Isab. Justice, O royal duke! Vail your regard

Upon a wrong'd, I'd 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,
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: Hear me yourself: for that which I must speak Must either punish me, not being believ'd, 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.

By course of justice! Ang. And she will speak most bitterly, and

strange.

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?

That Angelo is an adulterous thief,

An hypocrite, a virgin-violator;

Is it not strange, and strange?

Duke.

Nay, ten times strange,

Isab. It is not truer he is Angelo,

Than this is all as true as it is strange:

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

To the end of reckoning.

Duke.

Away with her :-Poor soul,

She speaks this in the infirmity of sense.

Isab. O, prince, I conjure thee, as thou believ'st There is another comfort than this world, That thou neglect me not, with that opinion

That I am touch'd with madness: make not im

possible

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,
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,

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
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,
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; -

VOL. II.

8 Habits and characters of office.

I

Lucio.

That's I, an't like your grace:

I came to her from Claudio, and desir'd her

To try her gracious fortune with lord Angelo,

For her poor brother's pardon.

Isab.

That's he, indeed.

Duke. You were not bid to speak.
Lucio.

Nor wish'd to hold my peace.

Duke.

No, my good lord;

I wish you now then;

Pray you, take note of it: and when you have
A business for yourself, pray heaven, you then
Be perfect.

Lucio. I warrant your honour.

Duke. The warrant's for yourself; take heed

to it.

Isab. This gentleman told somewhat of my tale. Lucio. Right.

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

To speak before your time. - Proceed.
Isab.

To this pernicious caitiff deputy.

Duke. That's somewhat madly spoken.
Isab.

The phrase is to the matter.

I went

Pardon it:

Duke. Mended again: the matter;-Proceed.

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 reply'd;
(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,
My sisterly remorse1 confutes mine honour,

And I did yield to him. But the next morn be

times,

His purpose surfeiting, he sends a warrant

For my poor brother's head.

Duke.

This is most likely !

Isab. O, that it were as like as it is true!
Duke. By heaven, fond2 wretch, thou know'st

not what thou speak'st;

Or else thou art suborn'd against his honour,
In hateful practice: 3 First, his integrity
Stands without blemish:-next, it imports no

reason,

That with such vehemency he should pursue 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 cam'st here to complain.

Isab.

And this is all?

Then, oh, 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 !

Duke. I know, you'd 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 ? Isab. One that I would were here, friar LodoDuke. A ghostly father, belike: - Who knows

that Lodowick ?

Lucio. My lord, I know him; 'tis a medling

friar;

I do not like the man: had he been lay, my lord,
For certain words he spake against your grace
In your retirement, I had swing'd him soundly.
Duke. Words against me? This' 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

I saw them at the prison; a saucy friar,

A very scurvy fellow.

F. Peter.

Blessed be your royal grace!

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

Your royal ear abus'd: First, hath this woman

Most wrongfully accus'd 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!
F. Peter. I know him for a man divine and holy;

Not a scurvy, nor a temporary medler,
As he's reported by this gentleman :
And, on my trust, a man that never yet
Did, as he vouches, misreport your grace.

Lucio. My lord, most villainously; believe it.

F. Peter. 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,