Measure for Measure

Act III

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?
Claudio	The miserable have no other medicine But only hope: I’ve hope to live, and am prepared to die.
Duke	Be absolute for death; either death or life 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, 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; 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 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; 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, 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 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 moe thousand deaths: yet death we fear, That makes these odds all even.
Claudio	I humbly thank you. To sue to live, I find I seek to die; And, seeking death, find life: let it come on.
Isabella	Within. What, ho! Peace here; grace and good company!
Provost	Who’s there? come in: the wish deserves a welcome.
Duke	Dear sir, ere long I’ll visit you again.
Claudio	Most holy sir, I thank you.
	Enter Isabella.
Isabella	My business is a word or two with Claudio.
Provost	And very welcome. Look, signior, here’s your sister.
Duke	Provost, a word with you.
Provost	As many as you please.
Duke	Bring me to hear them speak, where I may be concealed. Exeunt Duke* and Provost.*
Claudio	Now, sister, what’s the comfort?
Isabella	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: Therefore your best appointment make with speed; To-morrow you set on.
Claudio	Is there no remedy?
Isabella	None, but such remedy as, to save a head, To cleave a heart in twain.
Claudio	But is there any?
Isabella	Yes, brother, you may live: There is a devilish mercy in the judge, If you’ll implore it, that will free your life, But fetter you till death.
Claudio	Perpetual durance?
Isabella	Ay, just; perpetual durance, a restraint, Though all the world’s vastidity you had, To a determined scope.
Claudio	But in what nature?
Isabella	In such a one as, you consenting to’t, Would bark your honour from that trunk you bear, And leave you naked.
Claudio	Let me know the point.
Isabella	O, I do fear thee, Claudio; and I quake, 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; And the poor beetle, that we tread upon, In corporal sufferance finds a pang as great As when a giant dies.
Claudio	Why give you me this shame? Think you I can a resolution fetch From flowery tenderness? If I must die, I will encounter darkness as a bride, And hug it in mine arms.
Isabella	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 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 A pond as deep as hell.
Claudio	The prenzie Angelo!
Isabella	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, Thou mightst be freed.
Claudio	O heavens! it cannot be.
Isabella	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.
Claudio	Thou shalt not do’t.
Isabella	O, were it but my life, I’ld throw it down for your deliverance As frankly as a pin.
Claudio	Thanks, dear Isabel.
Isabella	Be ready, Claudio, for your death to-morrow.
Claudio	Yes. Has he affections in him, 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.
Isabella	Which is the least?
Claudio	If it were damnable, he being so wise, Why would he for the momentary trick Be perdurably fined? O Isabel!
Isabella	What says my brother?
Claudio	Death is a fearful thing.
Isabella	And shamed life a hateful.
Claudio	Ay, but to die, and go we know not where; 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; 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! 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.
Isabella	Alas, alas!
Claudio	Sweet sister, let me live: What sin you do to save a brother’s life, Nature dispenses with the deed so far That it becomes a virtue.
Isabella	O you beast! O faithless coward! O dishonest wretch! Wilt thou be made a man out of my vice? 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! 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.
Claudio	Nay, hear me, Isabel.
Isabella	O, fie, fie, fie! Thy sin’s not accidental, but a trade. Mercy to thee would prove itself a bawd: ’Tis best thou diest quickly.
Claudio	O hear me, Isabella!
	Reenter Duke.
Duke	Vouchsafe a word, young sister, but one word.
Isabella	What is your will?
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.
Isabella	I have no superfluous leisure; my stay must be stolen out of other affairs; but I will attend you awhile. 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 essay of her virtue to practise his judgment with the disposition of natures: she, having the truth of honour in her, hath made him that 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.
Claudio	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!
	Reenter Provost.
Provost	What’s your will, father
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.
Provost	In good time. Exit Provost. Isabella* comes forward.*
Duke	The hand that hath made you fair hath made 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 his falling, I should wonder at Angelo. How will you do to content this substitute, and to save your brother?
Isabella	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 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 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 he shall ever return to have hearing of this business.
Isabella	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 great soldier who miscarried at sea?
Isabella	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 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 kind and natural; with him, the portion and sinew of her fortune, her marriage-dowry; with both, her combinate husband, this well-seeming Angelo.
Isabella	Can this be so? did Angelo so leave her?
