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That life is better life, past fearing death, Than that which lives to fear: make it your comfort, So happy is your brother.

ISABELLA: I do, my lord.

DUKE VINCENTIO: For this new-married man approaching here, Whose salt imagination yet hath wrong'd Your well defended honour, you must pardon For Mariana's sake: but as he adjudged your brother,-- Being criminal, in double violation Of sacred chastity and of promise-breach Thereon dependent, for your brother's life,-- The very mercy of the law cries out Most audible, even from his proper tongue, 'An Angelo for Claudio, death for death!'

Haste still pays haste, and leisure answers leisure; Like doth quit like, and MEASURE still FOR MEASURE.

Then, Angelo, thy fault's thus manifested; Which, though thou wouldst deny, denies thee vantage.

We do condemn thee to the very block Where Claudio stoop'd to death, and with like haste.

Away with him!

MARIANA: O my most gracious lord, I hope you will not mock me with a husband.

DUKE VINCENTIO: It is your husband mock'd you with a husband.

Consenting to the safeguard of your honour, I thought your marriage fit; else imputation, For that he knew you, might reproach your life And choke your good to come; for his possessions, Although by confiscation they are ours, We do instate and widow you withal, To buy you a better husband.

MARIANA: O my dear lord, I crave no other, nor no better man.

DUKE VINCENTIO: Never crave him; we are definitive.

MARIANA: Gentle my liege,-- DUKE VINCENTIO: You do but lose your labour.

Away with him to death!

Now, sir, to you.

MARIANA: O 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 to do you service.

DUKE VINCENTIO: Against all sense you do importune her: Should she kneel down in mercy of this fact, Her brother's ghost his paved bed would break, And take her hence in horror.

MARIANA: Isabel, Sweet Isabel, do yet but kneel by me; Hold up your hands, say nothing; I'll speak all.

They say, best men are moulded out of faults; And, for the most, become much more the better For being a little bad: so may my husband.

O Isabel, will you not lend a knee?

DUKE VINCENTIO: He dies for Claudio's death.

ISABELLA: Most bounteous sir, Look, if it please you, on this man condemn'd, As if my brother lived: I partly think A due sincerity govern'd his deeds, Till he did look on me: since it is so, Let him not die.

My brother had but justice, In that he did the thing for which he died: For Angelo, His act did not o'ertake his bad intent, And must be buried but as an intent That perish'd by the way: thoughts are no subjects; Intents but merely thoughts.

MARIANA: Merely, my lord.

DUKE VINCENTIO: Your suit's unprofitable; stand up, I say.

I have bethought me of another fault.

Provost, how came it Claudio was beheaded At an unusual hour?

Provost: It was commanded so.

DUKE VINCENTIO: Had you a special warrant for the deed?

Provost: No, my good lord; it was by private message.

DUKE VINCENTIO: For which I do discharge you of your office: Give up your keys.

Provost: Pardon me, noble lord: I thought it was a fault, but knew it not; Yet did repent me, after more advice; For testimony whereof, one in the prison, That should by private order else have died, I have reserved alive.

DUKE VINCENTIO: What's he?

Provost: His name is Barnardine.

DUKE VINCENTIO: I would thou hadst done so by Claudio.

Go fetch him hither; let me look upon him.

ESCALUS: I am sorry, one so learned and so wise As you, Lord Angelo, have still appear'd, Should slip so grossly, both in the heat of blood.

And lack of temper'd judgment afterward.

ANGELO: I am sorry that such sorrow I procure: And so deep sticks it in my penitent heart That I crave death more willingly than mercy; 'Tis my deserving, and I do entreat it.

DUKE VINCENTIO: Which is that Barnardine?

Provost: This, my lord.

DUKE VINCENTIO: There was a friar told me of this man.

Sirrah, thou art said to have a stubborn soul.

That apprehends no further than this world, And squarest thy life according.

Thou'rt condemn'd: But, for those earthly faults, I quit them all; And pray thee take this mercy to provide For better times to come.

Friar, advise him; I leave him to your hand.

What muffled fellow's that?

Provost: This is another prisoner that I saved.

Who should have died when Claudio lost his head; As like almost to Claudio as himself.

DUKE VINCENTIO: 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 VINCENTIO: Whipt first, sir, and hanged after.

Proclaim it, provost, round about the city.

Is any woman wrong'd by this lewd fellow, As I have heard him swear 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 beseech your highness, do not marry me to a whore.

Your highness said even now, I made you a duke: good my lord, do not recompense me in making me a cuckold.

DUKE VINCENTIO: Upon mine honour, thou shalt marry her.

Thy slanders I forgive; and therewithal Remit thy other forfeits.

Take him to prison; And see our pleasure herein executed.

LUCIO: Marrying a punk, my lord, is pressing to death, whipping, and hanging.

DUKE VINCENTIO: Slandering a prince deserves it.

She, Claudio, that you wrong'd, look you restore.

Joy to you, Mariana!

Love her, Angelo: I have confess'd her and I know her virtue.

Thanks, good friend Escalus, for thy much goodness: There's more behind that is more gratulate.

Thanks, provost, for thy care and secrecy: We shill employ thee in a worthier place.

Forgive him, Angelo, that brought you home The head of Ragozine for Claudio's: The offence pardons itself.

Dear Isabel, I have a motion much imports your good; Whereto if you'll a willing ear incline, What's mine is yours and what is yours is mine.

So, bring us to our palace; where we'll show What's yet behind, that's meet you all should know.

SLY: I'll pheeze you, in faith.

Hostess: A pair of stocks, you rogue!

SLY: Ye are a baggage: the Slys are no rogues; look in the chronicles; we came in with Richard Conqueror.

Therefore paucas pallabris; let the world slide: sessa!

Hostess: You will not pay for the glasses you have burst?

SLY: No, not a denier.

Go by, Jeronimy: go to thy cold bed, and warm thee.

Hostess: I know my remedy; I must go fetch the third--borough.

SLY: Third, or fourth, or fifth borough, I'll answer him by law: I'll not budge an inch, boy: let him come, and kindly.

Lord: Huntsman, I charge thee, tender well my hounds: Brach Merriman, the poor cur is emboss'd; And couple Clowder with the deep--mouth'd brach.

Saw'st thou not, boy, how Silver made it good At the hedge-corner, in the coldest fault?

I would not lose the dog for twenty pound.

First Huntsman: Why, Belman is as good as he, my lord; He cried upon it at the merest loss And twice to-day pick'd out the dullest scent: Trust me, I take him for the better dog.

Lord: Thou art a fool: if Echo were as fleet, I would esteem him worth a dozen such.

But sup them well and look unto them all: To-morrow I intend to hunt again.

First Huntsman: I will, my lord.

Lord: What's here?

one dead, or drunk?

See, doth he breathe?

Second Huntsman: He breathes, my lord.

Were he not warm'd with ale, This were a bed but cold to sleep so soundly.

Lord: O monstrous beast!

how like a swine he lies!

Grim death, how foul and loathsome is thine image!

Sirs, I will practise on this drunken man.

What think you, if he were convey'd to bed, Wrapp'd in sweet clothes, rings put upon his fingers, A most delicious banquet by his bed, And brave attendants near him when he wakes, Would not the beggar then forget himself?

First Huntsman: Believe me, lord, I think he cannot choose.

Second Huntsman: It would seem strange unto him when he waked.

Lord: Even as a flattering dream or worthless fancy.