SCENE IV.

Come you hither to me, mafter tapfter; what's your name
mafter tapfter?
Clown. Pompey
Efcal. What elfe?
Clown. Bum, Sir.

Efcal. Troth, and your bum is the greatest thing about you, fo that, in the beastlieft fenfe, you are Pompey the great. Pompey, you are partly a bawd, Pompey; howsoever you colour it in being a tapfter; are you not? come, tell me true, it fhall be the better for you.

Clown. Truly, Sir, I am a poor fellow that would live. Efcal. How would you live, Pompey? by being a bawd? what do you think of the trade, Pompey? is it a lawful trade?

Clown. If the law will allow it, Sir.

Efcal. But the law will not allow it, Pompey, and it fhall not be allowed in Vienna.

Clown. Does your worship mean to geld and splay all the youth in the city?

Efcal. No, Pompey.

Clown. Truly, Sir, in my poor opinion, they will to't then. If your worship will take order for the drabs and knaves, you need not to fear the bawds.

Efcal. There are pretty orders beginning, I can tell you: it is but heading and hanging.

Clown. If you head and hang all that offend that way but for ten years together, you'll be glad to give out a commiffion for more heads: if this law hold in Vienna ten years, I'll rent the faireft houfe in it after three pence a bay if you live to fee this come to pass, fay Pompey told you fo.

:

Efcal. Thank you, good Pompey; and in requital of your prophecy, hark you, I advise you let me not find you before me again upon any complaint whatsoever; no, not for dwelling where you do: if I do, Pompey, I fhall beat you to your tent, and prove a fhrewd Cæfar to you: in plain dealing, Pompey, I fhall have you whipt: fo for this time, Pompey, fare you well.

Clown

Clown. I thank your worship for your good counfel; but I fhall follow it, as the flesh and fortune shall better determine. Whip me? no, no; let carman whip his jade;

The valiant heart's not whipt out of his trade.

SCENE V.

[Exit.

Efcal. Come hither to me, mafter Elbow; come hither, mafter conftable; how long have you been in this place of

conftable?

Elb. Seven year and a half, Sir.

Efcal. I thought, by your readiness in the office, you had continued in it for fome time: you say seven years together? Elb. And a half, Sir.

Efcal. Alas! it hath been great pains to you; they do you wrong to put you so oft upon't: are there not men in your ward fufficient to ferve it?

Elb. Faith, Sir, few of any wit in fuch matters; as they are chofen they are glad to chufe me for them. I do it for fome piece of mony, and go through with all.

Efcal. Look you, bring me in the names of fome fix or feven, the most fufficient of your parish. Elb. To your worship's house, Sir? Efcal. To my houfe; fare you well. think you?

Juft. Eleven, Sir.

What's a clock,

[Exit Elbow.

Efcal. I pray you, go home to dinner with me.

Juft. I humbly thank you.

Efcal. It grieves me for the death of Claudie : But there's no remedy.

Juft. Lord Angelo is fevere.

Efcal. It is but needful:

Mercy is not it self, that oft looks fo;
Pardon is ftill the nurfe of fecond woe:
But yet poor Claudio! there's no remedy.

Come, Sir.

[Exeunt..

SCENE VI. Enter Provost, and a Servant. Serv. He's hearing of a caufe; he will come ftraight: I'll tell him of you.

Prov. Pray you do; I'll know

His pleafure; may be he'll relent; alas!

He hath but as offended in a dream :..

All

All fects, all ages fmack o' th' vice; and he

To die for it!

Enter Angelo.

Ang. Now, what's the matter, Provost?

Prov. Is it your will Claudio fhall die to-morrow? Ang. Did not I tell thee yea? hadft thou not order? Why ask again?

Prov. Left I might be too rash.

Under your good correction, I have seen
When after execution judgment hath
Repented o'er his doom.

Do

Ang. Let that be mine;

you your office, or give up your place, And you fhall well be spar'd.

Prov. I crave your pardon.

What shall be done, Sir, with the groaning Julia?
She's very near her hour.

Ang. Difpofe of her

To fome more fitting place, and that with fpeed.
Serv. Here is the fifter of the man condemn'd,
Defires access to you.