Duke	Left her in her tears, and dried not one of them 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.
Isabella	What a merit were it in death to take this poor 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.
Isabella	Show me how, good father.
Duke	This forenamed maid hath yet in her the continuance of her first affection: his unjust unkindness, that in all reason should have quenched her love, hath, like an impediment in the current, made it more violent and unruly. Go you to Angelo; answer his requiring with a plausible obedience; agree with his demands to the point; only refer yourself to this advantage, first, that your stay with him may not be long; that the time may have all shadow and silence in it; and the place answer to convenience. This being granted in course⁠—and now follows all⁠—we shall advise this wronged maid to stead up your appointment, go in your place; if the encounter acknowledge itself hereafter, it may compel him to her recompense: and here, by this, is your brother saved, your honour untainted, the poor Mariana advantaged, and the corrupt deputy scaled. The maid will I frame and make fit for his attempt. If you think well to carry this as you may, the doubleness of the benefit defends the deceit from reproof. What think you of it?
Isabella	The image of it gives me content already; and I trust it will grow to a most prosperous perfection.
Duke	It lies much in your holding up. Haste you speedily to Angelo: if for this night he entreat you to his bed, give him promise of satisfaction. I will presently to Saint Luke’s: there, at the moated grange, resides this dejected Mariana. At that place call upon me; and dispatch with Angelo, that it may be quickly.
Isabella	I thank you for this comfort. Fare you well, good father. Exeunt severally.

Scene II

The street before the prison.

	Enter, on one side, Duke* disguised as before; on the other, Elbow, and Officers with Pompey.*
Elbow	Nay, if there be no remedy for it, but that you will needs buy and sell men and women like beasts, we shall have all the world drink brown and white bastard.
Duke	O heavens! what stuff is here?
Pompey	’Twas never merry world since, of two usuries, the merriest was put down, and the worser allowed by order of law a furred gown to keep him warm; and furred with fox and lamb-skins too, to signify, that craft, being richer than innocency, stands for the facing.
Elbow	Come your way, sir. ’Bless you, good father friar.
Duke	And you, good brother father. What offence hath this man made you, sir?
Elbow	Marry, sir, he hath offended the law: and, sir, we take him to be a thief too, sir; for we have found upon him, sir, a strange picklock, which we have sent to the deputy.
Duke	Fie, sirrah! a bawd, a wicked bawd! The evil that thou causest to be done, That is thy means to live. Do thou but think What ’tis to cram a maw or clothe a back From such a filthy vice: say to thyself, From their abominable and beastly touches I drink, I eat, array myself, and live. Canst thou believe thy living is a life, So stinkingly depending? Go mend, go mend.
Pompey	Indeed, it does stink in some sort, sir; but yet, sir, I would prove⁠—
Duke	Nay, if the devil have given thee proofs for sin, Thou wilt prove his. Take him to prison, officer: Correction and instruction must both work Ere this rude beast will profit.
Elbow	He must before the deputy, sir; he has given him warning: the deputy cannot abide a whoremaster: if he be a whoremonger, and comes before him, he were as good go a mile on his errand.
Duke	That we were all, as some would seem to be, From our faults, as faults from seeming, free!
Elbow	His neck will come to your waist⁠—a cord, sir.
Pompey	I spy comfort; I cry bail. Here’s a gentleman and a friend of mine.
	Enter Lucio.
Lucio	How now, noble Pompey! What, at the wheels of Caesar? art thou led in triumph? What, is there none of Pygmalion’s images, newly made woman, to be had now, for putting the hand in the pocket and extracting it clutched? What reply, ha? What sayest thou to this tune, matter and method? Is’t not drowned i’ the last rain, ha? What sayest thou, Trot? Is the world as it was, man? Which is the way? Is it sad, and few words? or how? The trick of it?
Duke	Still thus, and thus; still worse!
Lucio	How doth my dear morsel, thy mistress? Procures she still, ha?
Pompey	Troth, sir, she hath eaten up all her beef, and she is herself in the tub.
Lucio	Why, ’tis good; it is the right of it; it must be so: ever your fresh whore and your powdered bawd: an unshunned consequence; it must be so. Art going to prison, Pompey?
Pompey	Yes, faith, sir.
Lucio	Why, ’tis not amiss, Pompey. Farewell: go, say I sent thee thither. For debt, Pompey? or how?
