Ay, well said.
ANGELO
The law hath not been dead, though it hath slept.
Those many had not dared to do that evil
If the first that did th‘edict infringe
Had answered for his deed. Now ’tis awake,
Takes note of what is done, and, like a prophet,
Looks in a glass that shows what future evils,
Either raw, or by remissness new conceived
And so in progress to be hatched and born,
Are now to have no successive degrees,
But ere they live, to end.
ISABELLA
Yet show some pity.
ANGELO
I show it most of all when I show justice,
For then I pity those I do not know
Which a dismissed offence would after gall,
And do him right that, answering one foul wrong,
Lives not to act another. Be satisfied.
Your brother dies tomorrow. Be content.
ISABELLA
So you must be the first that gives this sentence,
And he that suffers. O, it is excellent
To have a giant’s strength, but it is tyrannous
To use it like a giant.
LUCIO (aside to Isabella) That’s well said.
ISABELLA Could great men thunder
As Jove himself does, Jove would never be quiet,
For every pelting petty officer
Would use his heaven for thunder, nothing but
thunder.
Merciful heaven,
Thou rather with thy sharp and sulphurous bolt
Split’st the unwedgeable and gnarlèd oak
Than the soft myrtle. But man, proud man,
Dressed in a little brief authority,
Most ignorant of what he’s most assured,
His glassy essence, like an angry ape
Plays such fantastic tricks before high heaven
As makes the angels weep, who, with our spleens,
Would all themselves laugh mortal.
LUCIO (aside to Isabella)
O, to him, to him, wench! He will relent.
He’s coming; I perceive’t.
PROVOST (aside)
Pray heaven she win him!
ISABELLA
We cannot weigh our brother with ourself.
Great men may jest with saints; ’tis wit in them,
But in the less, foul profanation.
LUCIO (aside to Isabella) Thou’rt i’th’ right, girl. More o’
that.
ISABELLA
That in the captain’s but a choleric word,
Which in the soldier is flat blasphemy.
LUCIO (aside to Isabella) Art advised o’ that? More on’t.
ANGELO
Why do you put these sayings upon me?
ISABELLA
Because authority, though it err like others,
Hath yet a kind of medicine in itself
That skins the vice o’th’ top. Go to your bosom;
Knock there, and ask your heart what it doth know
That’s like my brother’s fault. If it confess
A natural guiltiness, such as is his,
Let it not sound a thought upon your tongue
Against my brother’s life.
ANGELO (aside)
She speaks, and ’tis such sense
That my sense breeds with it. (To Isabella) Fare you
well.
ISABELLA Gentle my lord, turn back.
ANGELO
I will bethink me. Come again tomorrow.
ISABELLA
Hark how I’ll bribe you; good my lord, turn back.
ANGELO How, bribe me?
ISABELLA
Ay, with such gifts that heaven shall share with you.
LUCIO (aside to Isabella) You had marred all else.
ISABELLA
Not with fond shekels of the tested gold,
Or stones, whose rate are either rich or poor
As fancy values them; but with true prayers,
That shall be up at heaven and enter there
Ere sunrise, prayers from preserved souls,
From fasting maids whose minds are dedicate
To nothing temporal.
ANGELO Well, come to me tomorrow
LUCIO (aside to Isabella) Go to; ’tis well; away.
ISABELLA Heaven keep your honour safe.
ANGELO (aside) Amen;
For I am that way going to temptation,
Where prayer is crossed.
ISABELLA
At what hour tomorrow
Shall I attend your lordship?
ANGELO
At any time fore noon.
ISABELLA
God save your honour.
ANGELO (aside)
From thee; even from thy virtue. Exeunt Isabella, Lucio, and Provost
What’s this? What’s this? Is this her fault or mine?
The tempter or the tempted, who sins most, ha?
Not she; nor doth she tempt; but it is I
That, lying by the violet in the sun,
Do, as the carrion does, not as the flower,
Corrupt with virtuous season. Can it be
That modesty may more betray our sense
Than woman’s lightness? Having waste ground enough,
Shall we desire to raze the sanctuary,
And pitch our evils there? O, fie, fie, fie!
What dost thou, or what art thou, Angelo?
Dost thou desire her foully for those things
That make her good? O, let her brother live!
Thieves for their robbery have authority,
When judges steal themselves. What, do I love her,
That I desire to hear her speak again,
And feast upon her eyes? What is’t I dream on?
O cunning enemy, that, to catch a saint,
With saints dost bait thy hook! Most dangerous
Is that temptation that doth goad us on
To sin in loving virtue. Never could the strumpet,
With all her double vigour—art and nature—
Once stir my temper; but this virtuous maid
Subdues me quite. Ever till now
When men were fond, I smiled, and wondered how.
Exit