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When the will play with reafon and discourse,
And well the can perfuade.
My holy Sir, none better knows than you
How I have ever lov'd the life remov'd;
And held in idle price to haunt affemblies
Where youth, and coft, and witless bravery keeps.
Licentioufnefs the Confequence of unexecuted Laws.
We have ftrict ftatutes, and moft biting laws,
Which for thefe nineteen years we have let fleep;
(The needful bits and curbs to headstrong feeds)
Even like an o'ergrown lion in a cave,
That goes not out to prey: now, as fond fathers,
Having bound up the threat'ning twigs of birch,
Only to stick it in their children's fight
For terror, not for ufe; in time the rod [crees,
Becomes more mock'd than fear'd: fo our de-
Dead to infliction, to themselves are dead;
And liberty plucks juftice by the nose;
The baby beats the nurfe, and quite athwart
Goes all decorum.
Pardon the Sanction of Wickedness. For we bid this be done, When evil deeds have their permiffive pass, And not the punishment.
A fevere faint-like Governor.
Lord Angelo is precife;
Stands at a guard with envy: fcarce confeiles
That his blood flows, or that his appetite
Is more to bread than ftone: hence fhall we fee,
If pow'r change purpose, what our feemers be.
A Virgin addreft.
Hail, virgin, if you be; as thofe check-rofes
Proclaim you are no lefs!
A Religious profeft.
I hold you as a thing enfky'd and fainted;
By your renouncement, an immo:tal spirit,
And to be talk'd with in fincerity,
As with a faint.
Your brother and his lover have embrac'd:
As thofe that feed grow full; as bloffoming time,
That from the feednefs the bare fallow brings
To teeming foyfon, fo her plenteous womb
Expreffeth his full tilth and husbandry.
Luc. Is the your coufin ?
Tab. Adoptedly, as fchoolmaids change their
By vain though apt affection.
Our doubts are traitors;
And make us lole the good we oft might win,
By fearing to attempt.
The Pravers of Maidens effe&tual.
Go to lord Angelo,
And let him learn to know, when maidens fue,
Men give like gods; but when they weep and
All their petitions are as freely theirs
As they themfeives would owe them.
All Men frail.
Angelo. We must not make a scarecrow of the
Setting it up to feare the birds of prey,
And let it keep one fhape till custom make it
Their perch, and not their terror.
Efca. Ay, but yet
Let us be keen, and rather cut a little,
Than fall, and bruife to death: alas, this gentleman,
(Whom I believe to be moft ftrait in virtue)
Whom I would fave, had a moft noble father.
Let but your honour know,
That, in the working of your own affections,
Had time coher'd with place, or place with wish-
Or that the refolute acting of your blood [ing;
Could have attain'd th' effect of your own purpose;
Whether you had not fome time in your life
Err'd in this point, which now you cenfure him,
And pull'd the law upon you.
Angelo. 'Tis one thing to be tempted, Efcalus,
Another thing to fall. I not deny,
The jury, paffing on the pris'ner's life,
May in the fworn twelve have a thief or two
Guiltier than him they try; what 's open made
To juftice, that justice seizes. What know the laws
That thieves do pafs on thieves? 'Tis very preg-
He's not prepar'd for death! Even for our kitchens
We kill the fowl of feafon; fhall we ferve Heaven
With lefs refpe&t than we do minister
To our grofs felves? Good, good my lord, be-
Who is it that hath dy'd for this offence ?
-There's many have committed it.
Ang. The law hath not been dead, though it To nothing temporal.
Thofe many had not dar'd to do that evil,
If the first man that did th' edict infringe
Had anfwer'd for his deed: now, 'tis awake;
Takes note of what is done; and, like a prophet,
Looks in a glafs, that fhews what future evils
(Or new, or by remiffness new conceiv'd,
And fo in progress to be hatch'd and born)
Are now to have no fucceffive degrees,
But, ere they live, to end.
Tab. Yet fhew fome pity.
