, Nor here provincial. My business in this state Made me a looker-on here in Vienna. Where I have seen corruption boil and bubble Till it o'er-run the stew; laws for all faults, But faults so countenanc'd, that the strong statutes Stand like the forfeits in a barber's shop, As much in mock as mark. 320

Escalus. Slander to the state ! Away with him to prison !

Angelo. What can you vouch against him, Signior Lu- cio? Is this the man that you did tell us of?

Lucio. T is he, my lord. — Come hither, goodman bald- pate; do you know me?

Duke. I remember you, sir, by the sound of your voice; I met you at the prison, in the absence of the duke.

Lucio. O, did you so? And do you remember what you said of the duke?

Duke. Most notedly, sir. 330

Lucio. Do you so, sir? And was the duke a fleshmonger, a fool, and a coward, as you then reported him to be?

Duke. You must, sir, change persons with me, ere you make that my report; you, indeed, spoke so of him, and much more, much worse.

Lucio. O thou damnable fellow! Did not I pluck thee by the nose for thy speeches?

Duke. I protest I love the duke as I love myself.

Angelo. Hark, how the villain would close now, after his treasonable abuses! 340

Escalus. Such a fellow is not to be talked withal. — Away with him to prison ! — Where is the provost? — Away with him to prison! lay bolts enough upon him; let him speak no

ACT V. SCENE I. 12 1

more. — Away with those giglots too, and with the other con- federate companion !

Duke. [To Provost] Stay, sir; stay awhile.

Angelo. What, resists he ? — Help him, Lucio.

Lucio. Come, sir ; come, sir ; come, sir ; foh, sir ! Why,

you bald-pated, lying rascal, you must be hooded, must you?

Show your knave's visage, with a pox to you ! show your

sheep-biting face, and be hanged an hour ! Will 't not off?

[Pulls off the Friar's hood and discovers the Duke.

Duke. Thou art the first knave that e'er mad'st a duke. — First, provost, let me bail these gentle three. — 353

[To Lucio] Sneak not away, sir, for the friar and you Must have a word anon. — Lay hold on him.

Lucio. This may prove worse than hanging.

Duke. [To Escalus] What you have spoke I pardon; sit you down. We '11 borrow place of him. — [To Angelo] Sir, by your leave. Hast thou or word, or wit, or impudence, That yet can do thee office? If thou hast, 360

Rely upon it till my tale be heard, And hold no longer out.

Angelo. O my dread lord,

I should be guiltier than my guiltiness, To think I can be undiscernible, When I perceive your grace, like power divine, Hath look'd upon my passes. Then, good prince, No longer session hold upon my shame, But let my trial be mine own confession. Immediate sentence then and sequent death Is all the grace I beg.

Duke. Come hither, Mariana.- - 370

Say, wast thou e'er contracted to this woman?

Angelo. I was, my lord.

Duke. Go take her hence, and marry her instantly. —

I22 MEASURE FOR MEASURE.

Do you the office, friar; which consummate, Return him here again. — Go with him, provost.

[Exeunt Angelo, Mariana, Friar Peter, and Provost.

Escalus. My lord, I am more amaz'd at his dishonour Than at the strangeness of it.

Duke. Come hither, Isabel.

Your friar is now your prince : as I was then Advertising and holy to your business,

Not changing heart with habit, I am still 380

Attorney'd at your service.

Isabella. O, give me pardon,

That I, your vassal, have employ'd and pain'd Your unknown sovereignty!

Duke. You are pardon'd, Isabel ;

And now, dear maid, be you as free to us. Your brother's death, I know, sits at your heart ; And you may marvel why I obscur'd myself, Labouring to save his life, and would not rather Make rash remonstrance of my hidden power Than let him so be lost. O most kind maid, It was the swift celerity of his death, 390

Which I did think with slower foot came on, That brain'd my purpose. But, peace be with him ! That life is better life, past fearing death, Than that which lives to fear. Make it your comfort, So happy is your brother.

Isabella. I do, my lord.

Re-etiter Angelo, Mariana, Friar Peter, and Provost.

Duke. For this new-married man approaching here, Whose salt imagination yet hath wrong'd Your well defended honour, you must pardon For Mariana's sake ; but as he adjudg'd your brother, — Being criminal, in double violation 400

Of sacred chastity and of promise-breach

ACT V. SCENE I.

123

Thereon dependent, for your brother's life, —

The very mercy of the law cries out

Most audible, even from his proper tongue,

1 An Angelo for Claudio, death for death !'

Haste still pays haste, and leisure answers leisure ;

Like doth quit like, and measure still for measure. —

Then, Angelo, thy fault 's thus manifested,

Which, though thou wouldst deny, denies thee vantage.

