_Fri. P._ Now is your time: speak loud, and kneel before him.

_Isab._ Justice, O royal Duke! Vail your regard 20 Upon a wrong'd, I would fain have said, a maid!

O worthy prince, dishonour not your eye By throwing it on any other object Till you have heard me in my true complaint, And given me justice, justice, justice, justice! 25

_Duke._ Relate your wrongs; in what? by whom? be brief.

Here is Lord Angelo shall give you justice: Reveal yourself to him.

_Isab._ O worthy Duke, You bid me seek redemption of the devil: Hear me yourself; for that which I must speak 30 Must either punish me, not being believed, Or wring redress from you. Hear me, O hear me, here!

_Ang._ My lord, her wits, I fear me, are not firm: She hath been a suitor to me for her brother Cut off by course of justice,--

_Isab._ By course of justice! 35

_Ang._ And she will speak most bitterly and strange.

_Isab._ Most strange, but yet most truly, will I speak: That Angelo's forsworn; is it not strange?

That Angelo's a murderer; is't not strange?

That Angelo is an adulterous thief, 40 An hypocrite, a virgin-violator; Is it not strange and strange?

_Duke._ Nay, it is ten times strange.

_Isab._ It is not truer he is Angelo Than this is all as true as it is strange: Nay, it is ten times true; for truth is truth 45 To th' end of reckoning.

_Duke._ Away with her!--Poor soul, She speaks this in th' infirmity of sense.

_Isab._ O prince, I conjure thee, as thou believest There is another comfort than this world, That thou neglect me not, with that opinion 50 That I am touch'd with madness! Make not impossible That which but seems unlike: 'tis not impossible But one, the wicked'st caitiff on the ground, May seem as shy, as grave, as just, as absolute As Angelo; even so may Angelo, 55 In all his dressings, characts, t.i.tles, forms, Be an arch-villain; believe it, royal prince: If he be less, he's nothing; but he's more, Had I more name for badness.

_Duke._ By mine honesty, If she be mad,--as I believe no other,-- 60 Her madness hath the oddest frame of sense, Such a dependency of thing on thing, As e'er I heard in madness.

_Isab._ O gracious Duke, Harp not on that; nor do not banish reason For inequality; but let your reason serve 65 To make the truth appear where it seems hid, And hide the false seems true.

_Duke._ Many that are not mad Have, sure, more lack of reason. What would you say?

_Isab._ I am the sister of one Claudio, Condemn'd upon the act of fornication 70 To lose his head; condemn'd by Angelo: I, (in probation of a sisterhood,) Was sent to by my brother; one Lucio As then the messenger,--

_Lucio._ That's I, an't like your Grace: I came to her from Claudio, and desired her 75 To try her gracious fortune with Lord Angelo For her poor brother's pardon.

_Isab._ That's he indeed.

_Duke._ You were not bid to speak.

_Lucio._ No, my good lord; Nor wish'd to hold my peace.

_Duke._ I wish you now, then; Pray you, take note of it: and when you have 80 A business for yourself, pray heaven you then Be perfect.

_Lucio._ I warrant your honour.

_Duke._ The warrant's for yourself; take heed to't.

_Isab._ This gentleman told somewhat of my tale,--

_Lucio._ Right. 85

_Duke._ It may be right; but you are i' the wrong To speak before your time. Proceed.

_Isab._ I went To this pernicious caitiff Deputy,--

_Duke._ That's somewhat madly spoken.

_Isab._ Pardon it; The phrase is to the matter. 90

_Duke._ Mended again. The matter;--proceed.

_Isab._ In brief,--to set the needless process by, How I persuaded, how I pray'd, and kneel'd, How he refell'd me, and how I replied,-- For this was of much length,--the vile conclusion 95 I now begin with grief and shame to utter: He would not, but by gift of my chaste body To his concupiscible intemperate l.u.s.t, Release my brother; and, after much debatement, My sisterly remorse confutes mine honour, 100 And I did yield to him: but the next morn betimes, His purpose surfeiting, he sends a warrant For my poor brother's head.

_Duke._ This is most likely!

_Isab._ O, that it were as like as it is true!

_Duke._ By heaven, fond wretch, thou know'st not what thou speak'st, 105 Or else thou art suborn'd against his honour In hateful practice. First, his integrity Stands without blemish. Next, it imports no reason That with such vehemency he should pursue Faults proper to himself: if he had so offended, 110 He would have weigh'd thy brother by himself, And not have cut him off. Some one hath set you on: Confess the truth, and say by whose advice Thou camest here to complain.

_Isab._ And is this all?

Then, O you blessed ministers above, 115 Keep me in patience, and with ripen'd time Unfold the evil which is here wrapt up In countenance!--Heaven shield your Grace from woe.

As I, thus wrong'd, hence unbelieved go!

_Duke._ I know you'ld fain be gone.--An officer! 120 To prison with her!--Shall we thus permit A blasting and a scandalous breath to fall On him so near us? This needs must be a practice.

Who knew of your intent and coming hither?

_Isab._ One that I would were here, Friar Lodowick. 125

_Duke._ A ghostly father, belike. Who knows that Lodowick?

_Lucio._ My lord, I know him; 'tis a meddling friar; I do not like the man: had he been lay, my lord, For certain words he spake against your Grace In your retirement, I had swinged him soundly. 130

_Duke._ Words against me! this's a good friar, belike!

And to set on this wretched woman here Against our subst.i.tute! Let this friar be found.

_Lucio._ But yesternight, my lord, she and that friar, I saw them at the prison: a saucy friar, 135 A very scurvy fellow.

_Fri. P._ Blessed be your royal Grace!

I have stood by, my lord, and I have heard Your royal ear abused. First, hath this woman Most wrongfully accused your subst.i.tute, 140 Who is as free from touch or soil with her As she from one ungot.

_Duke._ We did believe no less.

Know you that Friar Lodowick that she speaks of?

_Fri. P._ I know him for a man divine and holy; Not scurvy, nor a temporary meddler, As he's reported by this gentleman; And, on my trust, a man that never yet Did, as he vouches, misreport your Grace.

_Lucio._ My lord, most villanously; believe it.