Ang, Hath he a fifter?

Prov. Ay, my good lord, a very virtuous maid, And to be fhortly of a fifter-hood,

If not already.

Ang. Let her be admitted.

See you the fornicatress be remov'd;

Let her have needful, but not lavish means;

There fhall be order for it.

[Exit Servant.

SCENE VII. Enter Lucio and Ifabella.

Prov. 'Save your honour!

Ang. Stay yet a while, Y'are welcome; what's your will?

Ifab. I am a woful fuitor to your honour,

Please but your honour hear me.

Ang. What's your fuit?

Ifab. There is a vice that moft I do abhor,

And moft defire fhould meet the blow of juftice,
For which I would not plead, but that I muft;
For which I muft plead, albeit I am
At war 'twixt will, and will not,

Ang

ני

Ang. Well, the matter?

Ifab. I have a brother is condemn'd to-day;
I do befeech you, let it be his fault,

And not my brother.

Prov. Heav'n give thee moving graces!

Ang. Condemn the fault, and not the actor of it?
Why, every fault's condemn'd ere it be done;
Mine were the very cipher of a function

To fine the faults, whofe fine ftands in record,
And let go by the actor.

Ifab. O juft, but severe law!

I had a brother then;

heav'n keep your honour?

Lucio. Give not o'er fo: to him again, intreat him,
Kneel down before him, hang upon his gown;
You are too cold; if you should need a pin,
You could not with a more tame tongue defire it.
To him, I say.

Ifab, Muft he needs die ?

Ang. Maiden, no remedy.

Ifab, Yes; I do think that you might pardon him,
And neither heav'n nor man grieve at the mercy.
Ang. I will not do't.

Ifab. But can you if you would?

Ang. Look, what I will not, that I cannot do.
Ifab. But might you do't, and do the world no wrong,
If fo
your heart were touch'd with that remorse.

As mine is to him

Ang. He's fentenc'd; 'tis too late.

Lucio. You are too cold.

Ifab. Too late; why, no; I that do speak a word,
May call it back again: and believe this,

No ceremony that to great ones belongs,

Not the King's crown, nor the deputed fword,
The marshal's truncheon, nor the judge's robe,
Become them with one half fo good a grace
As mercy does: if he had been as you,
And you as he, you would have flipt like him;
But he, like you, would not have been fo ftern.
Ang. Pray you, be gone.

Ifab. I would to heav'n I had your potency,
VOL. II,

C.

And

And you were Ifabel; fhould it then be thus
No; I would tell what 'twere to be a judge,
And what a prifoner."

Lucio. Ay, touch him; there's the vein.
Ang. Your brother is a forfeit of the law,
And you but waste your words.
Ifab. Alas! alas!

Why, all the fouls that were, were forfeit once;
And he that might the 'vantage best have took,
Found out the remedy. How would you be,
If he, which is the top of judgment, should
But judge you as you are? oh, think on that,
And mercy then will breathe within your lips,
Like man new made.

Ang. Be you content, fair maid;

[him.

It is the law, not I, condemns your brother.
Were he my kinfman, brother, or my son,
It fhould be thus with him; he dies to-morrow.
Ifab. To-morrow? oh, that's fudden. Spare him, fpare
He's not prepar'd for death: even for our kitchins
We kill the fowl of feafon; ferve we heav'n

With lefs refpect than we do minister

To our grofs felves? good, good my lord, bethink you:
Who is it that hath dy'd for this offence?

There's many have committed it.

Lucio. Ay, well faid.

Ang. The law hath not been dead, tho' it hath flept Those many had not dar'd to do that evil,

If the first man that did th' edict infringe

Had answer'd for his deed.

Now 'tis awake,

Takes note of what is done, and like a prophet,
Looks in a glafs which fhews that future evils
Or new, or by remifsnefs new conceiv'd,

And fo in progress to be hatch'd and born,
Are now to have no fucceffive degrees,
But, ere they live;. to end.

Ifab. Yet fhew fome pity.

Ang. I fhew it most of all when I fhew juftice; For then I pity thofe I do not know,

Which a difmifs'd offence would after gall;

And