We do condemn thee to the very block 410

Where Claudio stoop'd to death, and with like haste. —

Away with him !

Mariana. O my most gracious lord,

I hope you will not mock me with a husband.

Duke. It is your husband mock'd you with a husband. Consenting to the safeguard of your honour, I thought your marriage fit; else imputation, For that he knew you, might reproach your life And choke your good to come. For his possessions, Although by confiscation they are ours,

We do instate and widow you withal, 420

To buy you a better husband.

Mariana. O my dear lord,

I crave no other, nor no better man.

Duke. Never crave him ; we are definitive.

Mariana. Gentle my liege, — [Kneeling.

Duke. You do but lose your labour. —

Away with him to death ! — [To Lucio] Now, sir, to you.

Mariana. O my good lord ! — Sweet Isabel, take my part ; Lend me your knees, and all my life to come I '11 lend you all my life to do you service.

Duke. Against all sense you do importune her. Should she kneel down in mercy of this fact, 430

Her brother's ghost his paved bed would break, And take her hence in horror.

Mariana. Isabel,

124 MEASURE FOR MEASURE.

Sweet Isabel, do yet but kneel by me; Hold up your hands, say nothing; I '11 speak all. They say, best men are moulded out of faults, And, for the most, become much more the better For being a little bad ; so may my husband.

0 Isabel, will you not lend a knee ? Duke. He dies for Claudio's death.

Isabella. Most bounteous sir, \Kneeling.

Look, if it please you, on this man condemn'd, 4jo

As if my brother liv'd. I partly think

A due sincerity govern'd his deeds,

Till he did look on me ; since it is so,

Let him not die. My brother had but justice,

In that he did the thing for which he died.

For Angelo,

His act did not o'ertake his bad intent,

And must be buried but as an intent

That perish'd by the way. Thoughts are no subjects —

Intents but merely thoughts.

Mariana. Merely, my lord. 450

Duke. Your suit 's unprofitable ; stand up, I say. —

1 have bethought me of another fault. — Provost, how came it Claudio was beheaded At an unusual hour ?

Provost. It was commanded so.

Duke. Had you a special warrant for the deed ?

Provost. No, my good lord; it was by private message.

Duke. For which I do discharge you of your office ; Give up your keys.

Provost. Pardon me, noble lord.

I thought it was a fault, but knew it not, Yet did repent me, after more advice; 460

For testimony whereof, one in the prison, That should by private order else have died, I have reserv'd alive.

ACT V. SCENE I. 125

Duke. What 's he ?

Provost. His name is Barnardine.

Duke. I would thou hadst done so by Claudio. — Go fetch him hither; let me look upon him. {Exit Provost

Escalus. I am sorry, one so learned and so wise As you, Lord Angelo, have still appear'd, Should slip so grossly, both in the heat of blood, And lack of temper'd judgment afterward.

Angelo. I am sorry that such sorrow I procure, 47o

And so deep sticks it in my penitent heart That I crave death more willingly than mercy ; 'T is my deserving, and I do entreat it.

Re-enter Provost, with Barnardine, Claudio muffled, and Juliet.

Duke. Which is that Barnardine ?

Provost. This, my lord.

Duke. There was a friar told me of this man. — Sirrah, thou art said to have a stubborn soul, That apprehends no further than this world, And squar'st thy life according. Thou 'rt condemn'd; But, for those earthly faults, I quit them all, And pray thee take this mercy to provide 480

For better times to come. — Friar, advise him ; I leave him to your hand.— What muffled fellow 's that ?

Provost. This is another prisoner that I sav'd, Who should have died when Claudio lost his head, As like almost to Claudio as himself. [Unmuffles Claudio.

Duke. [To Isabella] If he be like your brother, for his sake Is he pardon'd ; and, for your lovely sake, Give me your hand, and say you will be mine, He is my brother too;— but fitter time for that By this Lord Angelo perceives he 's safe ; 490

Methinks I see a quickening in his eye.— Well, Angelo, your evil quits you well :

126 MEASURE FOR MEASURE.

Look that you love your wife; her worth worth yours. —

I find an apt remission in myself;

And yet here 's one in place I cannot pardon. —

[To Lucio] You, sirrah, that knew me for a fool, a coward,

One all of luxury, an ass, a madman,

Wherein have I deserved so of you,

That you extol me thus ?