Ang. I fhew it most of all, when I fhew juftice;
For then I pity thofe I do not know,
Which a difmifs'd offence would after gall;
And do him right, that, answering one foul wrong,
Lives not to act another.
Great Men's Abuse of Power.
Could great men thunder,
As Jove himself does, Jove would ne'er be quiet;
For ev'ry pelting, petty officer [thunder!
Would ufe his heav'n for thunder! Nothing but
Thou rather with thy fharp and fulphurous bolt
Split'ft the unwedgable and gnaried oak,
Than the foft myrtle. O, but man! p.oud man,
Dreft in a little brief authority,
Knock there; and ask your heart, what it doth know
Moft ignorant of what he 's most affur'd,
His giaffy effence-like an angry ape,
Plays fuch fantaftic tricks before high Heav'n,
As makes the angels weep; who, with our fpleens,
Would all themfelves laugh mortal.
The Privilege of Authority.
We cannot weigh our brother with ourself.
Great men may jeft with faints; 'tis wit in them;
But, in the lefs, foul profanation.
That in the captain's but a choleric word,
Which in the foldier is flat blafphemy.
Confcioufnels of our own Faults fhould make us
Ang. Why do you put thefe fayings upon me? Ih. Becaufe authority, though it err like Hath vet a kind of medicine in itfelf, [others, That skim - the voice o' the tip: go to your bofom:
That 's like my brother's fault: if it confefs
A natural guiltinefs, fuch as is his,
Let it not found a thought upon your tongue
Against my brother's life.
Ifub. Hark how I'll bribe you! Good my Lord,
Ang. How! bribe me?
Ijab. Not with fond fhekels of the tefted gold,
Or ftones whofe rate is either rich or poor
As fancy values them; but with true prayers,
That fhall be up at heaven and enter there
Ere the fun rife: prayers from preferved fouls,
From fafting maids whofe minds are dedicate
The Power of virtuous Beauty.
Ifab. Save your honour!
[Exit Ifab. Ang. From thee; even from thy virtue!What's this? What's this? Is this her fault, or
The tempter, or the tempted,who fins most ? ha!
Not the; nor doth fhe tempt; but it is I,
That, lying by the violet, in the fun,
Do, as the carrion does, not as the flow'r,
Corrupt with virtuous feafon. Can it be,
That modefty may more betray our fenfe
Than woman's lightnefs? Having wafte ground
Shall we defire to rate the fanctuary, [enough,
And pitch our evils there? Oh, fic, fie, fie!
What doit thou, or what art thou, Angelo?
Doit thou defire her foully, for thofe things
That make her good Oh, let her brother live:
Thieves for their robbery have authority,
When judges fical themiclves. What! do I love
That I defire to hear her fpeak again,
And feat upon her eyes? What is 't I dream on?
Ch cunning enemy, that, to catch a faint,
With faints doft bait thy hook! Moft dangerous
Is that temptation, that does goad us on
Fo fin in loving virtue: ne'er could the ftrumpet,
With all her double vigour, art and nature,
Once ftir my temper: but this virtuous maid
Subdues me quite.-
Dake. Repent you, fair one,of the fin you carry?
Ful. I do; and bear the fhame moft patiently.
Duke. I'll teach you how you thail arraign
And try your penitence, if it be found,
Or hollowly put on.
Jul. I'll gladly learn.
Duke Love you the man that wrong'd you? Jul. Yes, as I love the woman that wrong'd him. Duke. So then, it feems, your moft offenceful act Was mutually committed?
Duke. Then was your fin of heavier kind than
Jul. I do confefs it, and repent it, father.
Duke. 'Tis meet fo, daughter: but-left you
As that the fin hath brought you to this fhame,
Which forrow is always to ourfelves, not Heaven;
Showing we would not fpare Heaven, as we love it,
But as we ftand in fear-
Jul. I do repent me as it is an evil; And take the fhame with joy. Duke. There rest.
