Isab. Justice, O royal duke! Vail your regard Till you have heard me in my true complaint, Here is lord Angelo shall give you justice! 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? 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: 7 Lower. 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 which but seems unlike: 'tis not impossible, In all his dressings, characts, titles, forms, Duke. By mine honesty, If she be mad, (as I believe no other,) As e'er I heard in madness. Isab. O, gracious duke, Harp not on that; nor do not banish reason To make the truth appear, where it seems hid; Many that are not mad, Duke. Have, sure, more lack of reason. -What would you say? Isab. I am the sister of one Claudio, Was sent to by my brother: One Lucio VOL. II. 8 Habits and characters of office. I Lucio. That's I, an't like your grace: Isab. Duke. You were not bid to speak. Nor wish'd to hold my peace. Duke. That's he, indeed. No, my good lord; I wish you now then; Pray you, take note of it: and when you have 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. 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'd9 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 remorse' confutes mine honour, And I did yield to him. But the next morn be 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, Stands without blemish:-next, it imports no reason, That with such vehemency he should pursue you on; Confess the truth, and say by whose advice Isab. And this is all? Then, oh, you blessed ministers above, Keep me in patience; and, with ripen'd time, 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 Lodowick. Duke. 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, And to set on this wretched woman here friar I saw them at the prison; a saucy friar, 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, |