Lucio. Faith, my lord, I spoke it but according to the trick. If you will hang me for it, you may; but I had rather it would please you I might be whipt. 502

Duke. Whipt first, sir, and hang'd after. — Proclaim it, provost, round about the city, If any woman 's wrong'd by this lewd fellow — As I have heard him swear himself there 's one Whom he begot with child — let her appear, And he shall marry her ; the nuptial finish'd, Let him be whipt and hang'd.

Lucio. I beseech your highness, do not marry me to a whore. Your highness said even now, I made you a duke ; good my lord, do not recompense me in making me a cuckold.

Duke. Upon mine honour, thou shalt marry her. 513

Thy slanders I forgive, and therewithal Remit thy other forfeits. — Take him to prison, And see our pleasure herein executed.

Lucio. Marrying a punk, my lord, is pressing to death, whipping, and hanging.

Duke. Slandering a prince deserves it. —

[Exeunt Officers with Lucio. She, Claudio, that you wrong'd, look you restore. — 520

Joy to you, Mariana ! — Love her, Angelo; I have confess'd her and I know her virtue. — Thanks, good friend Escalus, for thy much goodness; There 's more behind that is more gratulate. — Thanks, provost, for thy care and secrecy; We shall employ thee in a worthier place. —

ACT V. SCENE I.

127

Forgive him, Angelo, that brought you home

The head of Ragozine for Claudio's ;

The offence pardons itself. — Dear Isabel,

I have a motion much imports your good, 53o

Whereto if you '11 a willing ear incline,

What 's mine is yours and what is yours is mine. —

So, bring us to our palace, where we '11 show

What 's yet behind, that 's meet you all should know. \Exeunt.

THE NUNNERY.

Gentle Isabella, Turn you the key, and know his business of him (i. 5. 7).

Here is the hand and seal of the duke (iv. 2. 183).

NOTES

ABBREVIATIONS USED IN THE NOTES.

Abbott (or Gr.), Abbott's Shakespearian Grammar (third edition). A. S., Anglo-Saxon.

A. V., Authorized Version of the Bible (1611).

B. and F., Beaumont and Fletcher. B. J., Ben Jonson.

Camb. ed., " Cambridge edition" of Shakespeare, edited by Clark and Wright.

Cf. (confer), compare.

Clarke, " Cassell's Illustrated Shakespeare," edited by Charles and Mary Cowden- Clarke (London, n. d.).

Coll., Collier (second edition).

Coll. MS., Manuscript Corrections of Second Folio, edited by Collier.

D., Dyce (second edition).

H., Hudson ("Harvard" edition).

Halliwell, J. O. Halliwell (folio ed. of Shakespeare).

Id. (idem), the same.

J. H., J. Hunter's ed. oiM.for M. (London, 1873).

K., Knight (second edition).

Nares, Glossary, edited by Halliwell and Wright (London, 1859).

Prol., Prologue.

S., Shakespeare.

Schmidt, A. Schmidt's Shakespeare-Lexicon (Berlin, 1874).

Sr., Singer.

St., Staunton.

Theo., Theobald.

V., Verplanck.

W., R. Grant White.

Walker, Wm. Sidney Walker's Critical Examination of the Text 0/ Shakespeare (London, i860).

Warb., Warburton.

Wb., Webster's Dictionary (revised quarto edition of 1879).

Wore, Worcester's Dictionary (quarto edition).

The abbreviations of the names of Shakespeare's Plays will be readily understood ; as T. N. for Twelfth Night, Cor. for Coriolanus, 3 Hen. VI. for The Third Part of King Henry tJie Sixth, etc. P. P. refers to The Passionate Pilgrim ; V. and A . to Venus and Adonis ; L. C. to Lover's Complaint ; and Sonn. to the Sonnets.

When the abbreviation of the name of a play is followed by a reference to page, Rolfe's edition of the play is meant.

The numbers of the lines (except for the present play) are those of the " Globe "ed. or of the American reprint of that ed.

NOTES.

Look, the unfolding star calls up the shepherd (iv. 2. 192).

INTRODUCTION.

Whetstone's " Promos and Cassandra." — How little Shakespeare was really indebted to this earlier play (see p. 12 above) may be inferred from the following specimen of it (quoted by Knight), which may be com- pared with the corresponding scene (ii. 2) of Measure for Measure:

I32

NOTES.

Promos with the Sheriff, and their Officers.

Pro. 'T is strange to think what swarms of unthrifts live Within this town, by rapine, spoil, and theft, That, were it not that justice oft them grieve, The just man's goods by rufflers should be reft. At this our 'size are thirty judg'd to die, Whose falls I see their fellows smally fear, So that the way is, by severity Such wicked weeds even by the roots to tear. Wherefore, sheriff, execute with speedy pace The damned wights, to cut off hope of grace.

Sher. It shall be done.

