Duke. He hath released him, Isabel, from the world:

His head is off, and sent to Angelo.

Duke. It is no other: show your wisdom, daughter,

115 In your close patience.

Isab. 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;

IV. 3
125 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

130 In that good path that I would wish it go;

And you shall have your bosom on this wretch,

Grace of the Duke, revenges to your heart,

And general honour.

Duke. This letter, then, to Friar Peter give;

135 ’Tis 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’ll perfect him withal; and he shall bring you

Before the Duke; and to the head of Angelo

140 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,

145 If I pervert your course.—Who’s here?

Ang. Good night.

Exit Escalus.

This deed unshapes me quite, makes me unpregnant,

And dull to all proceedings. A deflower’d maid!

20 And by an eminent body that enforced

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 of a credent bulk,

IV. 4
25 That no particular scandal once can touch

But it confounds the breather. He should have lived,

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

30 With ransom of such shame. Would yet he had lived!

Alack, when once our grace we have forgot,

Nothing goes right: we would, and we would not. Exit.

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;

5 Though sometimes you do blench from this to that,

As cause doth minister. Go call at Flavius’ house,

And tell him where I stay: give the like notice

To Valentius, Rowland, and to Crassus,

And bid them bring the trumpets to the gate;

But send me Flavius first.

Duke. I thank thee, Varrius; thou hast made good haste:

Come, we will walk. There’s other of our friends

Will greet us here anon, my gentle Varrius.

Isab. To speak so indirectly I am loath:

I would say the truth; but to accuse him so,

That is your part: yet I am advised to do it;

He says, to veil full purpose.

5 Isab. Besides, he tells me that, if peradventure

He speak against me on the adverse side,

I should not think it strange; for ’tis a physic

That’s bitter to sweet end.

10 Fri. P. Come, I have found you out a stand most fit,

Where you may have such vantage on the Duke,

He shall not pass you. Twice have the trumpets sounded;

The generous and gravest citizens

Have hent the gates, and very near upon

15 The Duke is entering: therefore, hence, away!

Duke. My very worthy cousin, fairly met!

Our old and faithful friend, we are glad to see you.

Duke. Many and hearty thankings to you both.

5 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.

Duke. O, your desert speaks loud; and I should wrong it,

10 To lock it in the wards of covert bosom,

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

15 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.

20 Isab. Justice, O royal Duke! Vail your regard

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,

V. 1
25 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.

Isab.

O worthy Duke,

You bid me seek redemption of the devil:

30 Hear me yourself; for that which I must speak

Must either punish me, not being believed,

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

Ang. 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,—

Isab. Most strange, but yet most truly, will I speak:

That Angelo’s forsworn; is it not strange?

That Angelo’s a murderer; is’t not strange?

40 That Angelo is an adulterous thief,

An hypocrite, a virgin-violator;

Is it not strange and strange?

Isab. It is not truer he is Angelo

Than this is all as true as it is strange:

45 Nay, it is ten times true; for truth is truth

To th’ end of reckoning.

Duke.

Away with her!—Poor soul,

She speaks this in th’ infirmity of sense.

Isab. O prince, I conjure thee, as thou believest

There is another comfort than this world,

V. 1
50 That thou neglect me not, with that opinion

That I am touch’d with madness! Make not impossible

That which but seems unlike: ’tis not impossible

But one, the wicked’st caitiff on the ground,

May seem as shy, as grave, as just, as absolute

55 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,

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

Her madness hath the oddest frame of sense,

Such a dependency of thing on thing,

As e’er I heard in madness.

Isab.

O gracious Duke,

Harp not on that; nor do not banish reason

65 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?

Isab. I am the sister of one Claudio,

70 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:

V. 1
75 I came to her from Claudio, and desired her

To try her gracious fortune with Lord Angelo

For her poor brother’s pardon.

Lucio.

No, my good lord;

Nor wish’d to hold my peace.

Duke.

I wish you now, then;

80 Pray you, take note of it: and when you have

A business for yourself, pray heaven you then

Be perfect.

Duke. It may be right; but you are i’ the wrong

To speak before your time. Proceed.

Isab.

I went

To this pernicious caitiff Deputy,—

Isab.

Pardon it;

90 The phrase is to the matter.

Isab. 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,—

95 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,

V. 1
100 My sisterly remorse confutes mine honour,

And I did yield to him: but the next morn betimes,

His purpose surfeiting, he sends a warrant

For my poor brother’s head.

105 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

110 Faults proper to himself: if he had so offended,

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 camest here to complain.

Isab.

And is this all?

115 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 wrong’d, hence unbelieved go!

120 Duke. I know you’ld fain be gone.—An officer!

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?

Lucio. My lord, I know him; ’tis a meddling friar;

I do not like the man: had he been lay, my lord,

For certain words he spake against your Grace

130 In your retirement, I had swinged him soundly.

Duke. Words against me! this’s a good friar, belike!

And to set on this wretched woman here

Against our substitute! Let this friar be found.

Lucio. But yesternight, my lord, she and that friar,

135 I saw them at the prison: a saucy friar,

A very scurvy fellow.

Fri. P. Blessed be your royal Grace!

I have stood by, my lord, and I have heard

Your royal ear abused. First, hath this woman

140 Most wrongfully accused your substitute,

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?

Fri. P. 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.

V. 1
150 Fri. P. Well, he in time may come to clear himself;

But at this instant he is sick, my lord,

Of a strange fever. Upon his mere request,—

Being come to knowledge that there was complaint

Intended ’gainst Lord Angelo,—came I hither,

155 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,

160 So vulgarly and personally accused,

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!—

165 Give us some seats. Come, cousin Angelo;

In this I’ll be impartial; be you judge

Of your own cause. Is this the witness, friar?

First, let her show her face, and after speak.    

Mari. Pardon, my lord; I will not show my face

170 Until my husband bid me.

Duke. Silence that fellow: I would he had some cause

To prattle for himself.

Mari. My lord, I do confess I ne’er was married;

185 And I confess, besides, I am no maid:

I have known my husband; yet my husband

Knows not that ever he knew me.

Mari. Now I come to’t, my lord:

She that accuses him of fornication,

In self-same manner doth accuse my husband;

195 And charges him, my lord, with such a time

When I’ll depose I had him in mine arms

With all th’ effect of love.

V. 1
200 Mari. Why, just, my lord, and that is Angelo,

Who thinks he knows that he ne’er knew my body,

But knows he thinks that he knows Isabel’s.

Mari. My husband bids me; now I will unmask. Unveiling.

205 This is that face, thou cruel Angelo,

Which once thou sworest 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,

210 And did supply thee at thy garden-house

In her imagined person.

Ang. My lord, I must confess I know this woman:

215 And five years since there was some speech of marriage

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

220 In levity: since which time of five years

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

Upon my faith and honour.

Mari.

Noble prince,

As there comes light from heaven and words from breath,

As there is sense in truth and truth in virtue,

V. 1
225 I am affianced 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;

230 Or else for ever be confixed here,

A marble monument!

Ang.

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

235 But instruments of some more mightier member

That sets them on: let me have way, my lord,

To find this practice out.