The Oxford Shakespeare: The Complete Works

by William Shakespeare

  Which the air beats in 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—

  ’Tis now the devil’s crest.

  Enter 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,

  Making both it unable for itself,

  And dispossessing all my other parts

  Of necessary fitness?

  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-wished 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?

  ISABELLA I am come to know your pleasure.

  ANGELO (aside)

  That you might know it would much better please me

  Than to demand what ’tis. (To Isabella) 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 fitted

  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 God’s image

  In stamps that are forbid. ’Tis all as easy

  Falsely to take away a life true made

  As to put metal in restrained moulds,

  To make a false one.

  ISABELLA

  ’Tis set down so in heaven, but not in earth.

  ANGELO

  Say you so? Then I shall pose you quickly.

  Which had you rather: that the most just law

  Now took your brother’s life, or, to redeem him,

  Give up your body to such sweet uncleanness

  As she that he hath stained?

  ISABELLA

  Sir, believe this.

  I had rather give my body than my soul.

  ANGELO

  I talk not of your soul. Our compelled sins

  Stand more for number than for account.

  ISABELLA

  How say you?

  ANGELO

  Nay, I’ll not warrant that, for I can speak

  Against the thing I say. Answer to this.

  I now, the voice of the recorded law,

  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’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 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

  Than 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 person

  Whose credit with the judge, or own great place,

  Could fetch your brother from the manacles

  Of the all-binding law, and that there were

  No earthly mean to save him, but that either

  You must lay down the treasures of your body

  To this supposed, or else to let him suffer—

  What would you do?

  ISABELLA

  As much for my poor brother as myself.

  That is, were I under the terms of death,

  Th’impression of keen whips I’d wear as rubies,

  And strip myself to death as to a bed

  That longing have been sick for, ere I’d yield

  My body up to shame.

  ANGELO Then must your brother die.

  ISABELLA And ’twere the cheaper way.

  Better it were a brother died at once

  Than that a sister, by redeeming him,

  Should die for ever.

  ANGELO

  Were not you then as cruel as the sentence

  That you have slandered so?

  ISABELLA

  Ignominy in ransom and free pardon

  Are of two houses; lawful mercy

  Is nothing kin to foul redemption.

  ANGELO

  You seemed of late to make the law a tyrant,

  And rather proved the sliding of your brother

  A merriment than a vice.

  ISABELLA

  O pardon me, my lord. It oft falls out

  To have what we would have, we speak not what we

  mean.

  I something do excuse the thing I hate

  For his advantage that I dearly love.

  ANGELO

  We are all frail.

  ISABELLA Else let my brother die—

  If not a federy, 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,

  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 expressed

  By all external warrants, show it now,

  By putting on the destined livery.

  ISABELLA

  I have no tongue but one. Gentle my lord,

  Let me entreat 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 it.

  ANGELO

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

  ISABELLA

  I know your virtue hath a licence 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 brother,

  Or with an outstretched throat I’ll tell the world aloud

  What 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’ state,

  Will so your accusation overweigh

  That you shall stifle in your own report,

  And smell of calumny. I have begun,

  And now I give my sensual race the rein.

  Fit thy consent to my sharp 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 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 selfsame tongue

  Either 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 honour

  That had he twenty heads to tender down

  On twenty bloody blocks, he’d yield them up

  Before his sister should her body stoop

  To 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

  3.1 Enter the Duke, disguised as a friar, Claudio, and the Provost

  DUKE

  So then you hope of pardon from Lord Angelo?

  CLAUDIO

  The miserable have no other medicine

  But only hope.

  I’ve hope to live, and am prepared to die.

  DUKE

  Be absolute for death. Either death or life

  Shall thereby be the sweeter. Reason thus with life.

