No longer feffion hold upon my shame; Duke. Come hither, Mariana: Say; waft thou e'er contracted to this woman? Duke. Go take her hence, and marry her instantly, [Exeunt Angelo, Mariana, Peter, and Provoft. Efcal. M Than at the ftrangeness of it. Y lord, I am more amaz'd at his dishonour, Duke. Come hither, Ifabel; Your Friar is now your prince: as I was then Attornied at your service. Ifab. Oh, give me pardon, That I, your vaffal, have employ'd and pain'd Duke. You are pardon'd, Ifabel. And now, dear maid, be you as free to us. Which, I did think, with flower foot came on, Than that which lives to fear; make it your comfort; So, happy is your brother. That brain'd my purpose:] We should read 'bain'd, i. e. destroy'd. SCENE Enter Angelo, Mariana, Peter, and Provost. Do, my lord. [here, Jjab. I Duke. For this new marry'd man, approaching Whose falt imagination yet hath wrong'd Your well-defended honour, you must pardon Of facred chastity, and of promife-breach, Which tho' thou would't deny, deny thee *vantage. Where Claudio ftoop'd to death; and with like haste; Away with him. Mari. Oh, my moft gracious lord, I hope, you will not mock me with a husband? We do enftate and widow you withal, Mari. Oh, my dear lord, I crave no other, nor no better man. Duke. Never crave him; we are definitive. Mari. Gentle, my liege Duke. You do but lofe your labour: Away with him to death. Now, Sir, to you. Mari. Oh, my good lord! Sweet Isabel, take my part; Lend me your knees, and all my life to come I'll lend you all my life, and do you fervice. Duke. Against all fenfe you do importune her; Should the kneel down, in mercy of this fact, Her brother's ghoft his paved bed would break, And take her hence in horror. Mari. Ifabel, Sweet Ifabel, do yet but kneel by me; Hold up your hands, fay nothing; I'll speak all. Duke He dies for Claudio's death. Ifab. Moft bounteous Sir, [Kneeling. Look, if it please you, on this man condemn'd, 'Till he did look on me; fince it is fo, Let him not die. My brother had but juftice, For Angelo, his act did not o'ertake his bad intent; That perifh'd by the way: thoughts are no subjects: Intents, but merely thoughts. Mari. Merely, my lord. Duke. Your fuit's unprofitable; ftand up, I say: I have bethought me of another fault. Provost, how came it, Claudio was beheaded Prov. It was commanded fo. Duke. Had you a special warrant for the deed? Prov. No, my good lord; it was by private meffage. Duke. For which I do discharge you of your office: Give up your keys. Prov. Pardon me, noble lord. I thought, it was a fault, but knew it not; Duke. What's he? Prov. His name is Barnardine. Duke, I would, thou hadst done fo by Claudio: SCENE VII. Enter Provost, Barnardine, Claudio, and Julietta. Duke. Prov. This, my lord. HICH is that Barnardine? Duke. There was a Friar told me of this man: Sirrah, thou'rt faid to have a stubborn foul, That apprehends no further than this world; And fquar'ft thy life accordingly : thou'rt condemn'd; But for those earthly faults, I quit them all: I pray thee, take this mercy to provide For better times to come: Friar, advise him; [that? I leave him to your hand. What muffled fellow's Prov. This is another prisoner, that I fav'd, Who fhould have dy'd when Claudio loft his head; As like almoft to Claudio, as himself. Duke. If he be like your brother, for his fake. [To Ifa. Is he pardon'd; and for your lovely fake, Give me your hand, and say, you will be mine, [yours. Look, that you love your wife; her worth works I find an apt remiffion in myself, And yet here's one in place I cannot pardon. You, firrah, that knew me for a fool, a coward, [To Luc. One of all luxury, an ass, a mad-man; Wherein have I deferved fo of you, That you extol me thus ? Lucio. 'Faith, my lord, I spoke it but according to the trick; if you will hang me for it, you may: but I had rather it would please you, I might be whipt. Duke. Whipt firft, Sir, and hang'd after. Proclaim it, Provost, round about the city; If any woman, wrong'd by this lewd fellow, (As I have heard him fwear himself, there's one Whom he begot with child) let her appear, And he shall marry her; the nuptial finish'd, Let him be whipt and hang'd. Lucio. I befeech your highness, do not marry me to a whore: your highness faid even now, I made you a duke; good my lord, do not recompence me, in making me a cuckold. Duke. Upon mine honour, thou shalt marry her: Thy flanders I forgive, and therewithal Remit thy other forfeits; take him to prison: Lucio. Marrying a punk, my lord, is preffing to death; whipping and hanging. Duke. Sland'ring a prince deserves it. She, Claudio, that you wrong'd, look, you restore. I have confefs'd her, and I know her virtue. Thanks |