Love in a grave, fevere Governor. When I would pray and think, I think and pray To fev'ral fubjects: Heaven hath my empty words; Whilft my invention, hearing not my tongue, Anchors on Ifabel. Heav'n's in my mouth, As if I did but only chew his name; And in my heart the ftrong and fwelling evil Of my conception: the ftate, whereon I ftudied, Is like a good thing, being often read, Grown fear'd and tedious; yea, my gravity, Wherein (let no man hear me) I take pride, Could I, with boot, change for an idle plume Which the air beats for vain. O place! O form! How often doft thou with thy cafe, thy habit, Wrench awe from fools, and tie the wifer fouls To thy falfe fecming! Blood, thou still art blood Let 's write good angel on the devil's horn;'Tis not the devil's creit.
To this fuppofed, or elfe to let him suffer;
What would you do?
Ifab. As much for my poor brother as myself;
That is, were I under the terms of death,
And ftrip myfelf to death as to a bed
Th' impreffion of keen whips I'd wear as rubies,
That longing I have been fick for, ere I'd yield My body up to fhame.
Ang. Then muft your brother die. Ifab. And 't were the cheaper way: Better it were a brother died at once, Than that a fifter, by redeeming him, Should die for ever.
Ang. Admit no other way to fave his life (As I fubfcribe not that, or any other, But in the lofs of question), that you his fifter, Finding yourself defir'd of fuch a perfon, Whofe credit with the judge, or own great place, Could fetch your brother from the manacles Of the all-binding law; and that there were No earthly mean to fave him, but that either You must lay down the treasures of your body,
Ang. Were not you then as cruel as the fenThat you have flander'd fo? [tence
Ifab. An ignominious ranfom, and free pardon, Are of two houfes; lawful mercy, fure, Is nothing kin to foul redemption. Self-intereft palliates Faults. It oft falls out, [we mean : To have what we would have, we speak not what I fomething do excufe the thing I nate, For his advantage that I dearly love. Woman's Frailty.
-Nay, women are frail too.
Ifab. Ay, as the glaffes where they view themfelves;
Which are as eafy broke as they make forms.
Women ! help Heaven! men their creation mar,
In profiting by them: nay, call us ten times frail;
For we are foft as our complexions are,
And credulous to falfe prints.
Weight of eftablished Reputation.
Ang. Who will believe thee, Ifabel?
My unfoil'd name, th' aufterenefs of my
My vouch against you, and my place i' the state,
Will fo your accufation overweigh,
That you shall ftifle in your own report,
And smell of calumny.
The miferable have no other medicine But only hope.
Moral Reflections on the Vanity of Life. Be abfolute for death; either death or life Shall thereby be the fweeter. Reafon thus with If I do lofe thee, I do lofe a thing [life: That none but fools would keep: a breath thou Servile to all the fkicy influences, [art, That doft this habitation, where thou keep'ft, Hourly afflict: merely, thou art death's fool; For him thou labour'it by thy flight to fhun, And yet run'ft tow'rd him fill. Thou art not noble;
For all th' accommodations that thou bear t
Are nurs'd by bafenefs: thou 'rt by no means
For thou doft fear the foft and tender fork
Of a poor worm. Thy beft of reft is fleep,
And that thou oft provok'st; yet grossly fear'ft
Thy death, which is no more. Thou 'rt not
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'ft to get;
And what thou haft, forgett'st. Thou art not certain;
For thy complexion fhifts to ftrange effects,
After the moon. If thou art rich, thou 'rt poor;
For, like an afs, whofe back with ingots bows,
Thou bear'ft thy heavy riches but a journey,
And death unloads thee. Friend thou haft none;
For thine own bowels, which do call thee fire,
The mere effufion of thy proper loins,
Do curie the gout, ferpigo, and the rheum,
For ending thee no fooner. Thou haft nor youth
But as it were an after-dinner's fleep, [nor age,
Dreaming on both; for all thy bleffed youth
Becomes as aged, and doth beg the alms
Of paified eld; and when thou art old and rich,
Thou haft neither heat, affection, limb nor beauty,
To make thy riches pleafant. 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.
