Claud. One word, good friend. Lucio, a word

with you.

[Takes him aside. Lucio. A hundred, if they'll do you any good.

Is lechery so look'd after?

Claud. Thus stands it with me:

contract,

I got possession of Julietta's bed:

Upon a true

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 preservation of a dow'r

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?

Claud.

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,

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

Freshly on me: 'tis surely, for a name.

Lucio. I warrant it is; and thy head stands so tickle on thy shoulders, that a milk-maid, if she be

in love, may sigh it off. Send after the Duke, and appeal to him.

Claud.

I have done so, but he's not to be found.
I pr'ythee, 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
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 moves 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, which I would be sorry should be thus foolishly lost at a game of tick-tack. I'll to her

Claud. I thank you, good friend Lucio,

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.
Duke.

May your Grace speak of it?

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. 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?

Fri. Gladly, my lord.

Duke. We have strict statutes, and most biting

laws,

(The needful bits and curbs to headstrong steeds,) Which for this fourteen years we have let sleep, Even like an o'er-grown lion in a cave,

That goes not out to prey. Now, as fond fathers,
Having bound up the threat'ning 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,
Dead to infliction, to themselves are dead;
And liberty plucks justice by the nose,

The baby beats the nurse, and quite athwart
Goes all decorum.

Fri.

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 'twas my fault to give the people scope, 'Twould 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,

Who may, in th' ambush of my name, strike home, And yet my nature never in the fight,

To do in slander. And to behold his sway,

I will, as 'twere a brother of your order,

Visit both Prince and people: therefore, I pr'ythee,
Supply me with the habit, and instruct me
How I may formally in person bear

Like a true friar. More reasons for this action,
At our more leisure shall I render you;
Only, this one: - Lord Angelo is precise;
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 V.

A Nunnery.

Enter ISABELLA and FRANCISCA.

Isabella. And have you nuns no farther privileges? Francisca. Are not these large enough? Isab. Yes, truly: I speak not as desiring more, But rather wishing a more strict restraint Upon the sisterhood, the votarists of St. Clare. Lucio. [Within.] Hoa! Peace be in this place! Isab. Who's that which calls? Fran. It is a man's voice. Gentle Isabella, Turn you 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, 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.

[Exit FRANCISCA. Isab. Peace and prosperity! Who is't that calls?

Lucio.

roses

Enter LUCIO.

Hail, virgin, if you be, as those cheek

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 ?

Isab. 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.

Isab.

Lucio.

Woe me! for what?

For that, which, if myself might be his judge,

He should receive his punishment in thanks.

He hath got his friend with child.

Isab. Sir, make me not your story.

Lucio. 'Tis true. I would not (though 'tis my fa

miliar 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 enski'd, and sainted

By your renouncement,

an immortal spirit,

And to be talked with in sincerity,

As with a saint.