Elbow	For being a bawd, for being a bawd.
Lucio	Well, then, imprison him: if imprisonment be the due of a bawd, why, ’tis his right: bawd is he doubtless, and of antiquity too; bawd-born. Farewell, good Pompey. Commend me to the prison, Pompey: you will turn good husband now, Pompey; you will keep the house.
Pompey	I hope, sir, your good worship will be my bail.
Lucio	No, indeed, will I not, Pompey; it is not the wear. I will pray, Pompey, to increase your bondage: If you take it not patiently, why, your mettle is the more. Adieu, trusty Pompey. ’Bless you, friar.
Duke	And you.
Lucio	Does Bridget paint still, Pompey, ha?
Elbow	Come your ways, sir; come.
Pompey	You will not bail me, then, sir?
Lucio	Then, Pompey, nor now. What news abroad, friar? what news?
Elbow	Come your ways, sir; come.
Lucio	Go to kennel, Pompey; go. Exeunt Elbow, Pompey* and Officers.* What news, friar, of the duke?
Duke	I know none. Can you tell me of any?
Lucio	Some say he is with the Emperor of Russia; other some, he is in Rome: but where is he, think you?
Duke	I know not where; but wheresoever, I wish him well.
Lucio	It was a mad fantastical trick of him to steal from the state, and usurp the beggary he was never born to. Lord Angelo dukes it well in his absence; he puts transgression to’t.
Duke	He does well in’t.
Lucio	A little more lenity to lechery would do no harm in him: something too crabbed that way, friar.
Duke	It is too general a vice, and severity must cure it.
Lucio	Yes, in good sooth, the vice is of a great kindred; it is well allied: but it is impossible to extirp it quite, friar, till eating and drinking be put down. They say this Angelo was not made by man and woman after this downright way of creation: is it true, think you?
Duke	How should he be made, then?
Lucio	Some report a sea-maid spawned him; some, that he was begot between two stock-fishes. But it is certain that when he makes water his urine is congealed ice; that I know to be true: and he is a motion generative; that’s infallible.
Duke	You are pleasant, sir, and speak apace.
Lucio	Why, what a ruthless thing is this in him, for the rebellion of a codpiece to take away the life of a man! Would the duke that is absent have done this? Ere he would have hanged a man for the getting a hundred bastards, he would have paid for the nursing a thousand: he had some feeling of the sport; he knew the service, and that instructed him to mercy.
Duke	I never heard the absent duke much detected for women; he was not inclined that way.
Lucio	O, sir, you are deceived.
Duke	’Tis not possible.
Lucio	Who, not the duke? yes, your beggar of fifty; and his use was to put a ducat in her clack-dish: the duke had crotchets in him. He would be drunk too; that let me inform you.
Duke	You do him wrong, surely.
Lucio	Sir, I was an inward of his. A shy fellow was the duke: and I believe I know the cause of his withdrawing.
Duke	What, I prithee, might be the cause?
Lucio	No, pardon; ’tis a secret must be locked within the teeth and the lips: but this I can let you understand, the greater file of the subject held the duke to be wise.
Duke	Wise! why, no question but he was.
Lucio	A very superficial, ignorant, unweighing fellow.
Duke	Either this is the envy in you, folly, or mistaking: the very stream of his life and the business he hath helmed must upon a warranted need give him a better proclamation. Let him be but testimonied in his own bringings-forth, and he shall appear to the envious a scholar, a statesman and a soldier. Therefore you speak unskilfully: or if your knowledge be more it is much darkened in your malice.
Lucio	Sir, I know him, and I love him.
Duke	Love talks with better knowledge, and knowledge with dearer love.
Lucio	Come, sir, I know what I know.
Duke	I can hardly believe that, since you know not what you speak. But, if ever the duke return, as our prayers are he may, let me desire you to make your answer before him. If it be honest you have spoke, you have courage to maintain it: I am bound to call upon you; and, I pray you, your name?
Lucio	Sir, my name is Lucio; well known to the duke.
Duke	He shall know you better, sir, if I may live to report you.
Lucio	I fear you not.
Duke	O, you hope the duke will return no more; or you imagine me too unhurtful an opposite. But indeed I can do you little harm; you’ll forswear this again.
Lucio	I’ll be hanged first: thou art deceived in me, friar. But no more of this. Canst thou tell if Claudio die to-morrow or no?
