William Shakespeare - The Complete Works of William Shakespeare

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, bestow’d her on her own 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.

DUKE. This forenamed maid hath yet in her the continuance of her first affection; his unjust unkindness, that in all reason should have quenched her love, hath, like an impediment in the current, made it more violent and unruly. Go you to Angelo; answer his requiring with a plausible obedience; agree with his demands to the point: only refer yourself 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 scaled. 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?

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 speedily 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 despatch with Angelo, that it may be quickly.

ISABELLA.

I thank you for this comfort. Fare you well, good father.

[Exeunt severally.]

Scene II. The Street before the Prison.

[Enter DUKE, as a Friar; to him, ELBOW, CLOWN and Officers.]

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?

CLOWN. ‘Twas 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 on lamb-skins too, to signify that craft, being richer than innocency, stands for the facing.

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 ‘tis 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.

CLOWN. 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;

Correction and instruction must both work

Ere this rude beast will profit.

ELBOW.

He must before the deputy, sir; he has given him warning:

The deputy cannot abide a whoremaster: if he be a whoremaster,

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 faults from seeming free!

ELBOW.

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

CLOWN. I spy comfort; I cry bail! Here’s a gentleman, and a friend of mine.

[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 say’st thou to this tune, matter, and method? Is’t not drowned i’ the last rain, ha? What say’st thou to’t? 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?

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

LUCIO. Why, ‘tis good: it is the right of it: it must be so: ever your fresh whore and your powdered bawd—an unshunned consequence:; it must be so. Art going to prison, Pompey?

CLOWN.

Yes, faith, sir.

LUCIO. Why, ‘tis not amiss, Pompey. Farewell; go, say I sent thee thither. For debt, Pompey? or how?

ELBOW.

For being a bawd, for being a bawd.

LUCIO. Well, then, imprison him: if imprisonment be the due of a bawd, why, ‘tis his right: bawd is he doubtless, and of antiquity, too: bawd-born. Farewell, good Pompey. Commend me to the prison, Pompey. You will turn good husband now, Pompey; you will keep the house.

CLOWN.

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.

LUCIO.

Does Bridget paint still, Pompey, ha?

ELBOW.

Come your ways, sir; come.

CLOWN.

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, CLOWN, 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?

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.

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?

DUKE.

How should he be made, then?

LUCIO. Some report a sea-maid spawned him; some, that he was begot between two stock-fishes.—But it is certain that when he makes water, his urine is congealed ice; that I know to be true. And he is a motion ungenerative; that’s infallible.

DUKE.

You are pleasant, sir, and speak apace.

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 bastards, 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.