Cass, [to herself.'] O cruel words ! they make my heart to bleed: Now, now I must this doom seek to revoke, Lest grace come short when starved is the steed. —

[Kneeling, speaks to Promos. Most mighty lord, a worthy judge, thy judgment sharp abate ; Vail thou thine ears to hear the 'plaint that wretched I relate. Behold the woeful sister here of poor Andrugio, Whom though that law awardeth death, yet mercy do him show. Weigh his young years, the force of love which forced his amiss, Weigh, weigh that marriage works amends for what committed is. He hath defil'd no nuptial bed, nor forced rape hath mov'd ; He fell through love who never meant but wife the wight he lov'd: And wantons sure to keep in awe these statutes first were made, Or none but lustful lechers should with rig'rous law be paid. And yet to add intent thereto is far from my pretence ; I sue with tears to win him grace that sorrows his offence. Wherefore herein, renowned lord, justice with pity pays ; Which two, in equal balance weigh' d, to heaven your fame will raise.

Pro. Cassandra, leave off thy bootless suit ; by law he hath been tried- Law found his fault, law judg'd him death.

Cass. Yet this may be replied :

That law a mischief oft permits to keep due form of law — _ That law small faults, with greatest, dooms, to keep men still in awe. Yet kings, or such as execute regal authority. If 'mends be made, may over-rule the force of law with mercy. Here is no wilful murder wrought which asketh blood again ; Andrugio's fault may valued be. marriage wipes out his stain.

Pro. Fair dame, I see the natural zeal thou bear'st to Andrugio, And for thy sake (not his desert) this favour will I show : I will reprieve him yet a while, and on the matter pause; To-morrow you shall licence have afresh to plead his cause. Sheriff, execute my charge, but stay Andrugio Until that you in this behalf more of my pleasure know.

Sher. I will perform your will.

Cass. O most worthy magistrate, myself thy thrall I bind, Even for this little light'ning hope which at thy hands I find. Now will I go and comfort him which hangs 'twixt death and life. [Exit.

Pro. Happy is the man that enjoys the love of such a wife ! I do protest her modest words hath wrought in me amaze. Though she be fair, she is not deck'd with garish shows for gaze ; Her beauty lures, her looks cut off fond suits with chaste disdain ; O God, I feel a sudden change that doth my freedom chain ! VVhat didst thou say? Fie, Promos, fie! of her avoid the thought: And so I will ; my other cares will cure what love has wrought. Come away. [Exeunt.

ACT 1. SCENE I. 133

ACT I.

Dramatis Persons.— The following list (cf. Oth. p. 153) is given in the folio at the end of the play, p. 84 :

Thomas. The Scene Vienna.

The names of all the Actors.

Vincentio : the Duke.

Angelo, the Deputie.

Escalus, an ancient Lord.

Claudio, a yong Gentleman,

Lucio, afantastique.

2. Other like Gentlemen.

Prouost.

, 2. Friers. Peter. )

Elbow, a simple Constable.

Froth, a foolish Gentleman.

Clozvne.

Abhorson, an Executioner.

Bamardine, a dissolute prisoner.

Isabella, sister to Claudio.

Mariana, betrothed to Angelo.

Iuliet, beloued of Claudio.

Francisco, a Nun.

Mistris Ouer-don, a Bawd.

Scene I. — 5. Put to know. " Compelled to acknowledge " (Steevens). Cf. 2 Hen. VI. iii. I. 43 : " had I first been put to speak my mind ;" and Cymb. ii. 3. 1 10 : " You put me to forget a lady's manners." Pope changed put to " not," and the Coll. MS. has " apt."

6. Lists. "Bounds, limits" (Johnson). Cf. Oth. iv. 1. 76: "Confine yourself within a patient list ;" and see also Ham. p. 249.

7, 8. No more remains Bjit that, etc. A passage which has perplexed the commentators. The folio reads :

"Then no more remaines But that, to your sufficiency, as your worth is able, And let them worker"

Theo. conjectured that something had been lost, and attempted to supply it thus :

" But that to your sufficiency you add Due diligency as your worth is able." Hanmer gave :

" But that to your sufficiency you join A will to serve us as your worth is able ;"

and Tyrwhitt conjectured :

"But that to your sufficiency you put A zeal as willing as your worth is able."

Sundry other ways of filling the supposed gap have been proposed, but these will serve as samples. Others have assumed that the passage is not defective but corrupt, and have tried to emend it by reading " But that to your sufficiencies your worth is abled " (Johnson) ; " But your sufficiency as worth is able" (Farmer) ; "But thereto your sufficiency," etc. (Sr.) ;