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.

O heavens, what stuff is here?

’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 lambskins too, to signify that craft,

being richer than innocency, stands for the facing.

Come your way, sir.—Bless you, good father friar.

And you, good brother father. What offence hath this man made you, sir?

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.

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.

Indeed, it does stink in some sort, sir. But yet, sir, I would prove—

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.

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

cannot abide a whoremaster. If he be a whoremonger and comes before

him, he were as good go a mile on his errand.

That we were all, as some would seem to be,

Free from our faults, as faults from seeming, free!

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

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

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’ th’ last rain, ha? What say’st thou, trot?

Is the world as it was, man? Which is the way? Is it sad and few words?

Or how? The trick of it?

Still thus, and thus; still worse!

How doth my dear morsel, thy mistress? Procures she still, ha?

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

tub.

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?

Yes, faith, sir.

Why, ’tis not amiss, Pompey. Farewell. Go, say I sent thee thither. For

debt, Pompey? Or how?

For being a bawd, for being a bawd.

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.

I hope, sir, your good worship will be my bail.

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.

And you.

Does Bridget paint still, Pompey, ha?

Come your ways, sir, come.

You will not bail me then, sir?

Then, Pompey, nor now.—What news abroad, friar? What news?

Come your ways, sir, come.

Go to kennel, Pompey, go.

What news, friar, of the Duke?

I know none. Can you tell me of any?

Some say he is with the Emperor of Russia; other some, he is in Rome.

But where is he, think you?

I know not where, but wheresoever, I wish him well.

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.

He does well in’t.

A little more lenity to lechery would do no harm in him. Something too

crabbed that way, friar.

It is too general a vice, and severity must cure it.

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?

How should he be made, then?

Some report a sea-maid spawned him; some, that he was begot between two

stockfishes. 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.

You are pleasant, sir, and speak apace.

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.

I never heard the absent Duke much detected for women; he was not

inclined that way.

O, sir, you are deceived.

’Tis not possible.

Who, not the Duke? Yes, your beggar of fifty; and his use was to put a

ducat in her clack-dish. The Duke had crotchets in him. He would be

drunk too, that let me inform you.

You do him wrong, surely.

Sir, I was an inward of his. A shy fellow was the Duke; and I believe I

know the cause of his withdrawing.

What, I prithee, might be the cause?

No, pardon. ’Tis a secret must be locked within the teeth and the lips.

But this I can let you understand: the greater file of the subject held

the Duke to be wise.

Wise? Why, no question but he was.

A very superficial, ignorant, unweighing fellow.

Either this is envy in you, folly, or mistaking. The very stream of his

life, and the business he hath helmed, must upon a warranted need give

him a better proclamation. Let him be but testimonied in his own

bringings-forth, and he shall appear to the envious a scholar, a

statesman, and a soldier. Therefore you speak unskilfully. Or, if your

knowledge be more, it is much darkened in your malice.

Sir, I know him, and I love him.

Love talks with better knowledge, and knowledge with dearer love.

Come, sir, I know what I know.

I can hardly believe that, since you know not what you speak. But, if

ever the Duke return, as our prayers are he may, let me desire you to

make your answer before him. If it be honest you have spoke, you have

courage to maintain it. I am bound to call upon you, and I pray you

your name?

Sir, my name is Lucio, well known to the Duke.

He shall know you better, sir, if I may live to report you.

I fear you not.

O, you hope the Duke will return no more; or you imagine me too

unhurtful an opposite. But indeed, I can do you little harm. You’ll

forswear this again.

I’ll be hanged first! Thou art deceived in me, friar. But no more of

this. Canst thou tell if Claudio die tomorrow or no?

Why should he die, sir?

Why? For filling a bottle with a tun-dish. I would the Duke we talk of

were returned again. This ungenitured agent will unpeople the province

with continency. Sparrows must not build in his house-eaves because

they are lecherous. The Duke yet would have dark deeds darkly answered.

He would never bring them to light. Would he were returned! Marry, this

Claudio is condemned for untrussing. Farewell, good friar, I prithee

pray for me. The Duke, I say to thee again, would eat mutton on

Fridays. He’s now past it; yet, and, I say to thee, he would mouth with

a beggar though she smelt brown bread and garlic. Say that I said so.

Farewell.

No might nor greatness in mortality

Can censure ’scape. Back-wounding calumny

The whitest virtue strikes. What king so strong

Can tie the gall up in the slanderous tongue?

But who comes here?

Go, away with her to prison.

Good my lord, be good to me. Your honour is accounted a merciful man,

good my lord.

Double and treble admonition, and still forfeit in the same kind? This

would make mercy swear and play the tyrant.

A bawd of eleven years’ continuance, may it please your honour.

My lord, this is one Lucio’s information against me. Mistress Kate

Keepdown was with child by him in the Duke’s time; he promised her

marriage. His child is a year and a quarter old come Philip and Jacob.

I have kept it myself; and see how he goes about to abuse me.

That fellow is a fellow of much license. Let him be called before us.

Away with her to prison. Go to, no more words.

Provost, my brother Angelo will not be altered; Claudio must die

tomorrow. Let him be furnished with divines, and have all charitable

preparation. If my brother wrought by my pity, it should not be so with

him.

So please you, this friar hath been with him, and advised him for th’

Good even, good father.

Bliss and goodness on you!

Of whence are you?

Not of this country, though my chance is now

To use it for my time. I am a brother

Of gracious order, late come from the See

In special business from his Holiness.

What news abroad i’ th’ world?

None, but that there is so great a fever on goodness that the

dissolution of it must cure it. Novelty is only in request, and as it

is as dangerous to be aged in any kind of course as it is virtuous to

be constant in any undertaking. There is scarce truth enough alive to

make societies secure; but security enough to make fellowships

accursed. Much upon this riddle runs the wisdom of the world. This news

is old enough, yet it is every day’s news. I pray you, sir, of what

disposition was the Duke?

One that, above all other strifes, contended especially to know

himself.

What pleasure was he given to?

Rather rejoicing to see another merry, than merry at anything which

professed to make him rejoice. A gentleman of all temperance. But leave

we him to his events, with a prayer they may prove prosperous, and let

me desire to know how you find Claudio prepared. I am made to

understand that you have lent him visitation.

He professes to have received no sinister measure from his judge, but

most willingly humbles himself to the determination of justice. Yet had

he framed to himself, by the instruction of his frailty, many deceiving

promises of life, which I, by my good leisure, have discredited to him,

and now he is resolved to die.

You have paid the heavens your function, and the prisoner the very debt

of your calling. I have laboured for the poor gentleman to the

extremest shore of my modesty, but my brother justice have I found so

severe that he hath forced me to tell him he is indeed Justice.

If his own life answer the straitness of his proceeding, it shall

become him well; wherein if he chance to fail, he hath sentenced

himself.

I am going to visit the prisoner. Fare you well.

Peace be with you.

He who the sword of heaven will bear

Should be as holy as severe,

Pattern in himself to know,

Grace to stand, and virtue go;

More nor less to others paying

Than by self-offences weighing.

Shame to him whose cruel striking

Kills for faults of his own liking!

Twice treble shame on Angelo,

To weed my vice, and let his grow!

O, what may man within him hide,

Though angel on the outward side!

How may likeness, made in crimes,

Make practice on the times,

To draw with idle spiders’ strings

Most ponderous and substantial things!

Craft against vice I must apply.

With Angelo tonight shall lie

His old betrothed but despised.

So disguise shall, by th’ disguised,

Pay with falsehood false exacting,

And perform an old contracting.