Duke	Why should he die, sir?
Lucio	Why? For filling a bottle with a tundish. I would the duke we talk of were returned again: the ungenitured agent will unpeople the province with continency; sparrows must not build in his house-eaves, because they are lecherous. The duke yet would have dark deeds darkly answered; he would never bring them to light: would he were returned! Marry, this Claudio is condemned for untrussing. Farewell, good friar: I prithee, pray for me. The duke, I say to thee again, would eat mutton on Fridays. He’s not past it yet, and I say to thee, he would mouth with a beggar, though she smelt brown bread and garlic: say that I said so. Farewell. Exit.
Duke	No might nor greatness in mortality Can censure ’scape; back-wounding calumny The whitest virtue strikes. What king so strong Can tie the gall up in the slanderous tongue? But who comes here?
	Enter Escalus, Provost, and Officers with Mistress Overdone.
Escalus	Go; away with her to prison!
Mistress Overdone	Good my lord, be good to me; your honour is accounted a merciful man; good my lord.
Escalus	Double and treble admonition, and still forfeit in the same kind! This would make mercy swear and play the tyrant.
Provost	A bawd of eleven years’ continuance, may it please your honour.
Mistress Overdone	My lord, this is one Lucio’s information against me. Mistress Kate Keepdown was with child by him in the duke’s time; he promised her marriage: his child is a year and a quarter old, come Philip and Jacob: I have kept it myself; and see how he goes about to abuse me!
Escalus	That fellow is a fellow of much licence: let him be called before us. Away with her to prison! Go to; no more words. Exeunt Officers with Mistress Overdone. Provost, my brother Angelo will not be altered; Claudio must die to-morrow: let him be furnished with divines, and have all charitable preparation. If my brother wrought by my pity, it should not be so with him.
Provost	So please you, this friar hath been with him, and advised him for the entertainment of death.
Escalus	Good even, good father.
Duke	Bliss and goodness on you!
Escalus	Of whence are you?
Duke	Not of this country, though my chance is now To use it for my time: I am a brother Of gracious order, late come from the See In special business from his holiness.
Escalus	What news abroad i’ the world?
Duke	None, but that there is so great a fever on goodness, that the dissolution of it must cure it: novelty is only in request; and it is as dangerous to be aged in any kind of course, as it is virtuous to be constant in any undertaking. There is scarce truth enough alive to make societies secure; but security enough to make fellowships accurst: much upon this riddle runs the wisdom of the world. This news is old enough, yet it is every day’s news. I pray you, sir, of what disposition was the duke?
Escalus	One that, above all other strifes, contended especially to know himself.
Duke	What pleasure was he given to?
Escalus	Rather rejoicing to see another merry, than merry at any thing which professed to make him rejoice: a gentleman of all temperance. But leave we him to his events, with a prayer they may prove prosperous; and let me desire to know how you find Claudio prepared. I am made to understand that you have lent him visitation.
Duke	He professes to have received no sinister measure from his judge, but most willingly humbles himself to the determination of justice: yet had he framed to himself, by the instruction of his frailty, many deceiving promises of life; which I by my good leisure have discredited to him, and now is he resolved to die.
Escalus	You have paid the heavens your function, and the prisoner the very debt of your calling. I have laboured for the poor gentleman to the extremest shore of my modesty: but my brother justice have I found so severe, that he hath forced me to tell him he is indeed Justice.
Duke	If his own life answer the straitness of his proceeding, it shall become him well; wherein if he chance to fail, he hath sentenced himself.
Escalus	I am going to visit the prisoner. Fare you well.
Duke	Peace be with you! Exeunt Escalus* and Provost.* He who the sword of heaven will bear Should be as holy as severe; Pattern in himself to know, Grace to stand, and virtue go; More nor less to others paying Than by self-offences weighing. Shame to him whose cruel striking Kills for faults of his own liking! Twice treble shame on Angelo, To weed my vice and let his grow! O, what may man within him hide, Though angel on the outward side! How may likeness made in crimes, Making practice on the times, To draw with idle spiders’ strings Most ponderous and substantial things! Craft against vice I must apply: With Angelo to-night shall lie His old betrothed but despised; So disguise shall, by the disguised, Pay with falsehood false exacting, And perform an old contracting. Exit.