Measure for Measure The Works of William Shakespeare [Cambridge Edition] [9 vols.] · William Shakespeare
SCENE I. _A room in the prison._
_Enter DUKE disguised as before, CLAUDIO, and PROVOST._ _Duke._ So, then, you hope of pardon from Lord Angelo? _Claud._ The miserable have no other medicine But only hope: I've hope to live, and am prepar'd to die. _Duke._ Be absolute for death; either death or life 5 Shall thereby be the sweeter. Reason thus with life: If I do lose thee, I do lose a thing That none but fools would keep: a breath thou art, Servile to all the skyey influences. That dost this habitation, where thou keep'st, 10 Hourly afflict: merely, thou art death's fool; For him thou labour'st by thy flight to shun, And yet runn'st toward him still. Thou art not noble; For all the accommodations that thou bear'st Are nursed by baseness. Thou'rt by no means valiant; 15 For thou dost fear the soft and tender fork Of a poor worm. Thy best of rest is sleep, And that thou oft provokest; yet grossly fear'st Thy death, which is no more. Thou art not thyself; For thou exist'st on many a thousand grains 20 That issue out of dust. Happy thou art not; For what thou hast not, still thou strivest to get. And what thou hast, forget'st. Thou art not certain; For thy complexion shifts to strange effects, After the moon. If thou art rich, thou'rt poor; 25 For, like an ass whose back with ingots bows, Thou bear'st thy heavy riches but a journey, And death unloads thee. Friend hast thou none; For thine own bowels, which do call thee sire, The mere effusion of thy proper loins, 30 Do curse the gout, serpigo, and the rheum, For ending thee no sooner. Thou hast nor youth nor age. But, as it were, an after-dinner's sleep, Dreaming on both; for all thy blessed youth Becomes as aged, and doth beg the alms 35 Of palsied eld; and when thou art old and rich, Thou hast 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, 40 That makes these odds all even.
_Claud._ I humbly thank you. To sue to live, I find I seek to die; And, seeking death, find life: let it come on. _Isab._ [_within_] What, ho! Peace here; grace and good company! _Prov._ Who's there? come in: the wish deserves a welcome. 45 _Duke._ Dear sir, ere long I'll visit you again. _Claud._ Most holy sir, I thank you. _Enter ISABELLA._ _Isab._ My business is a word or two with Claudio. _Prov._ And very welcome. Look, signior, here's your sister. 50 _Duke._ Provost, a word with you. _Prov._ As many as you please. _Duke._ Bring me to hear them speak, where I may be concealed. [_Exeunt Duke and Provost._ _Claud._ Now, sister, what's the comfort? 55 _Isab._ Why, As all comforts are; most good, most good indeed. Lord Angelo, having affairs to heaven, Intends you for his swift ambassador, Where you shall be an everlasting leiger: 60 Therefore your best appointment make with speed; To-morrow you set on. _Claud._ Is there no remedy? _Isab._ None, but such remedy as, to save a head, To cleave a heart in twain. _Claud._ But is there any? _Isab._ Yes, brother, you may live: 65 There is a devilish mercy in the judge, If you'll implore it, that will free your life, But fetter you till death. _Claud._ Perpetual durance? _Isab._ Ay, just; perpetual durance, a restraint, Though all the world's vastidity you had, 70 To a determined scope.
_Claud._ But in what nature? _Isab._ In such a one as, you consenting to't, Would bark your honour from that trunk you bear, And leave you naked. _Claud._ Let me know the point. _Isab._ O, I do fear thee, Claudio; and I quake, 75 Lest thou a feverous life shouldst entertain, And six or seven winters more respect Than a perpetual honour. Darest thou die? The sense of death is most in apprehension; 75 And the poor beetle, that we tread upon, In corporal sufferance finds a pang as great As when a giant dies. _Claud._ Why give you me this shame? Think you I can a resolution fetch From flowery tenderness? If I must die, 80 I will encounter darkness as a bride, And hug it in mine arms. _Isab._ There spake my brother; there my father's grave Did utter forth a voice. Yes, thou must die: Thou art too noble to conserve a life 85 In base appliances. This outward-sainted deputy, Whose settled visage and deliberate word Nips youth i' the head, and follies doth emmew As falcon doth the fowl, is yet a devil; His filth within being cast, he would appear 90 A pond as deep as hell. _Claud._ The prenzie Angelo! _Isab._ O, 'tis the cunning livery of hell, The damned'st body to invest and cover In prenzie guards! Dost thou think, Claudio?-- If I would yield him my virginity, 95 Thou mightst be freed.
_Claud._ O heavens! it cannot be. _Isab._ Yes, he would give't thee, from this rank offence, So to offend him still. This night's the time That I should do what I abhor to name, Or else thou diest to-morrow. _Claud._ Thou shalt not do't. 100 _Isab._ O, were it but my life, I'ld throw it down for your deliverance As frankly as a pin. _Claud._ Thanks, dear Isabel. _Isab._ Be ready, Claudio, for your death to-morrow. _Claud._ Yes. Has he affections in him, 105 That thus can make him bite the law by the nose, When he would force it? Sure, it is no sin; Or of the deadly seven it is the least. _Isab._ Which is the least? _Claud._ If it were damnable, he being so wise, 110 Why would he for the momentary trick Be perdurably fined?--O Isabel! _Isab._ What says my brother? _Claud._ Death is a fearful thing. _Isab._ And shamed life a hateful. _Claud._ Ay, but to die, and go we know not where; 115 To lie in cold obstruction and to rot; This sensible warm motion to become A kneaded clod; and the delighted spirit To bathe in fiery floods, or to reside In thrilling region of thick-ribbed ice; 120 To be imprison'd in the viewless winds, And blown with restless violence round about The pendent world; or to be worse than worst Of those that lawless and incertain thought Imagine howling:--'tis too horrible! 125 The weariest and most loathed worldly life That age, ache, penury, and imprisonment Can lay on nature is a paradise To what we fear of death.