The Terrors of Death moft in Apprehenfion.
Claud. Is there no reinedy?
fab. None but fuch remedy as, to fave a head, Would cleave a heart in twain. Claud. But is there any?
Ifab. O, I do fear thee, Claudio; and I quake, Left thou a fev'rous life fhouldft entertain, And fix or feven winters more respect Than a perpetual honour. Dar'ft thou die? The fenfe of death is most in apprehension; And the poor beetle that we tread upon, In corp'ral fufferance finds a pang as great As when a giant dies.
A fainted Hypocrite. Yes, thou muft die: Thou art too noble to conferve a life
In bafe appliances. This outward-fainted de-
Whofe fettled vifage and delib'rate word [puty,
Nips youth i' th' head, and follies doth emmew
As falcon doth the fowl, is yet a devil;
His filth within being cast, he would appear
A pond as deep as hell.
Claud. The princely Angelo?
fab. O, 'tis the cunning livery of hell, The damned'ft body to invest and cover In princely guards!
The Terrors of Death. lab. O, were it but my life, I'd throw it down for your deliverance As frankly as a pin!
Ifab. And fhamed life a hateful.
Claud. Ay, but to die, and go we know not
To lie in cold obftruction, and to rot; [where;
This fenfible warm motion to become
A kneaded clod; and the delighted fpirit
To bathe in fiery floods, or to refide
In thrilling regions of thick-ribbed ice;
To be imprifon'd in the viewlefs winds,
And blown with reftlefs violence round about
The pendant world; or to be worfe than worst
Of thofe, that lawless and incertain thoughts
Imagine howling ! 'tis too horrible!
The wearieft and moft loathed worldly life,
That age, ache, penury, imprisonment,
Can lay on nature, is a paradife
To what we fear of death.
Claud. Ah, Ifabel!
Jab. What fays my brother?
Claud. -Death's a fearful thing,
Cowardly Apprehenfion of Death reproached. Ifab. O, faithlefs coward! O, difhoneft wretch ! Wilt thou be made a man out of my vice? Is 't not a kind of inceft, to take life [think? From thine own fifter's fhame? What should I Heaven grant my mother play'd my father fair! For fuch a warped flip of wilderness Ne'er iffued from his blood-Take my defianceDie, perish! might but my bending down Reprieve thee from thy fate, it should proceedOh, fie, fie, fie!
Refolution from a Senfe of Honour.
Claud Why give you me this fhame?
Think you I can a refolution fetch
From flow'ry tenderness? If I must die,
I will encounter darkness as a bride,
And hug it in my arms!
Tab. There fpake my brother; there my faDid utter forth à voice. [ther's grave
Thy fin's not accidental, but a trade; Mercy to thee would prove itself a bawd; 'Twere beft thou dieft quickly!
Virtue and Goodness.
Virtue is bold, and goodness never fearful.
Fie, firrah! a bawd-a wicked bawd!
The evil that thou caufeft to be done,
That is thy means to live. Doft thou but think
What 'tis to cram a maw, or clothe a back,
From fuch a filthy vice? Say to thy felf,
From their abominable and beaftly touches
drink, I eat, array myfelf, and live.-
Canft thou believe thy living is a life
So ftinkingly depending? Go, mend; go, mend!
No might nor greatness in mortality Can cenfure 'fcape: back-wounding calumny The whiteft virtue ftrikes. What king fo ftrong, Can tie the gall up in the fland'rous tongue?
Good Example neceffary in Rulers. He, who the sword of Heav'n will bear, Should be as holy as fevere; Pattern in himself to know, Grace to ftand, and virtue go; More nor lefs to others paying, Than by felf-offences weighing: Shame to him, whofe cruel ftriking Kills for faults of his own liking! Twice treble fhame on Angelo, To weed my vice, and let his grow! O, what may man within him hide, Though angel on the outward fide l How may likenefs made in crimes, Mocking practice on the times,
To draw with idle fpiders' ftrings,
Moft pond'rous and fubftantial things!
