Something too wildly, and my father's precepts
I therein do forget.

Fer. I am, in my condition,

A prince, Miranda; I do think, a king;
(I would, not fo!) and would no more endure
This wooden flavery, than I would suffer

The flesh-fly blow my mouth.-Hear my foul speak-
The very inftant that I faw you, did

My heart fly to your fervice, there resides

To make me flave to it, and for your fake
Am I this patient log-man.

Mira. Do you love me?

Fer. O heav'n! O earth! bear witness to this found,

And crown what I profefs with kind event,

If I fpeak true; if hollowly, invert

What beft is boded me, to mischief! I
Beyond all limit of what else i' th' world,
Do love, prize, honour you.

Mira. I am a fool,

To weep at what I'm glad of.

Pro. Fair encounter

Of two moft rare affections! Heavens rain grace
On that which breeds between 'em!

Fer. Wherefore weep you?

Mira. At mine unworthinefs, that dare not offer

What I defire to give; and much less take

What I fhall die to want. But this is trifling;

And all the more it feeks to hide itself,

The bigger bulk it fhews. Hence, bafhful Cunning! prompt me, plain and holy Innocence.

And

I am your wife, if you will marry me;

If not, I'll die your maid: to be your fellow
You may deny me; but I'll be your fervant,
Whether you will or no.

Fer. My miftrefs, deareft,
And I thus humble ever.

Mira. My husband then ?

Fer. Ay, with a heart as willing

As bondage c'er of freedom. Here's my hand.

Mira. And mine, with my heart in't. And now farewel,

Till half an hour hence.

Fer. A thoufand, thoufand.

[Exeunt.

Pro. So glad of this as they, I cannot be, Who are furpris'd withal; but my rejoicing At nothing can be more. I'll to my book; For yet, ere fupper-time, muft I perform Much bufinefs appertaining.

[Exit.

N°. II.-MEASURE FOR MEASURE.
ACT III. SCENE I. The Prijon.

Enter Duke, Claudio, and Provost.
DUKE.

So, then you've hope of pardon from Lord Angelo?

A breath thou art,

Claud. The miserable have no other medicine,
But only Hope I've hope to live, and am prepar'd to die.
Duke. Be abfolute for death: or death, or life,
Shall thereby be the fweeter. Reason thus with life :
If I do lofe thee, I do lofe a thing
That none but fools would keep.
Servile to all the fkiey influences
That do this habitation, where thou keep'ft,
Hourly afflict merely thou art death's fool;
For him thou labour'ft by thy flight to fhun,
And yet run'it toward him ftill. Thou art not noble :
For all the accommodations, that thou bear'st,
Are nurs'd by bafenefs: thou 'rt by no means valiant ;
For thou doft fear the foft and tender fork

Of a poor worm. Thy beft of reft is fleep,
And that thou oft provok'ft; yet groisly fear'ft
Thy death, which is no more. Thou art not thyself;
For thou exift'ft on many a thousand grains,
That iffue out of duft. Happy thou art not;
For what thou haft not, ftill thou ftriv't to get;
And what thou haft forget'ft. Thou art not certain ;
For thy complexion fhifts to ftrange effects,
After the moon. If thou art rich, thou art poor;
For, like an afs, whofe back with ingots bows,
Thou bear'ft thy heavy riches but a journey,
And death unloads thee. Friend haft thou none;

Fo. thy own bowels, which do call thee Sire,

The

The mere effufion of thy proper loins,

Do curfe the gout, ferpigo, and the rheum,

For ending thee no fooner. Thou haft nor youth, nor age;
But as it were an after-dinner's fleep,

Dreaming on both; for all thy blessed youth
Becomes as aged, and doth beg the alms

Of palfied Eld; and when thou art old and rich,
Thou haft neither heat, affection, limb, nor beauty
To make thy riches pleasant. What's yet in this,
That bears the name of life? yet in this life
Lie hid more thousand deaths; yet death we fear,
That makes thefe odds all even.

Claud. I humbly thank you.

To fue to live, I find, I feek to die;

And, seeking death, find life: let it come on,

Enter Ifabella.

Ifab. What, ho! Peace here, grace and good company!
Prov. Who's there? Come in: The with deferves a wel-
Duke. Dear Sir, ere long I'll vifit
you again. [come.
Claud. Moft holy Sir, I thank you.