_Isab._ Alas, alas! _Claud._ Sweet sister, let me live: 130 What sin you do to save a brother's life, Nature dispenses with the deed so far That it becomes a virtue. _Isab._ O you beast! O faithless coward! O dishonest wretch! Wilt thou be made a man out of my vice? 135 Is't not a kind of incest, to take life From thine own sister's shame? What should I think? Heaven shield my mother play'd my father fair! For such a warped slip of wilderness Ne'er issued from his blood. Take my defiance! 140 Die, perish! Might but my bending down Reprieve thee from thy fate, it should proceed: I'll pray a thousand prayers for thy death, No word to save thee. _Claud._ Nay, hear me, Isabel. _Isab._ O, fie, fie, fie! 145 Thy sin's not accidental, but a trade. Mercy to thee would prove itself a bawd: 'Tis best that thou diest quickly. _Claud._ O, hear me, Isabella! _Re-enter DUKE._ _Duke._ Vouchsafe a word, young sister, but one word. _Isab._ What is your will? 150 _Duke._ Might you dispense with your leisure, I would by and by have some speech with you: the satisfaction I would require is likewise your own benefit. _Isab._ I have no superfluous leisure; my stay must be stolen out of other affairs; but I will attend you awhile. 155 [_Walks apart._
_Duke._ Son, I have overheard what hath passed between you and your sister. Angelo had never the purpose to corrupt her; only he hath made an assay of her virtue to practise his judgement with the disposition of natures: she, having the truth of honour in her, hath made him that 160 gracious denial which he is most glad to receive. I am confessor to Angelo, and I know this to be true; therefore prepare yourself to death: do not satisfy your resolution with hopes that are fallible: to-morrow you must die; go to your knees, and make ready. 165 _Claud._ Let me ask my sister pardon. I am so out of love with life, that I will sue to be rid of it. _Duke._ Hold you there: farewell. [_Exit Claudio._] Provost, a word with you! _Re-enter PROVOST._ _Prov._ What's your will, father? 170 _Duke._ That now you are come, you will be gone. Leave me awhile with the maid: my mind promises with my habit no loss shall touch her by my company. _Prov._ In good time. [_Exit Provost. Isabella comes forward._ _Duke._ The hand that hath made you fair hath made 175 you good: the goodness that is cheap in beauty makes beauty brief in goodness; but grace, being the soul of your complexion, shall keep the body of it ever fair. The assault that Angelo hath made to you, fortune hath conveyed to my understanding; and, but that frailty hath examples for 180 his falling, I should wonder at Angelo. How will you do to content this substitute, and to save your brother?
_Isab._ I am now going to resolve him: I had rather my brother die by the law than my son should be unlawfully born. But, O, how much is the good Duke deceived in 185 Angelo! If ever he return and I can speak to him, I will open my lips in vain, or discover his government. _Duke._ That shall not be much amiss: yet, as the matter now stands, he will avoid your accusation; he made trial of you only. Therefore fasten your ear on my advisings: to 190 the love I have in doing good a remedy presents itself. I do make myself believe that you may most uprighteously do a poor wronged lady a merited benefit; redeem your brother from the angry law; do no stain to your own gracious person; and much please the absent Duke, if peradventure 195 he shall ever return to have hearing of this business. _Isab._ Let me hear you speak farther. I have spirit to do any thing that appears not foul in the truth of my spirit. _Duke._ Virtue is bold, and goodness never fearful. Have you not heard speak of Mariana, the sister of Frederick the 200 great soldier who miscarried at sea? _Isab._ I have heard of the lady, and good words went with her name. _Duke._ She should this Angelo have married; was affianced to her by oath, and the nuptial appointed: between 205 which time of the contract and limit of the solemnity, her brother Frederick was wrecked at sea, having in that perished vessel the dowry of his sister. But mark how heavily this befell to the poor gentlewoman: there she lost a noble and renowned brother, in his love toward her ever most 210 kind and natural; with him, the portion and sinew of her fortune, her marriage-dowry; with both, her combinate husband, this well-seeming Angelo.
_Isab._ Can this be so? did Angelo so leave her? _Duke._ Left her in her tears, and dried not one of them 215 with his comfort; swallowed his vows whole, pretending in her discoveries of dishonour: in few, bestowed her on her own lamentation, which she yet wears for his sake; and he, a marble to her tears, is washed with them, but relents not. _Isab._ What a merit were it in death to take this poor 220 maid from the world! What corruption in this life, that it will let this man live! But how out of this can she avail? _Duke._ It is a rupture that you may easily heal: and the cure of it not only saves your brother, but keeps you from dishonour in doing it. 225 _Isab._ Show me how, good father.
Text from Project Gutenberg, public domain in the United States.