A beautiful Song.
Take, oh take those lips away,
That fo fweetly were forfworn;
And thofe eyes, the break of day,
Lights that do mislead the morn:
But my kiffes bring again;
Seals of love, but feal'd in vain.
Hide, oh hide thofe hills of fnow,
Which thy frozen bofom bears,
On whofe tops the pinks that grow
Are of those that April wears;
But my poor heart first fet free,
Bound in thofe icy chains by thee.
With whispering and moft guilty diligence,
In action all of precept, he did fhew me
The way twice o'er.
Duke. Not fo, not fo; his life is parallel'd
Even with the ftroke and line of his great juftice;
He doth with holy abftinence fubdue
That in himself, which he fpurs on his power
To qualify in others: were he meal'd
With that which he corrects, then were he
But this being fo, he 's juít.
As Angelo; even fo may Angelo,
In all his dreffings, characts, titles, forms,
Be an arch villain: trust me, royal prince,
If he be lefs, he's nothing, but he's more,
Had I more names for badness.
Refpe&t due to Place.
Refpect to your great place!-and let the devil
Be fometimes honour'd for his burning throne.
Impoffibility of Interceffion.
Against all fenfe you do importune her. Should the kneel down, in mercy of this fact, Her brother's ghoft his paved bed would break, And take her hence in horror!
This is a gentle provoft; feldom, when
The ftecled jailor is the friend of men.
Comfort from Despair.
But I will keep her ignorant of her good, To make her heavenly comforts of despair, When it is least expected.
Reformed Men fometimes best.
They fay, beft men are moulded out of faults And, for the most, become much more the better For being a little bad; fo may my husband.
Intents more excufable than A&s.
His act did not o'ertake his bad intent;
And must be buried but as an intent,
That perifh'd by the way thoughts are no fub-
Intents, but merely thoughts.
IN footh, I know not why I am fo fad ;
It wearies me: you fay, it wearies you:
But how I caught it, found it, or came by it,
What ftuff 'tis made of, whereof it is born,
I am to learn.
Salar. Your mind is toffing on the ocean,
There where your argofies with portly fail,
Like figniors and rich burghers on the flood,
Or as it were the pageants of the fea,—
Do over-peer the petty-traffickers,
tyran-That curt fy to them, do them reverence,
[nous; As they fly by them with their woven wings.
Salun. Believe me,Sir, had I fuch ventures forth,
The better part of my affections would
Be with my hopes abroad. I fhould be still
Plucking the grafs, to know where fits the wind;
Peering in maps, for ports, and piers, and roads;
And every object, that might make me fear
Misfortune to my ventures, out of doubt,
Would make me fad.
Ifab. Injurious world! Moft damned Angelo!
Duke. This nor hurts him, nor profits you a jot:
Forbear it therefore, give your caufe to Heaven!
Character of an Arch Hypocrite.
O, I conjure thee, prince, as thou beliey'st
There is another comfort than this world,
That thou neglect me not, with that opinion
That I am touch'd with madnef.: make not im-
§ 6. THE MERCHANT OF VENICE.
Natural Prefentiment of Evil finely pointed out;
with the Contraft of a cheerful and melancholy
That which but feems unlike: 'tis not impoffible
But one, the wickedeft cairiff on the ground,
May fem as fhy, as grave, as just, as abfolute,
And fuch a want-wit fadnefs makes of me,
That I have much ado to know myself.
Salar. My wind, cooling my broth,
Would blow me to an ague, when I thought
what harm a wind too great might do at fea.
I fhould not fee the fandy hour-glafs run,
But I fhould think of fhallows and of flats;
And ice my wealthy Andrew dock'd in fand,
Vailing her high top lower than her ribs,
To kils her burial. Should I go to church,
And fee the holy edifice of tone,
And not bethink me ftraight of dangerous rocks,
Which, touching but my gentle veffel's fide,
Would fcatter all her fpices on the stream;
Enrobe the roaring waters with my filks;