Act IIScene IV
A room in Angelo’s house
Enter Angelo.
Angelo
When I would pray and think, I think and prayTo 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 evilOf my conception. The state whereon I studiedIs, like a good thing being often read,Grown sere and tedious; yea, my gravity,Wherein—let no man hear me—I take pride,Could I with boot change for an idle plumeWhich 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 soulsTo thy false seeming! Blood, thou art blood.Let’s write good angel on the devil’s horn.’Tis not the devil’s crest.
Knock within.
How now, who’s there?
Enter Servant.
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,Making both it unable for itselfAnd dispossessing all my other partsOf necessary fitness?So play the foolish throngs with one that swoons,Come all to help him, and so stop the airBy which he should revive. And even soThe general subject to a well-wished kingQuit their own part, and in obsequious fondnessCrowd to his presence, where their untaught loveMust needs appear offence.
Enter Isabella.
How now, fair maid?
Isabella
I am come to know your pleasure.
Angelo
That you might know it, would much better please meThan to demand what ’tis. Your brother cannot live.
Isabella
Even so. Heaven keep your honour.
Angelo
Yet may he live a while. 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 fittedThat his soul sicken not.
Angelo
Ha! Fie, these filthy vices! It were as goodTo pardon him that hath from nature stolenA man already made, as to remitTheir saucy sweetness that do coin heaven’s imageIn stamps that are forbid. ’Tis all as easyFalsely to take away a life true madeAs to put metal in restrained meansTo make a false one.
Isabella
’Tis set down so in heaven, but not in earth.
Angelo
Say you so? Then I shall pose you quickly.Which had you rather, that the most just lawNow took your brother’s life; or, to redeem him,Give up your body to such sweet uncleannessAs she that he hath stained?
Isabella
Sir, believe this:I had rather give my body than my soul.
Angelo
I talk not of your soul. Our compelled sinsStand more for number than for accompt.
Isabella
How say you?
Angelo
Nay, I’ll not warrant that, for I can speakAgainst the thing I say. Answer to this:I, now the voice of the recorded law,Pronounce a sentence on your brother’s life.Might there not be a charity in sinTo save this brother’s life?
Isabella
Please you to do’t,I’ll take it as a peril to my soul;It is no sin at all, but charity.
Angelo
Pleased you to do’t at peril of your soul,Were equal poise of sin and charity.
Isabella
That I do beg his life, if it be sin,Heaven let me bear it. You granting of my suit,If that be sin, I’ll make it my morn prayerTo 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, crafty; 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 brightWhen it doth tax itself, as these black masksProclaim an enshield beauty ten times louderThan beauty could, displayed. But mark me;To be received plain, I’ll speak more gross.Your brother is to die.
Isabella
So.
Angelo
And his offence is so, as it appears,Accountant to the law upon that pain.
Isabella
True.
Angelo
Admit no other way to save his life—As I subscribe not that, nor any other,But, in the loss of question, that you, his sister,Finding yourself desired of such a personWhose credit with the judge, or own great place,Could fetch your brother from the manaclesOf the all-binding law; and that there wereNo earthly mean to save him but that eitherYou must lay down the treasures of your bodyTo this supposed, or else to let him suffer,What would you do?
Isabella
As much for my poor brother as myself.That is, were I under the terms of death,Th’ impression of keen whips I’d wear as rubies,And strip myself to death as to a bedThat longing have been sick for, ere I’d yieldMy body up to shame.
Angelo
Then must your brother die.
Isabella
And ’twere the cheaper way.Better it were a brother died at onceThan that a sister, by redeeming him,Should die for ever.
Angelo
Were not you then as cruel as the sentenceThat you have slandered so?
Isabella
Ignominy in ransom and free pardonAre of two houses. Lawful mercyIs nothing kin to foul redemption.
Angelo
You seemed of late to make the law a tyrant,And rather proved the sliding of your brotherA 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 hateFor his advantage that I dearly love.
Angelo
We are all frail.
Isabella
Else let my brother die,If not a feodary but only heOwe and succeed by 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 marIn profiting by them. Nay, call us ten times frail;For we are soft as our complexions are,And credulous to false prints.
Angelo
I think it well.And from this testimony of your own sex,Since I suppose we are made to be no strongerThan 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 expressedBy all external warrants, show it nowBy putting on the destined livery.
Isabella
I have no tongue but one. Gentle my lord,Let me intreat you speak the former language.
Angelo
Plainly conceive, I love you.
Isabella
My brother did love Juliet,And you tell me that he shall die for ’t.
Angelo
He shall not, Isabel, if you give me love.
Isabella
I know your virtue hath a license in’t,Which seems a little fouler than it is,To pluck on others.
Angelo
Believe me, on mine honour,My words express my purpose.
Isabella
Ha! Little honour to be much believed,And most pernicious purpose! Seeming, seeming!I will proclaim thee, Angelo, look for’t.Sign me a present pardon for my brotherOr with an outstretched throat I’ll tell the world aloudWhat man thou art.
Angelo
Who will believe thee, Isabel?My unsoiled name, th’ austereness of my life,My vouch against you, and my place i’ th’ stateWill so your accusation overweighThat you shall stifle in your own report,And smell of calumny. I have begun,And now I give my sensual race the rein.Fit thy consent to my sharp appetite;Lay by all nicety and prolixious blushesThat banish what they sue for. Redeem thy brotherBy yielding up thy body to my will;Or else he must not only die the death,But thy unkindness shall his death draw outTo ling’ring sufferance. Answer me tomorrow,Or, by the affection that now guides me most,I’ll prove a tyrant to him. As for you,Say what you can, my false o’erweighs your true.
Exit.
Isabella
To whom should I complain? Did I tell this,Who would believe me? O perilous mouths,That bear in them one and the self-same tongueEither of condemnation or approof,Bidding the law make curtsy to their will,Hooking both right and wrong to th’ appetite,To follow as it draws! I’ll to my brother.Though he hath fall’n by prompture of the blood,Yet hath he in him such a mind of honourThat, had he twenty heads to tender downOn twenty bloody blocks, he’d yield them upBefore his sister should her body stoopTo such abhorred pollution.Then, Isabel, live chaste, and, brother, die.More than our brother is our chastity.I’ll tell him yet of Angelo’s request,And fit his mind to death, for his soul’s rest.
Exit.