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thee; thou art to continue now, thou varlet; thou art to continue.

Escal. Where were you born, friend ? [To Froth.
Froth. Here, in Vienna, sir.
Escal. Are you of fourscore pounds a year?
Froth. Yes, and't please you, sir.
Escal. So.-What trade are you of, sir?

[To the Clown. Clo. A tapster: a poor widow's tapster. Escal. Your mistress's name? Clo. Mistress Over-done. Escal. Hath she had any more than one husband? Clo. Nine, sir; Over-done by the last. Escal. Nine! Come hither to me, master Froth. Master Froth I would not 'have you acquainted with tapsters ; they will draw you, master Froth, and you will hang them: get you gone, and let me hear no more of you.

Froth. I thank your worship : for mine own part, I never come into any room in a taphouse, but I am drawn in.

Escal. Well ; no more of it, master Froth: farewell. [Exit Froth.]-Come you hither to me, master tapster; what's your name, master tapster?

Clo. Pompey.
Escal. What else ?
Clo. Bum, sir.

Escal. "Troth, and your bum is the greatest thing about you; so that, in the beastilest sense, you are Pompey the great. Pompey, you are partly & bawd, Pompey, howsoever you colour it in being tapster. Are you not? come, tell me true; it shall be the better for

you. Clo. Truly, sir, I am a poor fellow, that would live.

Escal. How would you live, Pompey? by being a bawd? What do you think of the trade, Pompey? is it a lawful trade?

Clo. If the law would allow it, sir.
Escal. But the law will not allow it, Pompey;

nor it shall not be allowed in Vienna.

Clo. Does your worship mean to geld and spay all the youth in the city?

Escal. No, Pompey.

Clo. Truly, sir, in my poor opinion, they will to't then: if your worship will take order for the drabs and the knaves, you need not to fear the bawds.

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

Clo. If you head and hang all that offend that way but for ten year together, you'll be glad to give out a commission for more heads. If this law hold in Vienna ten year, I'll rent the fairest house in it, after three-pence a bay: if you live to see this come to pass, say Pompey told

you so. Escal. Thank you, good Pompey: and, in requital of your prophecy, bark 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 shall beat you to your tent, and prove a shrewd Cæsar to you; in plain dealing, Pompey, I shall have you whipt: 'so for this time Pompey, fare you well. Clo. I thank your worship for your good coun

but I shall 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. [Ex.

Escal. Come híther to me, master Elbow ; come hither, master Constable. How long have you been in this place of constable ?

Elb. Seven years and a half, sir.

Escal. I thought, by your readiness in the office, you had continued in it some time: You say, seven years together?

Elb. And a half, sir.


(1) Measures.

Escal. 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 sufficient to serve it?

Elb. Faith, sir, few of any wit in such matters : as they are chosen, they are glad to choose me for them; I do it for some piece of money, and go through with all.

Escal. Look you, bring me in the names of some six or seven, the most sufficient of

your parish. Elb. To your worship's house, sir ?

Escal. To my house : Fare you well. (Exit Elbow.) What's o'clock, think you?

Just. Eleven, sir.
Escal. I pray you home to dinner with me.
Just. I humbly thank you.

Escal. It grieves me for the death of Claudio; But there's no remedy.

Just. Lord Angelo is severe.

It is but needful:
Mercy is not itself, that oft looks so:
Pardon is still the nurse of second wo:
But yet,-Poor Claudio ! There's no remedy.
Come, sir,


SCENE II.--Another room in the same. Enter

Provost nd a Servant. Serv. He's hearing of a cause ; he will come

straight. I'll tell him of you,

Prov. Pray you, do. (Exit Servant.] Pll know His pleasure ; may be, he will relent: Alas, He hath but as offended in a dream! All sects, all ages, smack of this vice; and he To die for it!

Enter Angelo. Ang. Now, what's the matter, provost? Prov. Is it your will Claudio shall die to-morrow? Ang. Did I not tell thee, yea? hadst thou not


Why dost thou ask again?

Lest I might be too rash :
Under your good correction, I have seen,
When, after execution, judgment hath
Repented o'er his doom.

Go to; let that be mine; Do you your office, or give up your place, And you shall well be spar'd. Prov.

I crave your honour's pardon.What shall be done, sir, with the groaning Juliet? She's very near her hour. Ang.

Dispose of her To some more fitter place; and that with speed.

Re-enter Servant. Serv. Here is the sister of the man condemn'd, Desires access to you. Ang.

Hath he a sister? Prov. Ay, my good lord ; a very virtuous maid, And to be shortly of a sisterhood, If not already.

Ang. Well, let her be admitted. (Ex. Serv.
See you the fornicatress be remov'd;
Let her have needful, but not lavish, means;
There shall be order for it.

Enter Lucio and Isabella.
Prov. Save your honour! Offering to retire.
Ang. Stay a little while.-[To Isab.) You are

welcome: What's your will ?
Isab. I am a woful suitor to your honour,
Please but your honour hear me.

Well; what's your suit?
Isab. There is a vice, that most I do abhor,
And most desire should meet the blow of justice;
For which I would not plead, but that I must;
For which I must not plead, but that I am
At war, 'twixt will, and will not.

Well; the matter? Isab. I have a brother is condemn'd to die :

I do beseech you, let it be his fault,
And not my brother.

Prov. Heaven 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 find the faults, whose fine stands in record, And let go by the actor. Isab.

O just, but severe law ! I had a brother then.-Heaven keep your honour!

(Retiring. Lucio. [To Isab.] Give't not o'er so: to him

again, entreat him; Kneel down before him, hang upon


gown ;
You are too cold : if you should need a pin,
You could not with more tame a tongue desire it:
To him, I say

Isab. Must he needs die?

Maiden, no remedy. Isab. Yes; I do think that you might pardon him, And neither heaven, nor man, grieve at the mercy.

Ang. I will not do't.

But can you, if you would?
Ang. Look, what I will not, that I cannot do.
Isab. But might you do't, and do the world no

wrong, If so your heart were touch'd with that remorsel As mine is to him?

Ang. He's sentenc'd; 'tis too late.
Lucio. You are too cold.

[To Isabella.
Isab. Too late? why, no; I, that do speak a word,
May call it back again : Well believe this,
No ceremony that to great ones 'longs,
Not the king's crown, nor the deputed sword,
The marshal's truncheon, nor the judge's robe,
Become them with one half so good a grace,

does. If he had been as you, And you as he, you would have slipt like him ;

(1) Pity. . (2) Be assured.

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