  If I do lose thee, I do lose a thing

  That none but fools would keep. A breath thou art,

  Servile to all the skyey influences

  That dost this habitation where thou keep‘st

  Hourly afflict. Merely thou art death’s fool,

  For him thou labour’st by thy flight to shun,

  And yet runn‘st toward him still. Thou art not noble,

  For all th’accommodations that thou bear’t

  Are nursed 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

  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,

  Do curse the gout, serpigo, and the rheum,

  For ending thee no sooner. Thou hast nor youth nor

  age,

  But as it were an after-dinner’s sleep

  Dreaming on both; for all thy blessed youth

  Becomes as aged, and doth beg the alms

  Of palsied eld; and when thou art old and rich,

  Thou hast neither heat, affection, limb, nor beauty,

  To make thy riches pleasant. What’s in this

  That bears the name of life? Yet in this life

  Lie hid more thousand deaths; yet death we fear

  That makes these odds all even.

  CLAUDIO

  I humbly thank you.

  To sue to live, I find I seek to die,

  And seeking death, find life. Let it come on.

  ISABELLA (within)

  What ho! Peace here, grace, and good company!

  PROVOST

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

  DUKE (to Claudio)

  Dear sir, ere long I’ll visit you again.

  CLAUDIO Most holy sir, I thank you.

  Enter Isabella

  ISABELLA

  My business is a word or two with Claudio.

  PROVOST

  And very welcome. Look, signor, here’s your sister.

  DUKE

  Provost, a word with you.

  PROVOST As many as you please.

  The Duke and Provost draw aside

  DUKE

  Bring me to hear them speak where I may be

  concealed.

  They conceal themselves

  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 leiger.

  Therefore your best appointment make with speed.

  Tomorrow you set on.

  CLAUDIO

  Is there no remedy?

  ISABELLA

  None but such remedy as, to save a head,

  To cleave a heart in twain.

  CLAUDIO But is there any?

  ISABELLA Yes, brother, you may live.

  There is a devilish mercy in the judge,

  If you’ll implore it, that will free your life,

  But fetter you till death.

  CLAUDIO

  Perpetual durance?

  ISABELLA

  Ay, just, perpetual durance; a restraint,

  Though all the world’s vastidity you had,

  To a determined scope.

  CLAUDIO

  But in what nature?

  ISABELLA

  In such a one as you consenting to’t

  Would bark your honour from that trunk you bear,

  And leave you naked.

  CLAUDIO

  Let me know the point.

  ISABELLA

  O, I do fear thee, Claudio, and I quake

  Lest thou a feverous life shouldst entertain,

  And six or seven winters more respect

  Than a perpetual honour. Dar’st thou die?

  The sense of death is most in apprehension,

  And the poor beetle that we tread upon

  In corporal sufferance finds a pang as great

  As when a giant dies.


  CLAUDIO

  Why give you me this shame?

  Think you I can a resolution fetch

  From flow’ry tenderness? If I must die,

  I will encounter darkness as a bride,

  And hug it in mine arms.

  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’th’ head and follies doth enew

  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 precise Angelo?

  ISABELLA

  O, ‘tis the cunning livery of hell

  The damnedest body to invest and cover

  In precise guards! Dost thou think, Claudio:

  If I would yield him my virginity,

  Thou might’st be freed!

  CLAUDIO

  O heavens, it cannot be!

  ISABELLA

  Yes, he would give’t thee, from this rank offence,

  So to offend him still. This night’s the time

  That I should do what I abhor to name,

  Or else thou diest tomorrow.

  CLAUDIO Thou shalt not do’t.

  ISABELLA O, were it but my life,

  I’d throw it down for your deliverance

  As frankly as a pin.

  CLAUDIO

  Thanks, dear Isabel.

  ISABELLA

  Be ready, Claudio, for your death tomorrow.

  CLAUDIO

  Yes. Has he affections in him

  That thus can make him bite the law by th’ nose

  When he would force it? Sure it is no sin,

  Or of the deadly seven it is the least.

  ISABELLA Which is the least?

  CLAUDIO

  If it were damnable, he being so wise,

  Why would he for the momentary trick

  Be perdurably fined? 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 dilated spirit

  To bathe in fiery floods, or to reside

  In thrilling region of thick-ribbed ice;

  To be imprisoned in the viewless winds,

  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—’tis too horrible!

  The weariest and most loathed worldly life

  That age, ache, penury, and imprisonment