Ifab. My bufinefs is a word or two with Claudio.

Prov. And very welcome. Look, Signior, here's your Duke. Provoft, a word with you.

Prov. As many as you please.

[fifter.

Duke. Bring them to fpeak where I may be conceal'd,

Yet hear them.

[Exeunt Duke and Provost.

Claud. Now, fifter, what's the comfort?

Ifab. Why, as all comforts are; moit good in deed :'

Lord Angelo, having affairs to heaven,

Intends you for his fwift ambaffador;

Where you fhall be an everlasting leiger.

Therefore your beft appointment make with fpced;

To-morrow you

fet on.

Claud. Is there no remedy?

Ifab. None, but fuch remedy, as, to fave a head, To cleave a heart in twain.

Claud. But is there any?

Ifab, Yes, brother, you may live:

There is a devilish mercy in the judge,

If you'll implore it, that will free your life,

But fetter you till death.

K 3

Claud.

Claud. Perpetual durance?

fab. Ay, juft; perpetual durance; a restraint, Tho' all the world's vaftidity you had,

To a determin'd fcope.

Claud. But in what nature?

Ifab. In fuch a one, as you, confenting to't, Would bark your honour from that trunk you bear, And leave you naked.

Claud. Let me know the point.

Ifab. Oh, I do fear thee, Claudio; and I quake,
Left thou a feverous life fhould'st entertain,
And fix or feven winters more refpe&t

Than a perpetual honour. Dar'ft thou die?
The fenfe of death is moft in apprehenfion;
And the poor beetle, that we tread upon,
In corporal fufferance finds a pang as great,
As when a giant dies.

Claud. Why give you me this fhame?
Think you, I can a refolution fetch
From flowery tenderness? If I muft die,
I will encounter darkness as a bride,

And hug it in mine arms.

Ifab. There fpake my brother; there my father's grave Did utter forth a voice. Yes, thou muft die :

Thou art too noble to conferve a life

In bafe appliances. This outward-fainted Deputy,
Whofe fettled visage and deliberate word

Nips youth i' th' head; and follies doth emmew,
As faulcon doth the fowl; is yet a devil:
His filth within being caft, he would appear
A pond as deep as hell.

Claud. The princely Angelo?

Ifab. Oh, 'tis the cunning livery of hell,
The damned'ft body to invest and cover

In princely guards. Doft thou think, Claudio,
If I would yield him my virginity,

Thou might'ft be freed?

Claud. Oh, heavens! it cannot be

Ifab. Yes, he would give it thee for this rank offence, So to offend him ftill. This night's the time

That I fhould do what I abhor to name,

Or elfe thou dy'ft to-morrow.

Claud. Thou shalt not do't.

deliverance

Ifab. Oh, were it but my life,
I'd throw it down for your
As frankly as a pin.

Claud. Thanks, deareft Ifabel.

Ifab. Be ready, Claudio, for your death to-morrow.
Claud. Yes. Has he affections in him,

That thus can make him bite the law by the nofe,
When he would force it? Sure, it is no fin;

Or of the deadly feven it is the least.

Ifab. Which is the leaft?

Claud. If it were damnable, he being fo wife, Why should he for the momentary trick

Be perdurably fin'd? Oh, Ifabel!

Ifab. What fays my brother?

Claud. Death's a fearful thing.

Ifab. And fhamed life a hateful.

Claud. Ay, but to die, and go we know not where ;
To lie in cold obftruction, and to rot;
This fenfible warm motion to become
A kneaded clod; and the delighted spirit
To bathe in fiery floods, or to refide
In thrilling regions of thick-ribb'd ice;
To be imprifon'd in the viewless winds,
And blown with restless violence round about
The pendant world; or to be worst than worst
Of thofe, that lawlefs and incertain thoughts
Imagine howling: 'tis too horrible!

The wearieft and most loathed worldly life,
That age, ach, penury, imprisonment
Can lay on nature, is a paradife

To what we fear of death.

Ifab. Alas! alas !

Claud. Sweet fifter, let me live!

What fin you do to fave a brother's life,

Nature difpenfes with the deed fo far,
That it becomes a virtue.

Ifab. Oh, you beaft!

Oh, faithlefs coward! oh, dishonest wretch!

Wilt thou be made a man out of my vice?

Is't not a kind of inceft, to take life

From thine own fifter's fhame? What fhould I think?