Dead to infliction, to themselves are dead, The baby beats the nurse, and quite athwart Friar Thomas. It rested in your grace To unloose this tied-up justice when you pleas'd: Duke. I do fear, too dreadful. Sith 't was my fault to give the people scope, 'T would be my tyranny to strike and gall them For what I bid them do; for we bid this be done, And not the punishment. Therefore, indeed, my father, I have on Angelo impos'd the office; Who may, in the ambush of my name, strike home, And yet my nature never in the fight To do me slander. And to behold his sway, I will, as 't were a brother of your order, Visit both prince and people; therefore, I prithee, How I may formally in person bear me Like a true friar. More reasons for this action At our more leisure shall I render you; Is more to bread than stone; hence shall we see, SCENE IV. A Nunnery. Enter ISABELLA and FRANCISCA. 30 40 50 [Exeunt. Isabella. And have you nuns no farther privileges? Isabella. Yes, truly; I speak not as desiring more, Upon the sisterhood, the votarists of Saint Clare. Who's that which calls? Francisca. It is a man's voice. Gentle Isabella, Then, if you speak, you must not show your face, Or, if you show your face, you must not speak. Isabella. Peace and prosperity! Who is 't that calls? Enter LUCIO. Lucio. Hail, virgin, if you be, as those cheek-roses A novice of this place and the fair sister To her unhappy brother Claudio? Isabella. 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. Isabella. Woe me! for what? Lucio. For that which, if myself might be his judge, He should receive his punishment in thanks. He hath got his friend with child. Isabella. Sir, make me not your story. 20 It is true. 30 I would not-though 't is my familiar sin I hold you as a thing enskied and sainted, As with a saint. Isabella. You do blaspheme the good in mocking me. Lucio. Do not believe it. Fewness and truth, 't is thus: Your brother and his lover have embrac'd; As those that feed grow full, as blossoming time 40 Isabella. Some one with child by him? My cousin Juliet? Lucio. Is she your cousin? Isabella. Adoptedly; as school-maids change their names By vain though apt affection. Lucio. She it is. Isabella. O, let him marry her! This is the point. The duke is very strangely gone from hence; 50 60 And follows close the rigour of the statute, To soften Angelo; and that's my pith of business Isabella. Doth he so seek his life? Has censur'd him Already; and, as I hear, the provost hath Isabella. Alas! what poor ability 's in me Lucio. 70 Our doubts are traitors, And make us lose the good we oft might win But speedily. Isabella. I will about it straight, 80 Good sir, adieu. [Exeunt. |